By Charles Sercombe

“Is Detroit worth saving?”

That’s the headline in an article written by Joseph Romm in today’s (Nov. 12) salon.com.

Check it out because Romm makes some compelling points on why if the federal government agrees to “bail out” the U.S. auto industry, there ought to be plenty of strings attached.

Why?

Romm says that in the past, despite it being in the best interest of Chrysler, Ford and GM, Detroit’s once mighty Big 3 walked away from developing electric hybrid cars as soon as the Bush administration came into power.

Instead, they concentrated on producing gas-guzzling pick-ups and SUVs. And instead of heeding the desire of Congress for better fuel efficiency, GM spent millions to lobby against increasing fuel standards. In short, now that the Big 3 are facing bankruptcy, they are getting what’s coming to them.

But despite their faults, greed and extremely poor long-range planning, we can’t allow the Big 3 to go out of business.

It would be catastrophic, and would put the US economy in an economic tailspin from which we may never recover. Millions of people here and across the nation would lose their jobs and have little prospect of ever replacing lost income.

This would have a ripple effect. Many are calling it an economic tsunami – you know, a tidal wave we haven’t seen the likes of.

Already, the drop in car sales, home foreclosures, bank failings, job loss and sharp drop-off of consumer spending has eerie parallels to the events leading up to the Great Depression of the 1930s.

President Jimmy Carter paid a stiff price when he once said that the American people, in the mid to late 1970s were suffering from malaise. People jumped on Carter for daring to point out the country was in a mental funk. Carter’s critics said he lacked leadership and was only feeding into the gloominess of the time.

It was no surprise to me when Reagan defeated Carter. People were suckers for a guy who could spin fantasy stories of hard-working people pulling up their boot straps and becoming successes – even when Reagan spent America into massive debt and began the process to de-regulate everything to the point where the banking institutions and Wall Street firms need bailouts.

The US auto industry needs to be saved, but it’s going to take the stern, supervising eye of the Federal government to make sure it doesn’t continue to destroy itself. And one more thing: as bad as the auto industry has acted, consumers are to blame as well.

While the auto industry focused on producing more and more gas-guzzlers, guess what? We were buying them up – the bigger and more wasteful the better. Who is to blame? Gasoline was relatively cheap and, heck, we’re Americans and we deserve to consume as much as we want, anytime we want.

Few people cared about the fact that gasoline is a limited resource and one controlled by people in far-away lands who really don’t like us.

“Is Detroit worth saving?”

I think so, but we, as a country and as a people, need to do some deep soul-searching on how we want to live and work in this new millennium.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Weirdness in Hamtramck

 

By Charles Sercombe

Every once in a while I compile enough photographs of stuff I just find weird – weird in that special Hamtramck way.

The top photograph is of a car with a special, home-made license plate. They say photographs speak a thousand words. This photograph, however, asks only questions.

Did the car’s legitimate license plate get stolen?

Is the owner of the car trying to pull a fast one on cops, hoping they would be fooled and not notice it’s a fake, cardboard plate?

Did it work?

The second photograph is of a once, bright and shiny new taxi. This taxi, though, has apparently seen some rough road in its time.

So, why was it being hauled away?

The cops said some joker was attempting to pull the station wagon with another car but the chain he was using broke. The old taxi was found in the middle of Carpenter. Just sitting there.

Guess it wasn’t worth the any more effort to haul it into a scrap yard.

The bottom photo might be the weirdest.

Several weeks ago police were called to break up a large group of Hamtramck High School kids who were supposedly looking to meet up with some other students and have a dust-up.

The kids walked down Belmont, heading toward Conant, chanting a word that can’t be printed in what we in the newspaper business call a “family publication.”

The group of kids indeed met with some others at a bus stop near Caniff, threw a few punches for just a few seconds until the cops broke them up.

The group then did a u-turn and walked en masse southward on Conant, and then took a turn down Trowbridge to the alley, swung north again and then did an about-face and continued walking south toward Holbrook, remaining in the alley.

It was like watching some strange herd of lemmings or something, as if there were no one individual kid but this “group” entity with a mind of its own.

 

Thursday, October 23, 2008

Carlow's Music Store

 

 

 

 

By Charles Sercombe


Carlow’s music store on Caniff has been closed for two years now.

Alfred “Al” Carlow died May 31, 2006 at the ripe age of 82. He was still repairing instruments in that dusty old store up until the day he died.

Al led quite a life.

He not only worked with some of the great music legends, he actually met and fixed the horn used by the 20th Century’s Music God, Louis Armstrong. It gives me chills just thinking about that.

I met Al several times during the course of my work here at The Citizen. I eventually did a feature story on him but I can’t find it. Dang, because he had some good quotes. But I remember a few stories he had about meeting with and playing with various musicians, a veritable who’s who in jazz.

Before I continue, the reason I’m writing about Al is that someone bought his old store and recently started cleaning it out. The new owner, who also knew Al, doesn’t know what he will do with the building. I wish him well.

But I miss the days when Al held court. He could be a little crusty around the edges and maybe a little short-tempered, but on a good day he was fascinating to listen to. Plus, I loved the smells of the old instruments and the glues and varnishes of his work studio in the back of the store.

I call it a store, but I’m not sure if he had sold anything in the last dozen years or so that he was in business. Most of his work was repairing instruments. Sometimes I wish I had asked to come on as an unpaid apprentice and learned a trade that few now take up.

His career started in the 1940s when he worked downtown at the Conn Music factory. It is sad to realize that Detroit once had a music factory. Jeez, what happened to our manufacturing base around here? Every thing is gone, long gone.

Back to Al. He eventually opened his own store here in Hamtramck. Sometime in the mid-1960s, Al was in a car accident and was forever confined to a wheelchair. Although his handicap didn’t’ slow his work down, I always had the feeling he was in discomfort but didn’t want to complain about it.

Sometimes I would go into the store without an intention of buying anything. Since I played drums I loved looking at the two or three old sets he kept on display. I really wanted them, but Al knew the value of vintage drums and wasn’t going to sell them cheap.

But through talking over the years I got to hear some great tales of the musicians he would back up when they blew through Detroit for a gig and needed to pickup some extra players. Al played saxophone for drummers Gene Krupa and Buddy Rich, two of my many favorite drummers, Gene Krupa especially.

The one story that sticks in my memory is how nasty and foul-mouthed Buddy Rich was. Actually, Buddy Rich’s temper is well known in the entertainment world. He was known for insulting fellow musicians and people he ran into in nightclubs and bars and would often end up in a fight. Story goes that because Buddy was short and picked on guys much larger than he was, he decided to learn karate so he could defend himself and presumably win some of the fights.

The only quote I have from Al is from what Citizen writer Walter Wasacz used in putting together Al’s obituary. Al traveled with the USO during World War II and would perform before German and Italian prisoners of war. Boy, we have come a long way from the days when we would treat prisoners that well.

At any rate, it turned out the USO had a great affect on the prisoners, according to the quote from Al.

“I think they appreciated American music, and it made some of them want to become U.S. citizens, I’m proud to say.”

I don’t mean to get political here, but maybe a little more music and lot less torture could go along way to winning over enemies. I know, that’s naive at best.

Besides touring the world, Al played in theater orchestras, various jazz combos and was once part of nine-piece jazz band that played at Pistons’ games when the team still played at Cobo Hall.

Jeez, those old times sound like a lot of fun.

Soon, the front sign at Carlow’s will come down and whatever trace of Al’s legacy that remained will be gone forever. The store’s closing reminds me of the rich history of Hamtramck and how lucky I have been to meet some of the more colorful characters, Al included.

 

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

Remembering "Mr. Buddy"

 

By Charles Sercombe
A couple of Sundays ago, Buddy’s Pizzeria hosted a fundraiser in honor of longtime employee Irv Sosnick.

It sounds funny to me to say that Irv was an employee. Anyone who ever met Irv knew he was much more than a mere employee. I met Irv years ago when I was in a rock and roll band that played in Hamtramck for what seemed like every weekend.

We thought he was Buddy’s. We greeted Irv as “Mr. Buddy.” He rolled with it and laughed and cracked jokes with us and sat us down. I don’t know what it was about Irv but he is the kind of person who was instantly likeable. It was like you had known him forever and he’d been your loyal pal for years.
Employee.

Hardly. Irv embodied the spirit of Buddy’s, or at least the spirit of that folksy, kind-of-like-being-in-your-family’s-basement-but-it’s-really-a-restaurant-kind-of-place.
I’m going to hijack my own column here for a moment and talk about something all bands should avoid doing.

Don’t eat pizza before a gig.

Maybe this was our own “Spinal Tap,” stupid rock and roller moment, or moments. We were called the “Hysteric Narcotics,” don’t ask me why, and we would arrive at Paycheck’s, Lili’s or the Hamtramck Pub ridiculously early to set up. Maybe around 6 or 7 in the evening. I think our lead singer always wanted to get there early – probably so he could get out of his house.

We would pile into our van, arrive, set up our gear and then head to Buddy’s (and sometimes to mix it up, the old Shield’s). Pizza and a couple of pitchers of beer would be consumed and someone would then pay the bill (wasn’t me, I had no money).

We would then head back to the bar and wait … and wait ... and wait ... for the first band, maybe there was another band, and then finally, we played. During the whole evening we would always wonder why we felt so tired. It wasn’t until years later I figured it out: eating pizza and drinking beer will make you sleepy, so very sleepy.

Sheesh, stupid. But we always played well, no one was the wiser and it was a huge amount of fun.
Back to Irv.

One thing led to another and after college I landed a job here at The Citizen. Over the years I got to know Irv pretty well and we would have long talks at the restaurant. Irv didn’t live in Hamtramck but he was very interested in the goings-on of the city and the political players.

He was also a member of the Hamtramck Rotary Club.

Irv opened up his restaurant to Hamtramck and Hamtramckans and I know he helped a lot of people, either by getting them jobs or giving them encouraging words. He really was a big-hearted guy.

It was amazing to see him work the room even when he was in his late 80s. Irv was trim, about 6 feet or taller, was balding with a shock of white hair on the sides, and wore thick black eyeglass frames. As time went by he stooped over a bit.

If he didn’t know you, he wasted no time making sure you were no longer a stranger. He started to slow down a bit in his last years and was even getting wobbly on his feet. Considering all the different levels and stairs in the place, I got concerned about him falling down.

All that walking – for 29 years! – sure did keep him in shape. I often wondered how many miles a day he walked in that place.

Irv also opened his – oops, not his — the restaurant to Detroit and allowed a number of fundraisers to be held there or he’d put the Buddy’s name on baseball T-shirts, and did anything to support the Detroit police and fire departments. There were dozens of photos in the place with Irv posing with this or that person, and most notably former Mayor Dennis Archer whom he admired greatly.

So, to honor Irv, the “1st Annual Irv Sosnick Memorial” was held on Sept. 21. Proceeds went to his favorite charities. A big thanks goes out to the Hamtramck Rotary Club for letting me know about this.

Too bad Irv couldn’t be there because there was an awful lot of love in the room that day. Irv died a few months ago at the age of 93. I didn’t hear about it until several weeks ago, and I was deeply saddened that I’d never get to see him again, even though he had retired to be with his ailing wife over a year ago.

Buddy’s is still one of my favorite places to eat, but it doesn’t seem the same. I know, that’s a cliché.

What’s important is that a lot people loved Irv and appreciated what he did for the community and especially how he always made you feel welcome and if you were in a funk, he sure knew how to turn that upside down.

So, Irv, may your spirit forever rock on.

 

Thursday, September 18, 2008

A tale of Tiger Stadium

By Charles Sercombe – September 18, 2008


Stopping by old Tiger Stadium on Wednesday and seeing the green grass now exposed by the demolition reminded me of my first time I got to go out onto that field.

Let me tell you, that was an incredible moment.

But first, some background. Back in the 1980s when I first started here at The Citizen, I received the lucky assignment to cover Polish-American Night at Tiger Stadium. The club would periodically allow groups to hold festivities on the field before the game would begin.

For Polish-American Night, young girls and boys would dress up in Polish folk outfits and dance and twirl around on the outfield. Then, some men would gather on Pitcher’s mound and make an announcement or two and someone would then receive a plaque or an award.

That’s the best I can remember how the evening went. I’m sure I’m forgetting a lot of other details and if my tone sounds a little flip, I mean no disparagement.

I’m probably forgetful and unaware of what was all happening on that night because of two things: I had to run around and shoot as many photos I could in the short amount of time the festivities were allowed to run, which was about 10-15 minutes tops. That didn’t leave me much time to soak it all in. Shoot and run.

But the major reason it seems like a blur is that I couldn’t believe a mere mortal like me was allowed to step foot on the field – a place so chockfull of history and where baseball legends once stood … well, it was enough to make my hair stand on end.

I remember that first step onto the infield. The grass, I swear, had a bounce to it. I could hardly concentrate I was so overcome with emotion. I didn’t really think that was going to happen to me, because by then I had learned long ago to keep emotions in check when covering stories.

But old Tiger Stadium was a magical place for me, but I won’t wax on here with corny sentiment.

As if being allowed to walk around the field wasn’t overwhelming the next thing I knew, I was on Pitcher’s mound, actual Pitcher’s mound, taking photos.

Un-be-lieve-a-ble.

I got to return a few more years after that until the powers that be canceled Polish-American Night and all sorts of other special events.

But every time I returned, the same thing happened. Am I one lucky guy or what?

There’s a follow-up. One year a public relations company sent a packet of actual dirt from the Tigers’ Pitcher’s mound to various media outlets for some special event. This isn’t just any old dirt. It’s that red Georgia mud that sports teams famously collect each year to build up their Pitcher’s mound.

I can’t remember what the event was for, but I do remember being invited, along with other newspapers, to take photos of Bo Schembechler winding up on Pitcher’s mound for the start of the Tigers season.

It was actually supposed to be opening day but it was snowing and the season was held up a few days.

That little plastic packet of Tiger dirt is my absolute favorite “freebie” I’ve received over the years and I still have it and cherish it to this day.

I’m also reminded of a great Hamtramck connection to Tiger Stadium.

It’s a tale that grew into mythic proportions.

Fr. Thaddeus “Ted” Blaszczyk.

You old-timers already know where I’m going with this but it deserves to be passed along to younger generations.

Fr. Ted, bless his heart, died last February at the age of 80. He was the pastor of Our Lady Queen of Apostles for many years before going into semi-retirement in a suburban Parish.

One of the first legends I heard about when coming here was about the time Fr. Ted was in high school and got to play a tournament at Tiger Stadium. There’s not much to this tale, but here it is: Fr. Ted hit a homerun in Tiger Stadium, and some said he could have gone on to a professional baseball career.

When Fr. Ted was about to leave Q of A, I interviewed him and talk eventually got around to that famous moment. For years I never bothered asking him about that time because I figured he probably had been pestered about it long enough.

He was very modest about it, but confirmed, yes he did hit a homer and it was indeed a thrill. I could tell he didn’t want to go into much detail and the conversation took another turn.

Can you imagine that, though, being a high school baseball player and not only getting to play in Tiger Stadium, but also hit a homer and round those bases?

Incredible.

I guess this brings me to one last thought. There is a group of folks, including the legendary voice of the Tigers, Ernie Harwell, who want to preserve part of the stadium, from about dugout to dugout.

It looks like they’ve reached that point in the demolition. But the group has to find a way to come up with a few million dollars to turn it into a park and museum. The former Kwame Kilpatrick administration gave the group a deadline to come up with all the money by October. Can you imagine that, the Kilpatrick administration giving anyone an ultimatum?

Anyway, it’s unknown if the interim administration will enforce that deadline. If you’d like to find out more about the effort to preserve part of the stadium, go to: http://www.savetigerstadium.org/.

 

By Charles Sercombe – September 10, 2008

Living in Hamtramck can be challenging on many levels.

One of those challenges is that we live so incredibly close to one another, with maybe four feet separating each house. Not only that, but many of us live either below or above another flat.

So, we tend to get into each other’s space and hear way more than what we want to. For some, this is just a little too much, and weird things begin to happen. For instance, some simply crack and start lashing out irrationally against neighbors or anyone who dares to walk past their house.

I’ve had my share of run-ins with cranky neighbors.

The worst was a guy who yelled at the top of his lungs from inside his house whenever I turned on the light to my spare bedroom at night. If it was after 9 p.m. – apparently his bedtime – and I turned on the light to find something, he’d yell up a storm for me to turn off the light.

Unbelievable.

Things got worse.

For several weeks the Detroit News was delivering papers to each house on the street as a way to drum up subscriptions. I’m a newspaper guy and I didn’t mind the freebie. But the old crank nextdoor couldn’t stand having the paper land on his porch.

Whenever I wasn’t on my porch, he’d toss his News on my porch. At first I just put it the garbage and thought nothing of it. But slowly it began to burn me. This guy thought he could just dump whatever he didn’t want onto somebody else.

So, one afternoon I waited for the paper to arrive. Sure enough, as soon as it landed on his porch the nut immediately tossed it onto mine – except this time I raced out my front door and caught him the act.

At this point I may have started to lose it.

The crank had a soft spot for feeding squirrels. Somehow, in the moment he tossed the paper on my porch and me picking it up, ready to throw it back at him, a squirrel appeared at his front door and stood on his hind legs and waited to be fed.

Just like a trained pet.

At the moment I began to throw the paper back, the crank was bending over to feed the squirrel.

As the paper sailed through air, crank and squirrel turned their heads at me and shot me a look of horror. The wide-eyed look of the squirrel was priceless, a sort of “why are you picking on little old me?”

I think I managed to nail both the crank and the squirrel.

I decided I had totally lost my sanity and decided the neighbor war was officially over. A few months later my apartment was broken into. They came through the spare bedroom window, right around after the sun set. Likely in plain view of the crank – who was all eyes and ears every for every minute of the day. I bet he enjoyed the moment.

Obviously, he didn't call the cops.

I suspected the neighbor on the other side of the house, a kid with a long history of getting into trouble, did it.

I truly had enough by then, and moved out.

See what this city can do to you?

I’m not the only one with tales of cranky neighbors. Christine Komisarz e-mailed us this gem. Take it away, Christine:

To the cantankerous old man with the silver mini-van who lives on Norwalk:

1. I believe it might be illegal to yell and swear at a person for simply walking down your street, with or without a dog;

2. I know for sure, it is not nice;

3. If continued, it might even constitute harassment;

4. My dog just stopped to SNIF;

5. If, in fact, I was in front of your house (I couldn't tell since you were screaming at me as you were driving) and if my dog did poop on your precious lawn, I would have picked up after him as I carry bags for that sole purpose;

6. Don't stereotype all dog owners/walkers because of some irresponsible ones;

7. Next time, take out your frustrations on someone you catch in the act; and

8. Stop harassing me! 

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

 

 

By Charles Sercombe – August 26, 2008
The making of the movie “Whip it” – well, at least two small scenes – in Hamtramck this week got me to thinking about the last big-time Hollywood film crew that set up here in town.

Back in 1997, hometown gal Theresa Connelly was given the chance to direct her first feature, called “Polish Wedding.”
Now for some who have seen the movie, just that title alone makes them cringe. The movie was bitterly criticized by Polish-Americans as being offensive and even blasphemous.

I thought the critics were too harsh and were lacking in humor. But then, I’m not Polish so I saw the movie in a different light. But Polish friends here in Hamtramck also agreed with me.
In fact one woman said scenes of the movie were right from her youth.
In its own way, it’s a sweet coming of age story. It was shot largely in Hamtramck, and it was amazing to see so many locations of Hamtramck featured. Heck, parts of it even looked lush and other-worldly.

I remember watching those Hamtramck scenes and getting goose bumps. A pride for Hamtramck swelled up in me, and frankly I was surprised how emotional I felt. After all, I thought, the whole world will have a chance to see this film and get a glimpse of Hamtramck. That was truly special.

The movie had some big names: Lena Olin, Claire Danes and Gabriel Byrne.
The title of the movie is a pretty sly joke and some folks didn’t even get it. The plot of the movie is the Claire Danes character is a beautiful young teen who starts to have an affair with a young cop.

She gets pregnant by the cop and her brothers set out to force the young man to do the right thing and marry her.

OK, I’m going to divulge why the title is a joke – so consider this a SPOILER ALERT.
You see, the teen’s mother also had been an out of wedlock pregnant teen and had to get married. So, the point is, a Polish wedding means the girl is likely pregnant.

I can see why Poles would be offended by that, but remember Theresa Connelly is Polish and she said the story was about her growing up here.

I don’t think Polish women are truly anymore likely to be pregnant at the time of their wedding than any other ethnicity. I don’t think Connelly seriously meant that. I just think she was having a little fun.

No matter, decide for yourself and rent the movie sometime – especially if you live here or once did. You’ll at least like picking out all the Hamtramck locations.

By Charles Sercombe – August 13, 2008 

            If you own a bike, better hold on tight.

            A small crime wave of bike thefts has hit town, judging by what we’ve heard on the police scanner and in talking with investigators.

            Monday afternoon was a madhouse, with police officers chasing down three bike thefts in the spate of an hour.

            The most alarming theft happened to a brother and sister who are about 10-11 years old. They were at the Jos. Campau-Belmont area when a group of thuggish teenagers approached them, hit them and stole their bikes.

            Fortunately, officers were able to respond quickly and were given a good description of what the thugs looked like and where they were heading. A teen boy was arrested and will be charged with strong-armed robbery, which is another way of saying he used force instead of a weapon to commit the robbery.

            An investigator in the records department wasn’t sure if both or just one bike was recovered. The investigator, Wally Tripp, said the department has already confiscated about 25 bikes that were likely stolen.

            A couple of months ago the department auctioned off its bikes collected from the previous year. Now the department already has 25.

            According to longtime residents, beware of teens and kids riding double – they’re on the lookout to steal a bike.

            Longtime resident Sandra Dziedziula said bike thefts have been happening here for decades. In an email she gave this account:

“There's NEVER a moratorium on bike stealing - it's just what happens in the city.  And always HAS.  It's been happening ever since we moved back in 1961.  They got my communion present blue green Western Auto immediately.  And they tried to take my sister's from under her butt, SLAPPED HER FACE HARD, but she would not get up. 

“She was just a little girl.  AND they stole Neil's when he was about 6, I just bought the damn thing, and they took it FROM him on our street.  So it's nothing new.”