A Trolley Through Slavic Village: Belt Industry Tour Photo Essay
Take a trip through Slavic Village with the gang who joined us on our first Industry Tour followed by drinks at The Nash, thanks to Belt's photo editor Bob Perkoski.
Take a trip through Slavic Village with the gang who joined us on our first Industry Tour followed by drinks at The Nash, thanks to Belt's photo editor Bob Perkoski.
“Can you tell me which one is the fennel?” I looked up at the voice, annoyed at being drawn out of my own panicky thoughts.
Standing atop the viaduct bridge that carries commuter trains between downtown Cleveland and the city’s west side, Lennie Stover stoops down and fishes a rusty piece of metal from the gravel next to the tracks.
In late summer of 1967, waves of rumors moved through metropolitan Detroit, announcing a series of race divisions across the city and between city and suburb.
Having lived fifteen years in a small town in a remote part of the Midwest -- dubbed Forgottonia in the 1970s -- possibly the most interesting change I’ve observed over time has been the emergence ...
Ed Rivet is a true "red" Michigander. Born and bred in Bay City, he found his way to Lansing, first as an MSU Spartan and then as a Republican legislative staffer.
On a warm, mid-afternoon day in May, a group of growers are preparing nearly bare soil for a hopefully abundant and busy farming season.
I stood on the bridge and looked out over the scattered patches of tents that rose from the land like wild mushrooms, clustered yet separate.
Along the endless row of cookie-cutter homes on Cleveland’s Warren Road, the Marquard House stands as a mute witness to a rich history.
These profiles tell the story of “Rust Belt Refugees” – former residents of the Rust Belt who have for one reason or another moved on to different parts of the country.
The road racing bicycle is one of history’s great design achievements: it multiplies the potential of the human body, allowing a person to travel much greater distances and at much greater speeds.
Abandoned, in a Cleveland building slated for destruction, ducks sit, waiting. Rubber ducks, that is.