Ushered Out Twice

My brother Phil had a good friend, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, who spent about twenty years as a reservist with the Detroit Police. He never did much more than cover at baseball and hockey games but hey, it helped the regular cops out. 

Once Cloyce was working at a baseball game at old Tiger Stadium when, as part of his rounds, he stopped by the DPD office under the stands. The sergeant, indicating a sad looking fellow sitting over to the side, told Cloyce to escort the guy from the premises for public drunkenness. So Cloyce did. 

About three innings later Cloyce was back by the patrol room, and the sergeant told him to show another guy the door. The same guy, in fact. "Isn't he the one I took out before?" Cloyce asked. 

"He bought another ticket and came back in," the sergeant answered with a shrug. Warning the drunk not to return a third time or he'd face a night in jail, the sergeant gave him over to Cloyce. 

Cloyce spent the rest of the game keeping a sharp eye out for the miscreant. He didn't want his own reputation soiled if the guy actually did get back in the ballpark.

Time Goes By

Carlos Beltran has been elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame. Congrats to him. He actually has a spot of sorts in my heart, although probably for something he doesn't care to recall.

On September 27, 1999, the Detroit Tigers played their last game at old Tiger Stadium, a long gone baseball cathedral. I loved the place, and was fortunate enough to be at that final contest.

The visitors were the Kansas City Royals. The Tigers won 8-2. None other than rookie Carlos Beltran struck out in the top of the Ninth Inning for the last out ever at what Detroiters called The Corner, for the intersection of Michigan and Trumbull Avenues where the ballpark stood.

I'm happy you made the Hall, Carlos. I'm happy that you struck out that long ago day too.

Sundays Without Mom

I really don't intend to be at all melancholy here. Intellectually, I knew this day would come. Then too, I've already not had the previous two Sundays with Mom anyway. That's just how things happened to play out. So today is the first real Sunday where I will not be driving her around looking at neighborhoods, going to Ollie's or Rural King, and eating the inevitable cheeseburgers for lunch with a large Diet Coke with no, mind you, no ice. You better have gotten that right.

At first I really wasn't sure what to do with my Sundays without feeling in the dumps. Now I think I'm simply going to take the next few and consciously do things I would not have done with her anyway, all to gain distance from the idea that Sunday was my day with Mom. Today the Tigers play at Noon, their last home game of the year, so that's my choice this week. I'm going to the ballpark.

Interesting story. She liked to watch baseball on TV with me Pops but never cared for actually going to a game. She went to old Tiger Stadium once, with Dad and me brother Ed as I recall, and never would go back. Yet when we would pass Michigan and Trumbull, the storied 'corner' where the Stadium once sat, she would without fail decry the fact that apartments now stood where it had for almost a century. "I can't believe they tore down a place like Tiger Stadium for those ugly things!" she observed every time. I emphatically agreed.

One weekend soon I'll go up to Hessel a final time for the season. Another, I might get out the clubs and golf. I haven't swung a club since 2019. Some say I never usefully swung one before then; you don't need to be quiet about that Ron. The Ohio Cosgriffs will be up in a couple of weeks for a weekend of picking apples and buying Halloween pumpkins for Jack O'lanterns, so there's that. Henry Ford Museum is another target; I haven't been there in several years. By that point six, maybe seven weeks will have passed without a Sunday road trip. The spell, perhaps, shall be broken.

Still, every few weekends I may just trek out to Romeo or Plymouth, Ann Arbor or Adrian, and look at the old houses. Just to do it.

Roof Shot

I knew that day twenty five years ago now would be a cool one the moment I entered old Tiger Stadium with my sons in tow. I just had a feeling.

April 20, 1997 was a Sunday, two days before my birthday. At nearly the last minute I decided to go to the baseball game as a self indulgent present. When I say last minute I mean it; I made the decision maybe 45 minutes before the first pitch. But when you only live a mile from the stadium it's no big deal.

We drove down and parked right across the street from the bleacher entrance. We bought tickets and went to sit in the upper deck in right center. 

The boys were excited because the in house camera showed them on the center field scoreboard. I was excited because in the second inning Oakland's Mark McGwire cleared the left field roof with a home run. He was the fourth and last player to do that in Tiger Stadium history.

It was the only opposition homer I ever rooted for. Off the bat I could tell McGwire really got hold of the pitch. "That's a roof shot!" I yelled, and then began screaming "Go! Go! Go!" It hit the facing of the roof once, then bounded over and out of the park almost in slow motion.

I know McGwire's career has since been tainted by steroid use. But man, that was one magnificent home run regardless. Majestic. A true thing of beauty for a baseball fan. And me and the boys had catbird seats for it.

An Old Green Seat

At one time Detroit's Tiger Stadium, the local baseball park from 1896 until 1999, had what were called box seats. They were actually individual padded chairs rather than a connected series of seats as most other ballpark seating was at the time (well, even now in most stadiums and arenas I suppose). They were the most expensive seats in the park, and I never sat in one during a game. But now I can.

I bought one those beauties from a sports memorabilia dealer. What do you think?

Now I can sit in a box seat anytime I want to, while watching any game I want to. Ain't life grand?

It dates from 1917 when the place was called Navin Field, after then owner Frank Navin. I hope I look that good after 105 years of wear.

Section 504

One of the nicer things which the corona panic has brought about has been the replaying of big games in local sports history. Last night I watched a replay of the final major league baseball game at Detroit's Tiger Stadium. I enjoyed it so much I watched the replay of the replay at two this morning. It's not conducive to a good night's sleep, but it was worth it.

I was there with my family that day, September 27, 1999. I had not seen the game since. We sat in Section 504, Row M, Seats 11-15. They were in left field, which gave us a perfect view of Robert Fick crushing the grand slam which sealed the win. I screamed, "Go, Go!" all the way until the ball hit the right field roof. Then I screamed even louder in, no hyperbole here, thanksgiving, because I knew the game was over. The home club simply can't lose its last game in a grand old ballpark.

As player from all eras were introduced and paraded onto the field afterwards, I saw so many heroes from my youth. Mark "The Bird" Fidrych, came out first. He ran to the pitching mound, getting on his knees to groom it as he did as a player, and produced a baggie to fill with mound dirt. Willie Horton cried unashamedly as he jogged out to his left field position. The recently departed Al Kaline, after helping in the broadcast booth during the telecast, had perhaps the loudest cheers as he walked to the right field spot he owned for two decades.

We stayed after for as long as we were allowed, even getting to catch a final view from the bleachers at my oldest son's behest. The usher was just locking the gate, but he let us in. I don't think he wanted to yet I believe he appreciated our wish.

So there you have it. A game I haven't seen in twenty years I watched twice in one night. Maybe something good has come out of things after all.

Hey there, you're an all star

What do you do when wide awake at one o'clock in the morning? You watch a replay of the 1971 All Star game from Detroit's Tiger Stadium.

It was a great ballpark. And it's really cool watching the players I grew up with young and playing well. Norm Cash, Bill Freehan, and Al Kaline were all there. The Willies, Mays and McCovey, are representing the Giants. Hank Aaron and Reggie Jackson hit monster homers.

Perhaps best of all, the stadium was still green. The old girl looked a lot better in green.

I never imagined, watching the game in the den with me Pops in 1971, that the next time I'd see it would be in the middle of a chilly September night 53 years later. Of course, at 11 you never imagine yourself at 64.

Hey look, there's Bill Freehan and Johnny Bench, two old catchers, at the plate at the same time. Too cool.

Take Joe out to the ball game

Me Grandpa Joe didn't care much about sports. I've written before about that. One of his most famous lines, one that I essentially agree with (although I struggle with its full implementation) was, "Drop the ball for all it matters." He's right, quite frankly. Sports and games really aren't particularly important. What's important are matters of real right and real wrong. When he could do something to affect such matters directly (and his own frail humanity didn't get in the way), he did.

Once me Pops, his oldest son and a big baseball fan early on, was promised by a neighbor that he'd take Dad to the Tiger game the coming Sunday. Pops was excited, as a kid and baseball fan would be. He was maybe 10 at the time. He looked forward to Sunday, to see Tiger Stadium and watch his beloved Bengals play in person. We've all been there, all felt that rush of excitement when as kids nirvana was promised. Dad was really looking forward to that game.

Sunday came, and the neighbor backed out. He had decided that he just didn't want to go after all. Pops had approached the guy on the street that morning, who told him, basically, some other time kid. Pops was crushed. So ya know what Joe did?

He took his son to the Tiger game that day. You know why he did that? Because you don't promise something like that to a kid and then back out for no good reason. You. Do. Not.

To my knowledge, that was the only baseball game, and likely the only sporting event ever outside of a rodeo (he took my older brother and I to one of those one once), Grandpa Joe attended. He did that because he was a bigger man that day than that jerk neighbor. You don't promise a kid something important to him and renig. You just don't. Joe knew that. And I don't doubt his son's respect for him grew from such things.

Pushing pencils

I bought a pencil sharpener yesterday. To sharpen pencils.

You see, I brought some crossword puzzles to do while on whatever down time I might have in Indianapolis while I'm here for a trade show. And, you know, if I really get on a tear, I might wear down the nub on the lone pencil I brought. It's a cool pencil, one I used to keep score with at Detroit Tiger Stadium. It even says 'Detroit Tigers Tiger Stadium' on it. I might need to sharpen it if I really get on a roll.

So I bought a pencil sharpener. I understand that it really pushed the local economy over the top too.

Hey, I do my part.

Cloyce the cop

My brother Phil had a good friend, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, who spent about twenty years as a reservist with the Detroit Police. He never did much more than cover at baseball and hockey games but hey, it helped the regular cops out.

Once Cloyce was working at a baseball game  at old Tiger Stadium when, as part of his rounds, he stopped by the DPD office under the stands. The sergeant, indicating a sad looking fellow sitting over to the side, told Cloyce to escort the guy from the premises for public drunkenness. So Cloyce did.

About three innings later Cloyce was back by the patrol room, and the sergeant told him to show another guy the door. The same guy, in fact. "Isn't he the one I took out before?" Cloyce asked.

"He bought another ticket and came back in," the sergeant answered with a shrug. Warning the drunk not to return a third time or he'd face a night in jail, the sergeant gave him over to Cloyce.

Cloyce spent the rest of the game keeping a sharp eye out for the miscreant. He didn't want his own reputation soiled if the guy actually did get back in the stadium a third time.

Still, he avoided the DPD office for the rest of the game.

Baseball, me, me Pops, and September 27

Today it has been twenty years since Detroit's Tiger Stadium saw its last major league baseball action. I still remember the first game me Pops took me to. He wore a suit because in those days you wore a suit even to sporting events, and I held his hand as that wonderful green cathedral opened up before me as we entered the stadium through a runway. We played Kansas City that day and won 9-7.

The Tigers beat Kansas City on September 27, 1999 by an 8-2 score. Me Pops wasn't at that game (though he went the day before with a bunch of us) but I was, along with my family. It was a great if bittersweet time, capped by a Robert Fick grand slam in the 8th inning and a Todd Jones strikeout to end the Ninth and thus the ball yard's history.

Then the Tigers played Kansas City on this date in 2012. In that game, Doug Fister (on the mound for Detroit) struck out nine straight Kansas City batters to set the American League record for most consecutive strikeouts in a game. We listened to that game at the Shop, the old barn, me Pops and I hanging on every pitch as Fister struck out batter after batter. The old man laughed happily at every strikeout after about the sixth one. It was one of the best times I had listening to games with him. And though I did not know it that day, it was the last Tiger game I ever listened to on the radio with me Pops.

It's funny, isn't it, the symmetry we so often find in life. The last game at Tiger Stadium was against Kansas City. The first game me Pops took me to was against Kansas City. The last game we shared was against Kansas City. I don't about you, but, I like it.

Sentimental old guys

I think yesterday I had my first wistful old guy moment.

A call came in from a fellow I hadn't seen in better than thirty years; I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name. Back then he worked for Smith Plumbing yet had long since left for a different job.

These days he's the plumber for a nearby school district. For years he hated the drain snake they had. But then through Dame Fortune he stumbled onto one of ours, a genuine Electric Eel Model C exactly like he used at Smith's. It was buried in storage, where Cloyce discovered it looking for something else. Needing a few cutting tools he went to Electric Eel's website and found us. "Marty, it's a voice from the past. I'm Cloyce. I worked at Smith's, remember?"

"In fact I do," I answered. Indeed I remembered his voice quite clearly. "How are you?"

"Good." He explained the situation and when I said I had what he wanted in stock, he came on down.

An hour later he was in the old barn and we were talking old times. "Mr. Smith died awhile back. Drank himself to death unfortunately," Cloyce explained.

"That's sad," I responded sadly. You do hate to hear things like that.

Cloyce's face then noticeably lit up. "Hey, how's your Dad?" he asked expectantly.

"We lost him six years ago last month. June 25th."

"I'm really sorry Marty. I always liked listening to his jokes and stories."

"Thanks. I, I like hearing that," I stammered.

We spent an hour talking about old plumbers, telling each other tales neither of us (I think) had heard before. We talked about old Tiger Stadium and how we both missed it, that we both had good times taking our kids there. He showed me pictures of an old Corvette Stingray he'd bought off Smith's widow. He restored it and was going to sell it. "Too much car for me, but the guy who was first trying to buy it was ripping her off."

It was odd hearing Cloyce's voice coming from the face of a much older man. He maybe thought the same about me. I guess that's how it is when you don't see someone in three decades.

It was a nice visit. "I'm glad you guys are still in it. It was good to see you man," Cloyce was saying as he left.

"Good seeing you too," I said, and I meant it truly.

"I'll be back when I need more stuff."

"Great, thanks." He got into his work truck and was on his way.

I made myself a cup of coffee on my new used Keurig and sat quietly at my desk for a few minutes. After taking a sip when the coffee had cooled a bit I thought, 'Well, the old barn ain't gonna clean itself'. I went back to work.

The evil that Marty do

I did it anyway, even though it was pure evil. Call it my Father's Day gift to myself. I blame society anyway. If it hadn't furnished me with inventions such as cell phones with picture taking and internet capability, I couldn't have done it. It's all your fault, society.
It was evil, mind you. Pure evil. When you must duck under clearly marked caution tape and ignore do not trespass signs as well, you know you're doing something wrong. Evil, indeed. But gosh darn it, I'd do it again. In a heartbeat.
I walked onto Wayne Sate University's baseball field, having access because the backstop behind home plate is being replaced, the construction zone guarded by mere caution tape. That is nowhere near good enough to prevent determined evildoers. I walked to within thirty feet of the scoreboard in left field, the same scoreboard which used to adorn the left field wall at old Tiger Stadium here in Detroit. I took a picture of it. Then, to compound my evil, I posted the picture to facebook, taunting WSU. Nya-ha-ha! I thought, as I twirled the old timey curly evil villain mustache I imagined for the moment that I had.
And then I simply walked away. What were the authorities going to do by then, throw me out? I was leaving anyhow.

At the ballpark with Cloyce

My brother Phil had a good friend, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, who spent about twenty years as a reservist with the Detroit Police. He never did much more than cover at baseball and hockey games but hey, it helped the regular cops out.
Once Cloyce was working at a baseball at old Tiger Stadium when, as part of his rounds, he stopped by the DPD office under the stands. The sergeant, indicating a sad looking fellow sitting over to the side, told Cloyce to escort the guy from the premises for public drunkenness. So Cloyce did.
About three innings later Cloyce was back by the patrol room, and the sergeant told him to show another guy the door. The same guy, in fact. "Isn't he the one I took out before?" Cloyce asked.
"He bought another ticket and came back in," the sergeant answered with a shrug. Warning the drunk not to return a third time or he'd face a night in jail, the sergeant gave him over to Cloyce.
Cloyce spent the rest of the game keeping a sharp eye out for the miscreant. He didn't want his own reputation soiled if the guy actually did get back in the stadium.

Saturday rambling

What to say on a Saturday...

Technology really is great. I just spent a half hour messaging back and forth with a friend in the Philippines, in real time. I never imagined something like that would ever be possible in my lifetime. The Philippines were at one time just some islands half a world away. Now they're right on my desktop computer.

Rest in peace Mike Ilitch. I hated that you closed Detroit's Tiger Stadium but I loved your commitment to Detroit. Thank you.

An old customer came into the old barn yesterday. We reminisced on old times and old friends. We talked about Pops and how well he treated people. We talked about a few mundane things like drain snakes; does anyone else even know what a Spartan 71 is? We lamented the aging process. I'm damned glad he came by.

I wish I was curling today. Although there's still about eight weeks left to the season I see the end coming. I haven't had my best season performance wise, but physically I haven't felt so comfortable in years. Amazing what getting into half decent shape does for ya, ain't it?

The WWETT (look it up; I'm not your mother) is in ten days or so. I get to spend four days in Indianapolis and see folks that I only see there. Indy's a great town: it seems bigger every time I'm there, which is often. I really can't wait to get back.

Curling makes lifelong friends. I hadn't curled in Forest, Ontario in about five years until last Wednesday and had three locals come up to me and ask, "How are you, Marty?" Curlers remember curlers. Other than Kate's friend Elaine that is. I'll explain that later.

Since most folks have stopped reading by now, I'll stop writing. So long!

Detroit Holds the Cards on Tiger Stadium Preservation

It is a question which vexes the body politic: what do you do with a property which has a certain historic value yet currently lies dormant? There is little doubt that we Americans, as persons and a society, tend to think with a little too much certainty that what we think important is indeed important. We are then insulted when the next person doesn't agree. Ah, man. The political animal.

An interesting example of this exists in the City of Detroit today. We have, on one hand, a hearty group of preservationists working diligently to keep a strong memory of the past as intact, well, as intact as they can. On the other hand, we find (or supposedly find) developers wishing to do something quite different with that same parcel. Each is sure they have the best idea for the land in mind. But do they?

We are talking about the land which once contained Detroit's Tiger Stadium. Preservationists such as the Navin Field Grounds Crew wish to keep it for its purpose of more than 100 years: baseball. Developers want to do something else: put up shops, apartments, or even facilities for the Parade Company, which oversees the annual Thanksgiving parade in town.

Each side has their talking points. One says history and tradition could and should be kept alive there. The other, that it's just a piece of land, and yadda, yadda, the back and forth begins. But to get to the point, there really is an easy answer to it all.

Let whomever actually owns the land decide what to do with it.

Yes, that means the City of Detroit. Yes, that means the old ballyard is subject to the same stupidity which has brought the city to bankruptcy. But who else has the moral right to do something with their property except the owner?

We will readily concede that it would be a fine gesture on Detroit's part to sell or cede the land to those doing the upkeep. Or perhaps they could up with the money to purchase it and keep it up as they now do. We even sympathize with the preservationists, for what that's worth, knowing how poorly the city does things.

But its their thing, and there's no getting around that. It's theirs, and all else is subject to their whims. What else can be said? We must wait Detroit out and hope for the best. Any other idea is simply a pipe dream.

Detroit's Negligence is Showing, Again

Chevrolet has made an offer to the Detroit Economic Growth Corporation to fix up the site of old Tiger Stadium for youth baseball. This is an offer which has come on top of many other offers to revitalize the historic site as a community center, possibly with retail and/or housing, while maintaining the integrity of the field itself. It comes after private groups such as the Old Tiger Stadium Conservancy and groups of citizens have (on their own time with their own cash) worked regularly to keep the local field of dreams in decent shape. It comes after Michigan Senator Carl Levin had earmarked $3.8 million in federal funds to keep part of the old ballpark standing as a museum and community center. It comes while no developer has stepped up to turn the land into something else despite the City of Detroit's insistence that it is valuable commercial property.

Why does the City of Detroit continue to balk at what are clearly the wishes of the community and allow the site to reserved for what it had been for over one hundred years: a place to play baseball. Especially when you consider that so many of the offers which have come up do not rely on City money. Detroit has done squat for the site, yet private citizens routinely fix it up.

Of course, they're trespassers, as we pointed out several months ago. The City is worried about liability issues, since a public building used to stand on the property. Well, then, arrest them. Arrest those community members who dare act where their local government won't. Get them out of the way so that you can get one of the phantom property developers to take on the site and do something with it.

The fact is that Detroit doesn't want negative publicity. Indeed, Detroit doesn't seem to know what it wants at all. The City won't even take the lead from the people and let it become what they want of it. In that light, it's no wonder that outsiders scoff at Detroit's claims that it wants to better itself. It can't even come to terms with itself on such an obvious answer to the community will. The people want it, the people are keeping it up: let the people have it. What is actually happening here is along the lines of benign neglect, pure and simple.

Sometimes leadership means just getting out of the way. Stand aside, city hall, and let the people do what you will not: preserve a piece of history.

Tiger Stadium off limits

Tiger Stadium is history now; Detroiters know that and have come to accept it, so far as they can. Yet an interesting things has been happening the last couple of years. People have come out and done what they can to maintain the basic integrity of the baseball diamond. They have cut the grass and removed weeds from the infield. They have played pickup games on it, for sentiment's sake, on Detroit's own field of dreams.

But can it last? A police officer was stationed at one of the gates in the fence which now surrounds the site, checking to see if it was locked securely. When asked, he explained that it was not legal to enter the field. Since a building once stood there, a building owned by the city of Detroit, no one could be allowed in, for liability reasons. They might get hurt and sue.

The sad part about that is it is easily imaginable that someone would do just that. A handful, or even just one person, could very well make it bad on everyone else by doing something stupid, or even completely accidental, and effectively deny the ones who simply want to have a catch on a former Major League diamond the opportunity. Detroit may well be protecting herself from frivolous lawsuits by keeping folks off the property.

But is that the case, or is this simply lawyers running amok to prove their validity and earn their city pay? As there are many city owned sites around town not similarly fenced off, it seems a stretch to think that only the Tiger Stadium field would offer hazards no different than those. Granted, more people are likely attracted to Michigan and Trumbull. Yet we have to ask: is that property being subjected to closer scrutiny because it is a greater hazard, or because the city wants us to forget what it means to Detroit baseball fans?

Maybe Detroit wants the psychological distance so that it can offer the property for development. Or to sound really conspiritorial, perhaps the Ilitch family who own the Tigers don't want attention taken from their park? It is even possible that Detroit actually has the best interests of its citizens and taxpayers at stake and truly wants to protect us. Still, it seems fair to ask that, if certain dedicated people want to keep up appearances on a treasured local landmark, to keep it from becoming just another weedy vacant lot in a town overgrown with them, and by their own efforts with their own money, and even playing a game or two on it, why not set aside concerns about liability and let them?

Whatever the reason, the situation rather stinks. We cannot help but think that the City's concerns are overblown. Sadly, common sense takes another blow, and the real baseball fans are the ones hurt the most. Our governments claim to care for history, yet abort work done to preserve it. These days, while hoping for more, we should expect nothing less.

What Makes a Community

Ford Field and Comerica Park are about a mile from where the old Tiger Stadium sat here in Detroit, Michigan. It's nothing but a field now, yet something special seems to be happening there. A dedicated group of folks have been maintaining the basic integrity of the baseball diamond and the playing field as a whole, while also mowing down the brush which had at one point this year dominated the area where the stands had been. Further, pick up games are a regular occurrence at The Corner, as well as families just showing up to toss the old pill around or hit a few on a field where so many sports heroes have appeared over time. It was a personal pleasure this summer to help a bit with the upkeep, and even more of a thrill to hit a ball around on the diamond and have a catch with my own sons on a place which almost feels sacred to me. That's hyperbole, I know, yet it is a sentiment from which I will not back away.

More than that, even football fans are arriving to stand on the grounds and show a thing or two to their kids. As I rode my bike past there yesterday morning, there were a good 20 Lions fans, most in Lions regalia as they tailgated before that afternoon's match with the St. Louis Rams at Ford Field and were waiting for shuttles to the game. That's fitting in it's own way, seeing as the Lions played there for around 40 years. But more, it was obvious that the ones with kids were out there for ulterior if completely understandable motives: pointing out where they sat as kids growing up in and around Detroit, showing who played where, and even, perhaps, describing spectacular plays they had seen, or standing near where Larry Herndon caught the final out of that wonderful 1984 World Series. 1984 will never mean to Orwellians what it means to Detroiters, and for rightly better reasons. They were there, these parents, seeing history, and showing what they could of it to their progeny, hoping that some small part of it would stay with their children as the kids grew up.

So, what have we here? Simply, we have what makes a community. Shared experiences, shared thoughts, a common past, an appreciation for unity, and a willingness to impart what we can of that to our young. We can see in what's happening at The Corner things which politicians cannot create for us: ourselves, and our place in the grand scheme of things. We see that it all boils down to each individual willingly accepting that we are all in this together, and that while the common good is critically important, it is the person who ultimately matters most because that is how the common good is built. The person who understands that there are others just like him and is able to reach the souls of those others. That's when we have a community. Not when it is forced upon us by government order, but by ordered personal will.

Just an Empty Lot

I pass by the field which was Tiger stadium regularly, and I regularly sigh. What was once a grand baseball palace is now another Detroit vacant lot.

In all likelihood nothing will ever come of it. That's the City for you: all talk. Well, mostly talk: it amazes me that they cannot get an eyesore like the old train station on Vernor torn down despite its standing empty since the 80's, but they could get that ballyard razed within a decade of its closing.

I suppose it's all in their priorities. I think former mayor Kwame Kilpatrick wanted it gone so that he could seem an active leader or to keep in the favor of the Ilitch family; no second stadium means no competition for their Tigers. Any way you slice it, there's one less chunk of Americana.

Heavy sigh. We do not appreciate things they way we ought. Yet we wonder why there's little respect for people and things anymore. There's a lesson in there somewhere, but we'll never learn it.