I grew up in a tough neighborhood on the east side of Detroit. We moved there from another Detroit neighborhood in 1960 when I was 4 years old, a result of my parents search for a nicer home and better environment. At the time, the new neighborhood was a lower middle class assortment of Italian and Polish immigrants – mostly Catholic, peppered with a few black families and those like mine; a mixture of a Scottish Irish immigrant mother and a father from the South. It was a fun and interesting amalgamation of ethnicity and cultural traditions that, at the same time, challenged and enveloped the “American dream.” Let me add, the American dream is and remains in a constant state of transition and redefinition. In a few short years the neighborhood began a tumultuous freefall that started with the entrance of the typical elements of urban sprawl; the drug culture, which introduced crime, which brought in white flight, lower property values and ultimately, the lethal state of urban decay that resulted in whole neighborhoods of empty fields dotted with abandoned and burnt out houses used for drug deals and worse. By the time I was a young teenager the American dream had become a nightmare for those unfortunate enough to call the area home.
I went to Catholic school. St. Ambrose, the church I was baptized in, was a mere two blocks from my home. It lay on the border between Detroit and Grosse Point Park, off of Alter Rd. The elementary school, new at the time, was on the Detroit side of Alter Rd. and the high school was on the Grosse Point side. That Alter Road dividing line literally separated heaven (Grosse Point) and hell (Detroit). I know….real dramatic. But ask anyone who lived on either side and they’ll tell you. The difference in two blocks is as day and night.
School was an assorted mixture of Detroit and Grosse Point kids. It wasn’t a problem unless you considered the way the GP kids dressed, or at least that was the view of my cohorts and I. We had ambiguous opinions on the GP kids and looked down on them amongst ourselves. I'm sure they did the same. By the time we hit 6th or 7th grade, we were pretty much separated into groups by zip code. I don’t know if we understood that. It was never really put into words. It wasn't a bitter rivalry or anything like that. In fact, in school, we all got along okay. We could work on projects with them and make fun of teachers with them. It was outside of school on the grounds and in our groups that the we were separate. We were worlds apart and somehow we knew it although if you had asked us, we would have just said they were snobs, dressed weird and were spoiled rich kids. It was that simple. I guess I don’t really know what they said about us. In fact, I never really thought about it. But to this day, I can spot a Grosse Pointer at 100 yards.
My posse and I came from dysfunctional families to say the least. Each of the five of us had a story, with family issues, reckless conduct, close calls and tragedies. One of us did not survive. The rest have struggled, made gains, had losses, and have lost touch. In recent years, I thought perhaps this is the legacy of the urban landscape but I have come to realize how shortsighted that frame of thought is. To be sure, I have run into GP alum from St. Ambrose who have done exceedingly well, attending elite colleges and landing in well heeled professions. They’ve continued on in the traditions of their families. With time, I’ve overcome my blind prejudice and come to see those as good things, not something to be minimized. I've found that dysfunction knows no class or gender and visits and perpetrates its misery on the haves and have nots alike if conditions are right. But likewise, neither do hopes and dreams belong to one specific group. We all want our children to do better than we did and we hope we can provide that opportunity for them. Those hopes and dreams belong to everyone regardless of zip code. While its true that paucity often times lends itself to sad results down the line, that is not always the case. There are success stories; those who defy the odds and overcome their harsh environment, either through supportive family and friends, sheer determination of will, or, maybe a little of both.
I’m thankful that I survived my youth. It was not an easy time, and there was precious little guidance from anywhere. But I made it. I have raised two children of my own through some pretty hard times but they are both fine upstanding people. And I hope for them, the things that all parents who love their children hope.
