Faces of Detroit 2015

Faces of Detroit

Story By John Carlisle | Photos by Ryan Garza
Detroit Free Press

After everything that's happened, after all the city has been through, people in Detroit still have hope.

They've watched their city go broke, their politicians go to jail, their neighbors move to the suburbs. Yet they stubbornly hold a belief that no matter how far Detroit has fallen, things will get better someday.

Sixteen Detroiters were asked to share their concerns about the present and their hopes for the future. Most of their complaints had roots where they lived — dark streets at night, overgrown parks, burned-out houses, failing schools. Many said too much attention and energy have been given to improving downtown while the neighborhoods have been left to fend for themselves.

But no matter who they were or where they came from, a single issue eclipsed all others: the constant threat of violent crime. For many of them, to live in Detroit is to live in fear.
Without finally finding a way to bring down the city's high crime rate, they said, Detroit will never move forward.
They also agreed on one other thing — that if bankruptcy means the city has truly hit rock bottom, there's now nowhere to go but up.
Despite enduring years of decline, corruption and incompetence, these Detroiters still believe their city can come back. And even if things won't ever return to the grandeur of the glory days, they still have faith that life here can one day be good again.

Provide safety and services;
citizens can do the rest

Bob O'Neal was photographed at Hats Galore & More on Gratiot Avenue. Photos by Ryan Garza/Detroit Free Press

Hats Galore & More, on Gratiot near Harper on the east side, is a shoebox of a store that sits snug against the corner, with an empty field behind it all the way to the next side street.
Two sharp gentlemen lingered behind the counter, as R&B songs played softly on the stereo.
"Safety and city services," Bob O'Neal, 63, said of what he wants to see in a post-bankrupt Detroit. "That sums it up, really. If you get those two items, the citizens can do the rest for themselves."
His cousin, 63-year-old Bob Yeargin, opened the shop 20 years ago, giving neighborhood folks a place to dapper up without going downtown. Customers drive in from as far as Grand Rapids and Battle Creek to shop here, O'Neal said.
Both men are convinced things are finally getting better in Detroit after years of decline. The only question is how long it will take.
"Is there any way possible it could get worse at this point?" Yeargin asked. "So it's got to go up. I just pray that we can still be here, that they don't run us out the 'hood. But I can see it coming, no question. The bankruptcy's basically going to be a savior."

Make us feel safer

Vanessa Sanchez, 27, of Detroit while sitting at Cafe con Leche in Detroit.

One day, scrappers showed up across the street from Vanessa Sanchez's house and started tearing the siding off the abandoned home. She went right up to tell them to knock it off.
"I called them out on it," the 27-year-old said. "And they threatened me. They said, 'We know where you live.' It kind of sucks, because you don't know when to say something because you don't know if they'll keep their word."
She sat inside Café Con Leche, a coffeehouse on the corner of Vernor and Scotten, poring over physics equations stacked a few inches high on the table in front of her.
Sanchez grew up in southwest Detroit, left to study political science at the University of Michigan and came back to study medicine in her hometown. She's taking classes at Wayne County Community College and always considered herself active in the community.
Her father has been buying up the empty houses on their block, almost as a bulwark against drug dealers and gang members moving in. Her family owns several on the street now.
Apart from getting more of the burned-out homes in the neighborhood torn down, she says reduced crime in the city tops her list of hopes for a reborn Detroit.
"I'd like to see more safety, you know, more police response, so that way when we decide to go out, we feel safe," she said. "When you have kids, you don't want to take them to the store. I feel like with safety, everything else just comes along once people feel secure. When there's police responding to whatever's happening that's dangerous, I think everything else will just fall into place."

'We have to have hope'

Khafre Sims Bey, 14, of Detroit while visiting the Detroit Public Library.

Khafre Sims Bey is 14 years old, going on 25.
The home-schooled Detroiter isn't shy about expressing himself, has no shortage of self-confidence and has strongly held beliefs about the city's future.
"You've got to bring industry back so the money can circulate in the city," he said. "You've got people taking advantage of the big city and its industry and then skating out, even to other communities."
He lives in the rangy east-side neighborhood off Chalmers near East Warren. His mom teaches him at home because the schools nearby just weren't adequate.
He wants to major in some science field when he goes to college. And if Detroit's going to have a successful future, bright young students like him need to believe the city is worth staying for.
It hasn't been easy. In his short lifetime, the city's had three mayors, but the one who served the longest and left the biggest mark was Kwame Kilpatrick. The convicted felon's years in office tainted Khafre's view of city government.
"It makes me feel like it's taken Detroit's integrity," he said. "There are people who don't really care about the city, milking it for what it's worth, and it's really given the city a bad name."
Despite such cynicism, he thinks people shouldn't give up trying to fix the city.
"We have to have hope," he said. "We have to hope for a better Detroit."

'This is the last frontier right here'

Leo McCoy of Detroit listens to Edward's Barber & Beauty Salon owner Edward Gilyard talk about the changes he would like to see in the city of Detroit.

The 1970s stared out from posters on the paneled walls, and they sang out through soul classics on the jukebox by the window.
"This is the last frontier right here," said Edward Gilyard, owner of Edward's Barber and Beauty Salon on Gratiot near Forest on the city's east side. "See us guys sitting in here? This is the only place you can see black men congregating like this here without getting police harassment, where you can talk about how you feel what's going on."
Half a dozen of them were gathered at the barbershop on a weekday morning — some to get haircuts, most just to hang out with the guys.
Gilyard had no shortage of thoughts on Detroit's decline, which he's witnessed since 1971 at this spot. Like many residents in the city's many declining neighborhoods, he's convinced there's been a power grab from the powerful few who want to build up downtown at the expense of the rest of the city.
"This was put on us," he said, pointing out the window at a blighted panorama of Gratiot outside. "This didn't happen overnight. This is considered downtown right here. They want this here, they want to get us out of here."
He wants to see new recreation centers, movie theaters, stores and malls — the things people in the suburbs see out their windows and take for granted.
Leo McCoy, waiting in Gilyard's barber chair to get his hair done, had a similar wish list.
"More stores, more shows, more movie houses," he said. "More everything."

'There's a great art world here'

Aoghain Lakes, 40, of Detroit talks about changes he'd like to see for the city of Detroit while visiting the DIA in Detroit.

It was Aoghain Lakes' 40th birthday, and the native Irishman spent it wandering the halls of the Detroit Institute of Arts.
Aoghain, who owns a holistic massage therapy practice in Berkley but lives in Detroit, moved here seven years ago because of marriage and stayed after that ended — drawn by the city's creativity and energy.
"I think there's a great art world here," he said. "I think that's going to kick off a lot of young artists, and I think that's really going to put us on the map."
He's enamored by many of the same things that draw a lot of foreign visitors to Detroit — the musical heritage of Motown and several lesser-known soul labels, the art community spread out in pockets throughout the city, the urban farms sprouting on unused land.
But he thinks the city isn't capitalizing on that appeal. He wants to see more hostels, places other than the expensive hotels downtown or the questionably safe ones in the neighborhoods.
"There's so many things to do if you've got accommodations for them," he said. "But if you were coming to Detroit, where would you stay?"

Above all, improve city schools

Zachary Morris, 19, of Detroit talks about changes he'd like to see for the city of Detroit, before his math exam at Wayne State University.

Zachary Morris wants to leave Detroit. But he plans on coming back one day.
He was on his way to a math exam at Wayne State University, where he's a sophomore studying criminal justice. He lives in one of the on-campus dorms the university built not long ago in a bid to attract young people to city life.
Morris grew up in Detroit, but his family sent him to high school in Ferndale. He thinks the city has to drastically improve its schools before anything else will get much better.
Morris wants to attend law school next, become an attorney and start his own law firm in the city, he said. He thinks Detroit is on the verge of a comeback.
"A lot of people don't see that because on the news all they see is the bad things, but Detroit has a lot of potential for businesses and stuff like that," he said.

'This used to be like heaven'

Joseph Sliwa, 57, of Detroit talks about changes he'd like to see in the city of Detroit, while sitting at Tigris Restaurant.

The air was smoky inside the Tigris Restaurant on 7 Mile east of Woodward, in an area of the city once known as Chaldean Town.
On a weekday afternoon, it hosted about two dozen gray-haired, Old World gentlemen, playing cards on little tables, sipping tea, eating kabobs and puffing on cigarettes.
The neighborhood used to be a gathering point for newly arrived Iraqi Catholics, who opened dozens of small businesses along the 7 Mile strip over the years. But crack cocaine hit the neighborhood hard in the 1980s, and the ensuing crime scared away most of the longtime residents. It went from being a thriving ethnic enclave to being one of the worst parts of the city.
"None of these guys live here," said Joseph Sliwa, 57, who was there for a relaxing afternoon. "Everybody left. Nobody here no more. Dangerous area."
He has hopes for the area from a distance, since little could make people like him move from their homes in safe neighborhoods outside the city.
But his friends still work here or visit, and he wants things to be better for them. More police, of course, since the restaurant is the frequent target of robberies. Fewer crack houses. More vacant homes demolished.
"This used to be like heaven for our people," Sliwa said. "There used to be like 15 candy shops here, all groceries and fruit market and fish market. It used to be like this day and night. But people, they just gave up."

Think about the kids

Korether White, 57, of Detroit watches traffic pass on the littered avenue.

Korether White was on the corner of Heidelberg and Gratiot, not doing much other than sitting on an art installation made of concrete and bottle caps — the work of Tyree Guyton, whose arson-prone art project lies just up the street.
"This is something like supposed to be incredible, with all these tops," she said, running her hand over her bottle cap seat. "Well, they all look incredible to me."
The 57-year-old lives on St. Aubin near Canfield, a long stretch of abandonment where whole blocks have given way to grassy prairies.
Her neighborhood is bad, she said, but of all the things it needs, she mentioned a bounce house.
"I'm thinking about the kids, a bouncing house for where we live, 'cause there's so many kids."
It might sound silly, but to her the lack of such a seemingly small thing was a symbol of the emptiness of the area.

Let's value our young people

Ben Alfaro, 23, of Detroit talks about the changes he'd like to see for the city of Detroit while waiting to teach a class at the Detroit Public Library.

Ben Alfaro sat on a wood bench in the echo-filled halls of the Detroit Public Library, waiting for his students to meet him.
The 23-year-old teaches creative writing at King High School on Lafayette and holds after-school workshops at the library.
He grew up in Ann Arbor, went to college at Wayne State and stayed, moving into the historic Woodbridge neighborhood nearby. He's dedicated to improving Detroit.
He wants to see the city become more appealing to young people. The problem, he thinks, is that few opportunities exist for them, little incentive for them to stay after they graduate and help rebuild the city.
"I work with a lot of youth in the city, and a lot of them have this response about, 'What are you doing after high school?' — 'Trying to get out of Detroit as soon as possible.' Trying to change that mentality and really valuing the young people of Detroit is important."

Teach the homeless a trade or skill

Parking attendant Ejaz Virk, 61, of Dearborn talks about changes he'd like to see for the city of Detroit, while working downtown.

Ejaz Virk is a striking sight.
Now that the weather has turned cold, he's usually huddled inside the booth overseeing his pay-to-park lot on Clinton near Beaubien in downtown Detroit. But when he steps out, the 61-year-old is a splendorous sight.
His blaze-red hair, his color-coordinated layers of clothing and his natural inclination toward striking a pose make him the flashiest parking lot attendant in the city.
His booth gives him a fixed view of downtown life — the drinkers, the diners, the sports fans, the businesspeople who come in the morning and head out of the city at night, and the homeless who call the streets downtown their home. He's sympathetic for them.
"Money should be spent on their education," he said. "Teach them a trade or skill so they can be useful citizens."
He thinks the city core still needs to expand its offerings beyond stadiums and casinos, whose customers park in his lot.
"This city should not only depend on one industry like gambling industry and sports industry," he said. "Those two industries are taking over, but they're ruining the other aspects of life. This is not a good image for the city of Detroit."

Give us places to take our kids

Stefanie Kwiatkowski, 37, of Detroit poses for a photo on Michigan Avenue in Corktown with her son Xander, 2.

After Tiger Stadium closed, Corktown was feared dead.
The ballpark had been the nucleus of the area, supporting bars, stores and restaurants — some of which closed after the regular waves of baseball fans went away.
But the area saw an infusion of young professionals and artists drawn by the historic neighborhood. New businesses, bars and restaurants began opening in the vacant storefronts along Michigan Avenue.
Stefanie Kwiatkowski was among those who moved here. She's a fashion model who'd come from Chicago, lived in the suburbs and bought a home in Detroit, even after having a child. She and her husband own Sugarhouse, a craft and classic cocktail bar that opened a couple years ago on Michigan Avenue in a 125-year-old storefront. It's rarely less than packed.
She wants to see more businesses along the avenue. And she'd like to see places for people to take their kids in Detroit.
"I'm finding there's a lot of families down here with children, and there's nowhere to take them," the 37-year-old said, standing outside the Sugarhouse with her 2-year-old son, Xavier.
For years the cliché was that young people will move to the city but head for the suburbs as soon as they have children.
"I'm not finding that," she said. "I'm finding that people are sticking it out. There are a lot of people in Corktown that have kids."
The troubled school district remains a concern for them.
"We don't plan on running; we plan on staying. But he obviously may not be going to school in Detroit," she said. "I hate to say that, but obviously it's important that he has a good education."

'I believe in Detroit'

Miya Williamson, 49, of Detroit talks about the changes she'd like to see in Detroit while visiting Goodwells Natural Food Market in Midtown.

Miya Williamson has seen her friends join the exodus out of the city over the past few years, but she refuses to go.
"All my friends are gone from Detroit," the 49-year-old said. "But I'm not leaving. I'm staying because I believe in Detroit, and I believe that if everybody leaves, who's left to tell the story? Who's left to rebuild it?"
She sat inside Goodwells Natural Food Market on Willis at Cass in Midtown, just south of Wayne State University's campus. She patronizes places like this because she believes the only way to improve Detroit's dire economy is to shop locally.
"I'm 100% committed to Detroit and its businesses," she said. "It's part of who I am, and I'm not leaving. I want to be here for the rebirth, and I think places like this are what's going to turn it around."
Her friend, Regina McCoy, agreed.
"I think that enough money has been invested in downtown, and it's time to invest in the inner city and bring back the neighborhood stores — the neighborhood hardware store, and grocery store, and candy store, and the bakery. That was the real engine," she said. "We grew up in a time when the neighborhood and the community supported itself, and we have to go back to that."

Stop the predators

Philip Cloutman, 64, of Detroit talks about the changes he'd like to see for the city of Detroit while walking along Woodward Avenue.

Philip Cloutman was stumbling down a Woodward Avenue sidewalk, pausing as he struggled to light a brown cigarette with an unusually complicated lighter. It took forever.
A minivan pulled up, and the door slid open. "What up pops?" one of the young men inside shouted from the backseat. "You straight, baby? Holla at me when you get down the way."
Cloutman waved them off. He said they were trying to sell him drugs. They live near him and try to sell him dope or steal his painkillers.
"They were all after me for them," he said in a thick Boston accent. "They said, 'We got guns.' I don't care what you got. I'm not afraid of anyone."
Cloutman, a Vietnam vet and Massachusetts native who moved here from Arizona nine years ago, lives in a senior apartment complex just west of Woodward in the cultural district.
Like other residents, he thinks the city is an unsafe place.
"We need more watching the senior buildings, so the predators don't get them," he said.
He's plagued by health problems and said he still suffers effects from his time at war. But he holds out a simple hope for the future.
"Just for people to co-exist," he said. "I'd like to see the murder rate go down. They take a person, they kill him and throw him in an empty building, and then they torch it. I don't care for any of that."

Get basic functions working again

James Revis, center, 71, of Detroit takes a seat after bowling at Renaissance Bowling Center.

James Revis stepped forward and threw his bowling ball, putting a perfect spin on it. The ball careened toward the gutter, then curved back into the pins, taking out all but one. It was an impressive throw.
"I was trying to throw it straight, though," the 71-year-old said with a laugh.
Revis was at Renaissance Family Bowling Center on Woodward north of McNichols, a visual standout for its retro red facade.
He said he just wants the city to perform its basic functions again.
"I would like to see the lighting back," he said. "I'd like to see the parks back. When I came here, we had beautiful parks. We had good transportation too — my wife used to catch the bus everywhere all over the city. Now she's scared to be on a bus. It's crazy out there."
He's been a Detroiter since 1964, when he moved from Alabama. He got hired by Ford within three days of arriving and held the job for three decades.
He still lives in the west side house he bought when he got here and has seen the city's commitment to residents nearly vanish from the neighborhoods.
"I'd like our government to do what they're supposed to do," he said. "The things that are supposed to be working should be working."

New mayor, new hopes

Carlos Hermosillo, 53, of Detroit poses for a photo at La Fiesta Ice Cream.

At La Fiesta Ice Cream and La Fiesta Laundromat, customers can buy a cone of strawberry ice cream to go with their detergent.
The city's neighborhoods are filled with little combo businesses like this one. Car wash and candy store. Soul food and shoe shine. Barber shop and DVD store. It pays to double up when there aren't enough people left in a neighborhood to support a single-theme business.
Carlos Hermosilla works at both businesses at once. They're on Vernor and Ferdinand in a mostly Mexican southwest neighborhood, one of the few to see a significant population increase in the last decade as immigrants joined other family members already here.
His main concern, he said, was for better public safety for businesses like this one. "I want the police here more," the 53-year-old said. "The police never show up."
He said a fight broke out in the street outside not long ago, and the fist-throwing crowd pushed its way into the store and started throwing beer bottles. Hermosilla pushed them out the door and locked himself and his customers inside while calling police.
It took five hours for them to respond, he said. And when they did, it was a phone call.
His biggest hope, he said, was that the new mayor would help finally turn things around.
"Hopefully the new guy, he's going to pick up everything," he said.

Support your local businesses

Zeynabou Afrika Toure, 39, sets up her stand along Livernois in Detroit after talking about changes she'd like to see for the city.

Zeynabou Afrika Toure's store is a fold-out table on a sidewalk by a bank.
She was opening for business one weekday morning, slowly arranging her sale items on the table — wood elephants, cowrie shell necklaces, jars of shea butter. She calls her business the Mali Link to emphasize that her items are African themed.
The 39-year-old Detroiter thinks the city will be reborn through people like her — street salespeople, small businesses, entrepreneurs. But residents need to shop locally to make it work, she said.

Story By John Carlisle | Photos by Ryan Garza
Detroit Free Press

After everything that's happened, after all the city has been through, people in Detroit still have hope.

They've watched their city go broke, their politicians go to jail, their neighbors move to the suburbs. Yet they stubbornly hold a belief that no matter how far Detroit has fallen, things will get better someday.

Sixteen Detroiters were asked to share their concerns about the present and their hopes for the future. Most of their complaints had roots where they lived — dark streets at night, overgrown parks, burned-out houses, failing schools. Many said too much attention and energy have been given to improving downtown while the neighborhoods have been left to fend for themselves.

But no matter who they were or where they came from, a single issue eclipsed all others: the constant threat of violent crime. For many of them, to live in Detroit is to live in fear.
Without finally finding a way to bring down the city's high crime rate, they said, Detroit will never move forward.
They also agreed on one other thing — that if bankruptcy means the city has truly hit rock bottom, there's now nowhere to go but up.
Despite enduring years of decline, corruption and incompetence, these Detroiters still believe their city can come back. And even if things won't ever return to the grandeur of the glory days, they still have faith that life here can one day be good again

Provide safety and services;
citizens can do the rest

Bob O'Neal was photographed at Hats Galore & More on Gratiot Avenue. Photos by Ryan Garza/Detroit Free Press

Hats Galore & More, on Gratiot near Harper on the east side, is a shoebox of a store that sits snug against the corner, with an empty field behind it all the way to the next side street.
Two sharp gentlemen lingered behind the counter, as R&B songs played softly on the stereo.
"Safety and city services," Bob O'Neal, 63, said of what he wants to see in a post-bankrupt Detroit. "That sums it up, really. If you get those two items, the citizens can do the rest for themselves."
His cousin, 63-year-old Bob Yeargin, opened the shop 20 years ago, giving neighborhood folks a place to dapper up without going downtown. Customers drive in from as far as Grand Rapids and Battle Creek to shop here, O'Neal said.
Both men are convinced things are finally getting better in Detroit after years of decline. The only question is how long it will take.
"Is there any way possible it could get worse at this point?" Yeargin asked. "So it's got to go up. I just pray that we can still be here, that they don't run us out the 'hood. But I can see it coming, no question. The bankruptcy's basically going to be a savior."

Make us feel safer

Vanessa Sanchez, 27, of Detroit while sitting at Cafe con Leche in Detroit.

One day, scrappers showed up across the street from Vanessa Sanchez's house and started tearing the siding off the abandoned home. She went right up to tell them to knock it off.
"I called them out on it," the 27-year-old said. "And they threatened me. They said, 'We know where you live.' It kind of sucks, because you don't know when to say something because you don't know if they'll keep their word."
She sat inside Café Con Leche, a coffeehouse on the corner of Vernor and Scotten, poring over physics equations stacked a few inches high on the table in front of her.
Sanchez grew up in southwest Detroit, left to study political science at the University of Michigan and came back to study medicine in her hometown. She's taking classes at Wayne County Community College and always considered herself active in the community.
Her father has been buying up the empty houses on their block, almost as a bulwark against drug dealers and gang members moving in. Her family owns several on the street now.
Apart from getting more of the burned-out homes in the neighborhood torn down, she says reduced crime in the city tops her list of hopes for a reborn Detroit.
"I'd like to see more safety, you know, more police response, so that way when we decide to go out, we feel safe," she said. "When you have kids, you don't want to take them to the store. I feel like with safety, everything else just comes along once people feel secure. When there's police responding to whatever's happening that's dangerous, I think everything else will just fall into place."

'We have to have hope'

Khafre Sims Bey, 14, of Detroit while visiting the Detroit Public Library.

Khafre Sims Bey is 14 years old, going on 25.
The home-schooled Detroiter isn't shy about expressing himself, has no shortage of self-confidence and has strongly held beliefs about the city's future.
"You've got to bring industry back so the money can circulate in the city," he said. "You've got people taking advantage of the big city and its industry and then skating out, even to other communities."
He lives in the rangy east-side neighborhood off Chalmers near East Warren. His mom teaches him at home because the schools nearby just weren't adequate.
He wants to major in some science field when he goes to college. And if Detroit's going to have a successful future, bright young students like him need to believe the city is worth staying for.
It hasn't been easy. In his short lifetime, the city's had three mayors, but the one who served the longest and left the biggest mark was Kwame Kilpatrick. The convicted felon's years in office tainted Khafre's view of city government.
"It makes me feel like it's taken Detroit's integrity," he said. "There are people who don't really care about the city, milking it for what it's worth, and it's really given the city a bad name."
Despite such cynicism, he thinks people shouldn't give up trying to fix the city.
"We have to have hope," he said. "We have to hope for a better Detroit."

'This is the last frontier right here'

Leo McCoy of Detroit listens to Edward's Barber & Beauty Salon owner Edward Gilyard talk about the changes he would like to see in the city of Detroit.

The 1970s stared out from posters on the paneled walls, and they sang out through soul classics on the jukebox by the window.
"This is the last frontier right here," said Edward Gilyard, owner of Edward's Barber and Beauty Salon on Gratiot near Forest on the city's east side. "See us guys sitting in here? This is the only place you can see black men congregating like this here without getting police harassment, where you can talk about how you feel what's going on."
Half a dozen of them were gathered at the barbershop on a weekday morning — some to get haircuts, most just to hang out with the guys.
Gilyard had no shortage of thoughts on Detroit's decline, which he's witnessed since 1971 at this spot. Like many residents in the city's many declining neighborhoods, he's convinced there's been a power grab from the powerful few who want to build up downtown at the expense of the rest of the city.
"This was put on us," he said, pointing out the window at a blighted panorama of Gratiot outside. "This didn't happen overnight. This is considered downtown right here. They want this here, they want to get us out of here."
He wants to see new recreation centers, movie theaters, stores and malls — the things people in the suburbs see out their windows and take for granted.
Leo McCoy, waiting in Gilyard's barber chair to get his hair done, had a similar wish list.
"More stores, more shows, more movie houses," he said. "More everything."

'There's a great art world here'

Aoghain Lakes, 40, of Detroit talks about changes he'd like to see for the city of Detroit while visiting the DIA in Detroit.

It was Aoghain Lakes' 40th birthday, and the native Irishman spent it wandering the halls of the Detroit Institute of Arts.
Aoghain, who owns a holistic massage therapy practice in Berkley but lives in Detroit, moved here seven years ago because of marriage and stayed after that ended — drawn by the city's creativity and energy.
"I think there's a great art world here," he said. "I think that's going to kick off a lot of young artists, and I think that's really going to put us on the map."
He's enamored by many of the same things that draw a lot of foreign visitors to Detroit — the musical heritage of Motown and several lesser-known soul labels, the art community spread out in pockets throughout the city, the urban farms sprouting on unused land.
But he thinks the city isn't capitalizing on that appeal. He wants to see more hostels, places other than the expensive hotels downtown or the questionably safe ones in the neighborhoods.
"There's so many things to do if you've got accommodations for them," he said. "But if you were coming to Detroit, where would you stay?"

Above all, improve city schools

Zachary Morris, 19, of Detroit talks about changes he'd like to see for the city of Detroit, before his math exam at Wayne State University.

Zachary Morris wants to leave Detroit. But he plans on coming back one day.
He was on his way to a math exam at Wayne State University, where he's a sophomore studying criminal justice. He lives in one of the on-campus dorms the university built not long ago in a bid to attract young people to city life.
Morris grew up in Detroit, but his family sent him to high school in Ferndale. He thinks the city has to drastically improve its schools before anything else will get much better.
Morris wants to attend law school next, become an attorney and start his own law firm in the city, he said. He thinks Detroit is on the verge of a comeback.
"A lot of people don't see that because on the news all they see is the bad things, but Detroit has a lot of potential for businesses and stuff like that," he said.

'This used to be like heaven'

Joseph Sliwa, 57, of Detroit talks about changes he'd like to see in the city of Detroit, while sitting at Tigris Restaurant.

The air was smoky inside the Tigris Restaurant on 7 Mile east of Woodward, in an area of the city once known as Chaldean Town.
On a weekday afternoon, it hosted about two dozen gray-haired, Old World gentlemen, playing cards on little tables, sipping tea, eating kabobs and puffing on cigarettes.
The neighborhood used to be a gathering point for newly arrived Iraqi Catholics, who opened dozens of small businesses along the 7 Mile strip over the years. But crack cocaine hit the neighborhood hard in the 1980s, and the ensuing crime scared away most of the longtime residents. It went from being a thriving ethnic enclave to being one of the worst parts of the city.
"None of these guys live here," said Joseph Sliwa, 57, who was there for a relaxing afternoon. "Everybody left. Nobody here no more. Dangerous area."
He has hopes for the area from a distance, since little could make people like him move from their homes in safe neighborhoods outside the city.
But his friends still work here or visit, and he wants things to be better for them. More police, of course, since the restaurant is the frequent target of robberies. Fewer crack houses. More vacant homes demolished.
"This used to be like heaven for our people," Sliwa said. "There used to be like 15 candy shops here, all groceries and fruit market and fish market. It used to be like this day and night. But people, they just gave up."

Think about the kids

Korether White, 57, of Detroit watches traffic pass on the littered avenue.

Korether White was on the corner of Heidelberg and Gratiot, not doing much other than sitting on an art installation made of concrete and bottle caps — the work of Tyree Guyton, whose arson-prone art project lies just up the street.
"This is something like supposed to be incredible, with all these tops," she said, running her hand over her bottle cap seat. "Well, they all look incredible to me."
The 57-year-old lives on St. Aubin near Canfield, a long stretch of abandonment where whole blocks have given way to grassy prairies.
Her neighborhood is bad, she said, but of all the things it needs, she mentioned a bounce house.
"I'm thinking about the kids, a bouncing house for where we live, 'cause there's so many kids."
It might sound silly, but to her the lack of such a seemingly small thing was a symbol of the emptiness of the area.

Let's value our young people

Ben Alfaro, 23, of Detroit talks about the changes he'd like to see for the city of Detroit while waiting to teach a class at the Detroit Public Library.

Ben Alfaro sat on a wood bench in the echo-filled halls of the Detroit Public Library, waiting for his students to meet him.
The 23-year-old teaches creative writing at King High School on Lafayette and holds after-school workshops at the library.
He grew up in Ann Arbor, went to college at Wayne State and stayed, moving into the historic Woodbridge neighborhood nearby. He's dedicated to improving Detroit.
He wants to see the city become more appealing to young people. The problem, he thinks, is that few opportunities exist for them, little incentive for them to stay after they graduate and help rebuild the city.
"I work with a lot of youth in the city, and a lot of them have this response about, 'What are you doing after high school?' — 'Trying to get out of Detroit as soon as possible.' Trying to change that mentality and really valuing the young people of Detroit is important."

Teach the homeless a trade or skill

Parking attendant Ejaz Virk, 61, of Dearborn talks about changes he'd like to see for the city of Detroit, while working downtown.

Ejaz Virk is a striking sight.
Now that the weather has turned cold, he's usually huddled inside the booth overseeing his pay-to-park lot on Clinton near Beaubien in downtown Detroit. But when he steps out, the 61-year-old is a splendorous sight.
His blaze-red hair, his color-coordinated layers of clothing and his natural inclination toward striking a pose make him the flashiest parking lot attendant in the city.
His booth gives him a fixed view of downtown life — the drinkers, the diners, the sports fans, the businesspeople who come in the morning and head out of the city at night, and the homeless who call the streets downtown their home. He's sympathetic for them.
"Money should be spent on their education," he said. "Teach them a trade or skill so they can be useful citizens."
He thinks the city core still needs to expand its offerings beyond stadiums and casinos, whose customers park in his lot.
"This city should not only depend on one industry like gambling industry and sports industry," he said. "Those two industries are taking over, but they're ruining the other aspects of life. This is not a good image for the city of Detroit."

Give us places to take our kids

Stefanie Kwiatkowski, 37, of Detroit poses for a photo on Michigan Avenue in Corktown with her son Xander, 2.

After Tiger Stadium closed, Corktown was feared dead.
The ballpark had been the nucleus of the area, supporting bars, stores and restaurants — some of which closed after the regular waves of baseball fans went away.
But the area saw an infusion of young professionals and artists drawn by the historic neighborhood. New businesses, bars and restaurants began opening in the vacant storefronts along Michigan Avenue.
Stefanie Kwiatkowski was among those who moved here. She's a fashion model who'd come from Chicago, lived in the suburbs and bought a home in Detroit, even after having a child. She and her husband own Sugarhouse, a craft and classic cocktail bar that opened a couple years ago on Michigan Avenue in a 125-year-old storefront. It's rarely less than packed.
She wants to see more businesses along the avenue. And she'd like to see places for people to take their kids in Detroit.
"I'm finding there's a lot of families down here with children, and there's nowhere to take them," the 37-year-old said, standing outside the Sugarhouse with her 2-year-old son, Xavier.
For years the cliché was that young people will move to the city but head for the suburbs as soon as they have children.
"I'm not finding that," she said. "I'm finding that people are sticking it out. There are a lot of people in Corktown that have kids."
The troubled school district remains a concern for them.
"We don't plan on running; we plan on staying. But he obviously may not be going to school in Detroit," she said. "I hate to say that, but obviously it's important that he has a good education."

'I believe in Detroit'

Miya Williamson, 49, of Detroit talks about the changes she'd like to see in Detroit while visiting Goodwells Natural Food Market in Midtown.

Miya Williamson has seen her friends join the exodus out of the city over the past few years, but she refuses to go.
"All my friends are gone from Detroit," the 49-year-old said. "But I'm not leaving. I'm staying because I believe in Detroit, and I believe that if everybody leaves, who's left to tell the story? Who's left to rebuild it?"
She sat inside Goodwells Natural Food Market on Willis at Cass in Midtown, just south of Wayne State University's campus. She patronizes places like this because she believes the only way to improve Detroit's dire economy is to shop locally.
"I'm 100% committed to Detroit and its businesses," she said. "It's part of who I am, and I'm not leaving. I want to be here for the rebirth, and I think places like this are what's going to turn it around."
Her friend, Regina McCoy, agreed.
"I think that enough money has been invested in downtown, and it's time to invest in the inner city and bring back the neighborhood stores — the neighborhood hardware store, and grocery store, and candy store, and the bakery. That was the real engine," she said. "We grew up in a time when the neighborhood and the community supported itself, and we have to go back to that."

Stop the predators

Philip Cloutman, 64, of Detroit talks about the changes he'd like to see for the city of Detroit while walking along Woodward Avenue.

Philip Cloutman was stumbling down a Woodward Avenue sidewalk, pausing as he struggled to light a brown cigarette with an unusually complicated lighter. It took forever.
A minivan pulled up, and the door slid open. "What up pops?" one of the young men inside shouted from the backseat. "You straight, baby? Holla at me when you get down the way."
Cloutman waved them off. He said they were trying to sell him drugs. They live near him and try to sell him dope or steal his painkillers.
"They were all after me for them," he said in a thick Boston accent. "They said, 'We got guns.' I don't care what you got. I'm not afraid of anyone."
Cloutman, a Vietnam vet and Massachusetts native who moved here from Arizona nine years ago, lives in a senior apartment complex just west of Woodward in the cultural district.
Like other residents, he thinks the city is an unsafe place.
"We need more watching the senior buildings, so the predators don't get them," he said.
He's plagued by health problems and said he still suffers effects from his time at war. But he holds out a simple hope for the future.
"Just for people to co-exist," he said. "I'd like to see the murder rate go down. They take a person, they kill him and throw him in an empty building, and then they torch it. I don't care for any of that."

Get basic functions working again

James Revis, center, 71, of Detroit takes a seat after bowling at Renaissance Bowling Center.

James Revis stepped forward and threw his bowling ball, putting a perfect spin on it. The ball careened toward the gutter, then curved back into the pins, taking out all but one. It was an impressive throw.
"I was trying to throw it straight, though," the 71-year-old said with a laugh.
Revis was at Renaissance Family Bowling Center on Woodward north of McNichols, a visual standout for its retro red facade.
He said he just wants the city to perform its basic functions again.
"I would like to see the lighting back," he said. "I'd like to see the parks back. When I came here, we had beautiful parks. We had good transportation too — my wife used to catch the bus everywhere all over the city. Now she's scared to be on a bus. It's crazy out there."
He's been a Detroiter since 1964, when he moved from Alabama. He got hired by Ford within three days of arriving and held the job for three decades.
He still lives in the west side house he bought when he got here and has seen the city's commitment to residents nearly vanish from the neighborhoods.
"I'd like our government to do what they're supposed to do," he said. "The things that are supposed to be working should be working."

New mayor, new hopes

Carlos Hermosillo, 53, of Detroit poses for a photo at La Fiesta Ice Cream.

At La Fiesta Ice Cream and La Fiesta Laundromat, customers can buy a cone of strawberry ice cream to go with their detergent.
The city's neighborhoods are filled with little combo businesses like this one. Car wash and candy store. Soul food and shoe shine. Barber shop and DVD store. It pays to double up when there aren't enough people left in a neighborhood to support a single-theme business.
Carlos Hermosilla works at both businesses at once. They're on Vernor and Ferdinand in a mostly Mexican southwest neighborhood, one of the few to see a significant population increase in the last decade as immigrants joined other family members already here.
His main concern, he said, was for better public safety for businesses like this one. "I want the police here more," the 53-year-old said. "The police never show up."
He said a fight broke out in the street outside not long ago, and the fist-throwing crowd pushed its way into the store and started throwing beer bottles. Hermosilla pushed them out the door and locked himself and his customers inside while calling police.
It took five hours for them to respond, he said. And when they did, it was a phone call.
His biggest hope, he said, was that the new mayor would help finally turn things around.
"Hopefully the new guy, he's going to pick up everything," he said.

Support your local businesses

Zeynabou Afrika Toure, 39, sets up her stand along Livernois in Detroit after talking about changes she'd like to see for the city.

Zeynabou Afrika Toure's store is a fold-out table on a sidewalk by a bank.
She was opening for business one weekday morning, slowly arranging her sale items on the table — wood elephants, cowrie shell necklaces, jars of shea butter. She calls her business the Mali Link to emphasize that her items are African themed.
The 39-year-old Detroiter thinks the city will be reborn through people like her — street salespeople, small businesses, entrepreneurs. But residents need to shop locally to make it work, she said.