On my first day of sophomore year in 1982, I transferred from St. Martin DePorres High, a very small, very focused, very caring Catholic high school, to Northern Senior High School, a very large, very chaotic, very cold public school.
As she sat in a dim conference room wearing a black coat, rays of sunlight lit up Suzan Harb’s face as she spoke of the differences between her native Lebanon and her new home of Dearborn.
Nestled in a corner of the Flying Carpet Café with some of his favorite Lebanese delicacies, Nagib Kadri smiled a few times at the mention of his birthplace in Lebanon. But he calls Dearborn his real home.
Residents of Hamtramck say they know the secret to a peaceful existence among those of varied cultural backgrounds and faiths: close living. On Evaline Street, cream-colored homes with balconies stand a few feet apart ...
Nolan Finley, a columnist for the Detroit News, recently asked for the second time where the black people were in downtown Detroit. Has he been to Punch Bowl Social lately? Let’s talk about Punch Bowl Social for a bit.
Sometimes conflicts and the suffering that they bring force people to leave their homes in search of a place where they can survive. It’s not easy for refugees to leave everything behind: their house, a secure job, a way of life and a family.
On the east side of Detroit sits an old two-story house washed sky blue. The paint is chipped and the windows are barred with thick grey metal. It is my grandmother’s house of over fifty years.
The building at Mack near Chalmers resembles thousands of Detroit properties: abandoned, in tax foreclosure, burned-out, dangerous, overdue for demolition.
Detroit is bankrupt. Does it hurt to write those words? Honestly, it doesn’t. It hurts as much as ripping a Band-Aid off. Detroit is bankrupt. Detroit is bankrupt.
It is with great pride that we at Belt announce the birth of our newest book: Aaron Foley's How to Live in Detroit Without Being a Jackass, which officially hits the streets today.
The record store was about two miles from our neighborhood and about one mile beyond the city limits. As teenagers a friend and I would go there whenever we had a little money ...
The boy looked back at me, his eyes defiant. Dressed in head-to-toe black, he was standing in a Detroit police station, holding evidence of his crime ...