The Detroit bar I grew up in appears to be ground zero for creeping gentrification as the Motor City’s urban renewal edges beyond the downtown area. Once a landmark in a blue-collar neighborhood of factory workers, the bar – known as the Rose Café when my Polish grandparents owned it – now is called the... Continue Reading →
Detroit Journal: A River of Booze and the Lost Grandpa
When I was growing up in Detroit in the 1950s and 1960s, there were 232 bars in my grandma’s neighborhood, a mainly Polish area in the city’s sixth police precinct. It’s no wonder that a river of booze ran through my family and the community. When I rode my pink Schwinn bike through the neighborhood... Continue Reading →