7130 Milton Street, Detroit, Michigan circa 1957
I don’t know what compelled me to take a trip down memory lane a few years ago? What did I expected to see of the old neighborhood? My mother and brother accompanied me on this journey. We drove south on Van Dyke to our final destination, Milton Street, between 6 Mile Road and Lynch Road. This is where I grew up. With each mile road the stories of days long gone were refreshed in my mind. I saw the bar that my softball team frequented, St. Clemens Church where I sang for weddings, the hospital where my step-grandfather died, Packard Street where my family lived for a short while, the corner of 8 Mile and Van Dyke where I caught the bus for St. Anthony’s High School every morning, Lypkie Park, Mt. Olivet Cemetery where my grandmother and step-grandfather are buried, Holy Name Church where I attended church and 7th and 8th grade, and then there was Lynch Public School. This was my grade school. This was my neighborhood.
Holy Name Catholic Church- 1950's
Holy Name Church. I attended the school for two years. The Catholic education had a tremendous impact on me, as I learned how to learn and even had desires of becoming a priest. Well, for a short while, that is. I came to know Jesus and the saints and my faith was embedded in my heart as a young boy. My teachers were nuns. One told me that I had insight and an ability to explain my point of view using metaphors. It must have been funny to her, as from that point on I tried to incorporate a new metaphor as often as I could. Sister "lippy-dog", as some called her, was somewhat of a tyrant. She hit kids with a yardstick when they they misbehaved.
Okay, I never admitted this to anyone. I had a crush on one of the young nuns. She looked like Audrey Hepburn. She taught me how to diagram sentences and how to love from afar.
Lynch School today
The innocence of my youth came to the forefront of my mind as we turned into Palmetto Street and entered the old neighborhood. There was the Lynch School playground where gym class assembled. The dash to the fence elevated of my status of being one of the fastest runners at the school. I excelled at the 50-yard dash and the softball throw.
My father actually attended that school many years earlier. In fact, we both had the same physical education teacher. His formal education ended at the seventh grade, just a year after his Lynch days. He was from a family of nine siblings and as soon as he was able to work- that’s what a boy from the lower class did. He worked. All contributed to the welfare of the entire family. My father was a scavenger. He made money anyway he could.
I was spared the hard times of my parents generation. Both worked- my father as a truck driver and my mother as a secretary for Plymouth Motor Company, a division of Chrysler Corporation. Succeeding academically was instilled in me. My mother stressed good grades, or, at least "do your best" she would say. Fear was my motivating factor. To be honest, I mostly thought about after school activities- playing pickup baseball, football or handball at the local playground.
The race
Unattainable Fantasies
Each academic year I had an imaginary girlfriend, albeit a youthful infatuation. Paul Anka's song "Puppy Love" said it all. The adults would say that we were kids- what did we know about love? Patricia Samone was my first love. She and her twin brother Patrick were in my first grade class. Every chance I had, I would look to the back of the room and give her a smile. They looked so much alike, sometimes I didn't know who received my attention. I also recall having a major crush on Sharon Omar. I don’t think we ever had a conversation, but that didn’t stop me from wishing the school day would provide me the opportunity to get a glimpse of her. That would be enough to make my day. My feelings were deep as a young lad could conceive, as I volunteered to stay behind a grade, not graduate elementary school, so I would be in the same class with her. Thank God that never happened. I never would see her again. She would attend public middle school and I chose Catholic school.
Palmetto Street
Noni, my maternal grandmother posing for the picture.
I didn’t realize that the boarded up grade school would be an omen for the devastating reality of urban blight that we would witness that cold and cloudy day. It became more apparent as we drove down the block that what was once a charming five square block neighborhood was for all intents and purposes gone; It disappeared. What was left were mostly empty lots and a few abandoned homes. I wondered if my grandmother’s house was still standing? She and my step-grandfather, “Paul” as he wanted to be called, lived in a cute single level home just a block from Lynch school. Some of my first memories as a child were on that street, and in that house. I recall my step-aunt, Jenny, and I stopping our play momentarily to talk to the two twin girls who lived a few doors down. They were so excited to tell us of their plans to go swimming at Belle Isle Beach. We learned a couple of days later that they both drowned later that very day. We didn’t know them well, but this experience was a harsh introduction to tragedy. How could they be here one moment and gone the next? That didn't make sense to a five year old. I was saddened and fearful at the same time.
The twins in the upper left side-back row. Aunt Jenny and me in the front row-Jenny is kneeling.
The house on Palmetto Street is gone. There are no remains.
Milton Street
My grandparents moved to Milton Street. This was one block south of Palmetto Street. My father grew up on Milton Street. Noni and Paul moved into a cute 800 square foot, two bedroom, home that was just two houses from the corner store. I was assigned on occasion to buy milk, eggs and bread. A buck would take care of that. I didn't mind the chore as the store had tons of penny candies for sale. I was able to buy a few treats with the change.
Paul and Noni in front of their home- my parents' Chevy
An Ominous Sign
On Milton Street there were a few occupied homes, but most homes were gone. It was as if they just vanished leaving no trace of existence- no remains of a foundation. I couldn't believe it. I recalled the days when those well maintained homes, so compacted together spoke about an innocent time. My aunt and uncle's home, also on Milton, was gone and so was my father’s home that was a few doors down. We proceeded down the street with anticipation. As we came closer to Noni and Paul’s home, we noticed a man dressed in black slowly walking away from our car down the middle of the street. He was to himself and paid no attention to us- just kept looking down. I later realized how prophetic this would be. At first I thought it odd that he had absolutely no concern for oncoming traffic. What traffic? Why would he walk on the sidewalk- what would be the point?
The remains
"This might be the house" I shouted out. But, it looked different. I don't remember there being large bushes in the front, and the siding was different from the imitation brick that I recall. I see three windows in the attic. I thought there was one? The front porch looks so much smaller. I painted that porch a metal gray a few times and remember it being so much larger. The front door of the house is missing, and we could see into it's shell. "So dark. I would love to look inside," I said. The cloudy day provided very little natural light inside the house. I thought of getting out of the car and peeking in, but just then two wild dogs dashed out through the front door opening. I let our car creep forward slowly, studying the house closely, and stopped only to take photos. Then it struck me, "This must be Noni’s house!" It was indeed my grandparent’s home! The east side of the house substantiated the fact. The missing siding revealed a fake brick underneath. The drastically sagging back porch was still there. There's the kitchen and the dining room windows. But, the garage was gone.
On Reflection...
We became very quiet as we just starred at the remains of our old home. I felt the emptiness. It saddened me that what was once a little home full of life was now dead. What happened to this neighborhood? Oh, it was not like everyone on the block had a close friendship. But, it seemed to me on reflection that everyone respected each other and expressed that by keeping up their homes and property. Now, there is no school- no corner store- no malt shop- no kids playing. It is a ghost town.
I still reflect on many stories that this house held inside it's walls. I think of that lonely man walking down the street all dressed in black. It was as if he represented death- Scrooge’s ghost of the future. Walking away from us as he did that morning said- why look for the living among the dead? This old house on Milton Street served it's purpose. It is now a shelter for wild dogs, and it was time for me to let it go- as painful as it was that day. Perhaps that home represented a more simple and innocent time of my life. As Roseanne Cash's lyrics say, "God is in the Roses."
