March 13th, a.k.a. 313 Day—those of us from the D celebrate our love for the city today. Here are 13 ways you can spend 313 Day 2021 in Detroit, or you can re-read my love memoir to the city I wrote a few years ago, circa 313 Day 2018. Forever Detroit, born and bred. Happy 313!
THREE ONE THREE FOREVER
Published March 9, 2018
I’m from Detroit. Westside. Off Seven mile. My parents bought the house that I grew up in in the mid to late 1970s and lived there for over 35 years. It was the only home that I knew, and Detroit was the only city I had lived in until I went away to college. Since then, I’ve watched the neighborhood morph into rows of dilapidated houses and abandonment. After a lot of contemplation, my parents finally sold our home and moved a few years ago. Last weekend, I felt nostalgic. So I went back. The man who lives there now was so very kind to allow me to take some photos. So here it is. My brief love memoir to Detroit because this city has shaped every single facet of my life.
Recently, I had a patient who was from Malawi. He was planning to go back for a visit in May to see family. He asked me had I ever been to Africa. I told him no. Brian traveled to Ghana in high school. I didn’t go. I was frank and said to him that I, for some reason, have never had a desire to go to Africa. His response to me was great. He told me I might not have desired to go because the media probably has tainted my perception. He went on to say, “It’s not all like that. Listen to me; let me tell you about Africa from firsthand experience.” I’ll say this, by the time I finished talking to him, I was considering a trip. That’s my goal here. To do for you, what my warmhearted patient did for me.
Detroit was education
The Detroit Public School system was one of the best things my neighborhood offered. The neighborhood’s primary, elementary, and middle schools were all within walking distance of our house. My parents still drove us to school the majority of the time though. DPS was an incomparable community of principals, teachers, and staff that were totally invested. I can’t name all ofthem, but there is room for a few shout outs.
Emma A. Fox was a small primary school with two stand-alone “portables” to house extra classrooms. This is where I went for kindergarten through second grade.
It was there that Mrs. Coville, a white woman with short, straight, blonde hair and a somewhat eccentric but hospitable vibe taught me my first Langston Hughes poem.
Ms. Fort, probably the youngest teacher there at the time, taught Spanish. I never forgot my numbers, Ms. Fort!
Warren E. Bow was my elementary school for 4th and 5th grade. Dr. Graves, the principal, was a burly black man with a thick beard and black-rimmed glasses, who you could find every single day perusing the schoolyard, threatening discipline or talking to parents. He was very paternal and ran a tight ship. Looking back, I realize how important that was.
Mrs. Bisio, a health-conscious woman with curly blonde hair and thin glasses attached to string worn around her neck, thought it critical for her young 5th-grade class to watch and discuss the entire Roots series. I remember her bringing in one of those professional popcorn makers for those movie days. That fresh popcorn was so good. Before classes started in the morning, you could find Mrs. Bisio doing laps in the hallway.
Mrs. Bowman was the no-nonsense 4th-grade math teacher with flawless skin and great hair (she drank water ALL day). She was also big on discipline. She was notorious for her 60 second pop math quizzes. One wrong answer was an automatic failure. She was tough, but we knew our math! Her son was heavenly fine, and all the young girls had a crush on him.
Mr. Steiner, a short white man with very thin lips overshadowed by a mustache, introduced me to my first soiree with art. I will discuss him a little later.
Then there was middle school, Wilford L. Coffey. Mrs. Lindsay, our beloved principal, called us her “Coffey cups.” Our assistant principal was Mrs. Maxwell, a fair-skinned black woman with a military background who I often referred to as my second mom because I traveled so much with her. Every year she would take a group of students to the National Black MBA Association Conference.
Mrs. Haldane, my middle school math teacher, a short woman (even shorter than me) with a brunette bob and whimsy bangs, was probably one of the sweetest teachers I have ever met. I remember she offered to drive me home one time. We hopped into her Lincoln Continental, and as we are headed west down Cambridge, approaching my street, she starts to put on her left blinker and says, “I know you are on the other side of 7 mile right?” The “other side” or south side of 7 mile was a little better, with brick bungalows. I casually responded, “nope, I’m on this side!” She still regularly sends cards and letters to me and my mom.
Mrs. Heading, a gorg black woman with a sweet demeanor, was my biggest influencer with art exposure. I’ll talk about her a little later too.
After Coffey, I was accepted into Renaissance High School, one of four magnet high schools in the city. There were teachers like Ms. Nina Scott, the crème de la crème of music teachers, highly respected by her students, the legendary Mr. Kline, a temperate, quirky genius with a mad scientist flare, and Mr. Davis, a down to earth ROTC teacher with a kind heart.
I went to undergrad at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. This was my first non-Detroit experience with education. It was somewhat predetermined for me. In middle school, I worked extra hard and made all A’s (a 4.o GPA) on every single report card from 6th thru 8th grade. It did not go unnoticed; I was awarded a Wade McCree Scholarship. If I could maintain a 3.0 GPA throughout high school, I would have my tuition covered at a selected school (mine was UofM), pending my acceptance there of course. I applied to other universities during my senior year but I still clearly remember the day I got that acceptance letter to UofM. It was a no-brainer; it was all GO BLUE at that point.
When I decided to go back for my master’s degree I wanted it to be at the University of Detroit Mercy, a private university in the city. I was thrilled when I got accepted. I was going back to become a Nurse Practitioner. While in NP school, I met Dr. Eric Ayers, an internal medicine specialist affiliated with Wayne State, who became my mentor.
I can’t forget to mention the time I spent at Jessie Chase branch of the Detroit Public Library on seven mile and Southfield freeway.
Detroit taught me.
Detroit was love
There was my family. My dad raised my sister, my brother and me to be close-knit, often saying to us “you are all each other have.” It stuck. So it’s kind of obvious why Detroit was love for me. It was not just my immediate family; I had aunties and cousins in the city too. My Aunt, the one who makes the best cornbread dressing in the history of cornbread dressing, and four older cousins also lived on the west side. We visited as often as we could. Fun times!
At one point one of my best friends, Lashonda lived directly across the street from me in a white ranch styled house. My mom and her mom probably grew tired of us asking, ‘can I come over?’ Her family moved sometime before we got to middle school.
Then there is Brian, my high school sweetheart. He asked me to be his girl on March 20, 1998 in the new edition of the old Renaissance High School (on Outer Drive). He was a bi-Detroiter. He lived half of his life on the West side and the latter half of his life on the East side before going out of state to college. We still laugh at my dad’s leeriness with Brian when I first told him that he lived on the East side. I had to follow up with “but Dad he was originally from the West side.”
This is where I can throw in my blurb about Belle Isle, an island park on the Michigan side of the Detroit River. One of my lasting Belle Isle memories is with Brian in high school. Park security caught us kissing, JUST kissing, after park hours. Don’t worry, we got married. He’s now my baby daddy. Oh the memories of Belle Isle!
When I pulled up to my old house this past weekend, I had not been there 10 minutes before I heard my name being called from a car that was passing by. What up doe? It was Jermaine Bembry, a guy from the next street over who I grew up with. “What are you doing here?!” he asked. My response: “Oh just visiting, taking a few pics!” He quipped, “nobody believes you came from here, do they?!” We joked, reminisced a little; it was just like we were back in school.
As I took pics, there were nods, waves, and proud shouts of “DETROIT… 7 mile…” from cars driving down Pembroke. Love to @nicolee_richee, who actually pulled over to find my Instagram and website to support! They even offered to stop traffic for me so I could “get a good pic”! It was all love. Home, sweet home.
Detroit was beauty
I think Silver Spoon salon on seven mile was my formal introduction to next level beauty. If you weren’t getting a “sew in” hair weave done by one of the infamous Kia’s, you could get your brows done by the best esthetician in the city, Tiffany Wright. Some ten plus years later, I still drive, from Ann Arbor to have Tiff take care of my brows. Why? She is the best, hands down. All my love to Eye Envy!
The same goes for my hair. Shout out to Erica the stylist, out of Detroit, who has been taking care of my hair for the past few years. No one compares to the beautiful talent out of the D.
Detroit was music
I was a church girl, so the majority of my musical sway came from constantly being in the midst of local church music. Plus my dad has been singing quartet gospel since as far back as I can remember. This is what I grew up listening to. My sibs and I would sit through some of his rehearsals held at a small church on the east side. Outside of my dad and his group (The Emmanuals), Vanessa Bell Armstrong, The Clark Sisters, and Fred Hammond, all gospel artists from Detroit were always on repeat and then repeat again. Let me tell you, it still does not get any better than listening to Vanessa Bell Armstrong croon, riff, and completely slay ‘Peace Be Still.’
I still go to church in Detroit.
Music for me was also Henry Ford high school’s marching band in the late ’90s. They were the hypest band I’ve ever seen or heard. My sister was a majorette. The band instructor, Mrs. Horse, a “healthy” forthright black woman who wore feathered fedoras and long a-line skirts, kept the band active in some parade or shindig every weekend it seemed. On any given Saturday you could find me on the sidelines marching and dancing along.
Of course, throwback to listening to remixes and watching guys jit. Brian was pretty good at jitting.
I was also a choir girl. I honestly never was not in a choir. My church choir, my high school’s varsity choir, and then there was the time I spent in Mosaic. Mosaic was a youth development organization in Detroit that offered professional performing arts training in singing, acting, and technical theater. I auditioned for the Mosaic Ensemble in high school. Three days a week I headed to historic Fort Wayne for practice. Kenneth Anderson was the director at that time. He was a Renaissance alumnus, a musical product of Ms. Scott.
So many choir performances, choir tours, black college tours, the exposure was priceless.
Detroit IS music. I won’t even begin to mention the long list of grand musical talent either born with Detroit blood, raised on Detroit ground, or who grinded it out in Detroit streets. Ok just for kicks, there’s Aaliyah, Anita Baker, Alice Cooper, Big Sean, DeBarge, DeJ Loaf, Eminem, Aretha Franklin, the Four Tops, The Winans family, Smokey Robinson, Sonny Bono (Sonny & Cher), Rare Earth, Ray Parker Jr, Carl Carltan, Jackie Wilson, Freda Payne, Sufjan Stevens, Marshall Crenshaw, Alice Coltrane, MC5, The White Stripes, Stevie Wonder, Royce da 5’9″ , George Clinton, Martha Reeves, Kem, Madonna, and my personal favorite, Diana Ross… to name a few.
Detroit was art.
Back to my art teachers… In elementary school, my 5th grade art teacher Mr. Steiner, was the one who launched me to take my artistic side more serious. I remember him entering a few of us into a concept car design competition. I think it was for General Motors, or one of the big three.
Mrs. Sheryl Heading continued to nurture the artist in me. With her, I began drawing everything from comic book heroes to landscaping. Her specialty was jewelry making and so, of course, I learned that too. She personally (and beautifully) matted my artwork and made sure it had a place at the Detroit Institute of Arts student exhibitions. These types of opportunities were everything to me.
I’m pretty sure she was the one who introduced me to Saturday Art School at Wayne State University too. On Saturday mornings for several weeks, I would head down to Wayne State to participate in a class with various artists of all different ages, working on weekly projects trying to become better at their craft.
I still keep in contact with Mrs Heading.
Detroit was taste.
Where do I begin? My momma’s kitchen, the corner store or Coney Island? My mom did not have a “gourmet kitchen” but she churned out top-notch culinary magic. There is absolutely no comparison to her fried chicken or sweet potato pie! When we were old enough, she would let us walk down to the corner of Archdale and 7 mile to Jerry’s. Jerry knew all of the neighborhood kids. You can probably guess the types of things we were buying, Now and Laters, Doritos, Flaming hot Cheetos, Faygo Pop. When we were old enough to drive, the go-to was Coney Island. Hearty omelettes and hash for breakfast or chili cheese fries for dinner, no matter what, it was all good.
As for pop, my preference has changed from Faygo to Vernors!
Detroit was style.
My first memo on high fashion Detroit style was in middle school when I saw a pair of Cartiers. In Detroit, owning a pair of “Yays” solidified your style status. I’ve never owned a pair but I do think they are pretty darn sweet.
Detroit style has always been bold and recognizable. Bright colors, Gators…Detroit hustles harder, Detroit flosses harder.
I remember buying my first pair of navy blue Timberlands.
I remember Hudson’s in Northland.
I remember the trends, Nautica jackets, GUESS, Coogi sweaters and gold chains.
There is now fresh retail in the city like Detroit is the New Black.
There is also now the homegrown label Detroit vs Everybody brand by Tommey Walker. Walker originally envisioned a brand that could “rebuild Detroit”s image” and unite the city of Detroit while politely flipping the bird to the rest of the world. I love the “politely” part.
I have been privy to more than a few conversations with hypercritical individuals who make unenlightened generalizations about the city. Whether their perspective comes from cloaked racism, ethnocentrism, or gullibility from listening to someone, racist or ethnocentric, who “told” them something about the city and/or the people who live there, my response to them is generally the same, don’t do that. Don’t judge a place that you have little to no experience with, a place you only know in passing or through hearsay. By the time I graduated high school, I had done more traveling across the United States than I could remember. My exposure to art and music left nothing to be desired. Shoot, I’ve never even owed a dime of student loans, all because this city was full of great people with golden hearts, and big opportunities for those who seized them.
Even in its “imperfections,” I see gold. Yes, for many years I drove with a steel laced bat tucked away on the driver’s seat of my car. Yes, I was prepared to use it. In fact I came very close to using it at a gas station near UofD Mercy’s campus. Yes, I have mastered how to dodge massive potholes safely. Yes, my awareness of my surroundings is dialed to always be on ten. Thanks Detroit. What is life with no survivor skills?
There will be those obnoxious few who will question my true love for this city because I don’t live there now. After I completed my undergraduate studies, I never moved back. During my sophomore year of college, I received an internship position at Karmanos Cancer Center on John R near downtown Detroit. After completing my degree, I was offered a full-time nursing position there. I commuted to work for several years and still decided to live in Ann Arbor. I had cozied into this college town and loved what it had to offer. It fit me for where I was in life. Plus, the plan was to have my long-term career goals play out at the University of Michigan.
To me, living in another city doesn’t take away what Detroit has been to me or how I feel about it. Just as the old proverb expresses, your home will always be the place for which you feel the deepest affection, no matter where you are. For those that still want to debate my D authenticity, I’ll follow in Tommey Walkers footsteps and just politely… well, never mind.
It was a great visit back to my old neighborhood. As I was leaving and walked back past the weathered wooden fence my dad had put up many years ago, I felt two things: gratitude and loyalty. Thank you Detroit. You’ve been good to me. Three one three… Seven mile, forever.
Photo Credit: Timothy Blanks
