I was in the Detroit Riots 53 Years Ago
“Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” — George Santayana
For anyone born after 1960, it may come as a shock that protests are sweeping the country in the wake of the murder of George Floyd in Minneapolis. Some will ask how one death could trigger scores of violent protests.
Of course, it wasn’t just one death. It’s countless deaths, over years. Decades.
As a person who grew up in the Detroit area in the 1960’s, I can tell you this neither new nor surprising. History will repeat itself until we learn our lesson.
In the summer of 1967, I was 22 years old, freshly graduated from the University of Michigan and preparing to enter U-M law school in the fall. I grew up in the white suburb of Grosse Pointe Woods just north of the city. Although I didn’t realize it, it was a very privileged life I was leading.
We moved to the “Woods” when I was six so I could have more opportunities than my parents had. Mom and dad sent me to a private school where I got an excellent education, for which I am eternally grateful. My dad died when I was 16, and I was still grieving his loss as I went through college. My mom, who had stopped working when I was born, resumed her interrupted career as a nurse to make ends meet.
Don’t get me wrong. My parents were hard-working, middle-class folks who were tempered by the Great Depression and WWII. My dad had been a journeyman electrician who worked his way up to management at his electrical contracting firm. My mom was a public health nurse in Detroit through the Depression. We had a nice home and two cars. In fact, you could say we were living the American dream.
It never occurred to me that I was the beneficiary of white privilege. First, because the term did not exist in 1967 and second, because I had almost no contact with people of color.
So there I was, looking for a summer job before law school.
Working in Detroit in the Summer of ‘67
My parents’ good friend and my godfather, Ed Weber, was a partner in one of the top law firms in Detroit. He arranged for me to have a paid internship at the National Bank of Detroit. NBD was, I think, the largest bank in the city at that time. It had an imposing headquarters on Woodward Avenue near the Detroit River. I had driven a truck the previous summer, so this was definitely a step up. I didn’t question my good fortune.
To make things even better, my girlfriend, Jill, got a teller’s job at the Bank of the Commonwealth just down the street. She and I have now been married for more than 50 years, but in 1967, we were just kids starting out and looking forward to an exciting summer.
So, starting in May, I took the bus from my home in Grosse Pointe down Jefferson Avenue to the bank. Jill would take the bus from her parents’ house in Royal Oak. I remember reading the Lord of the Rings on the ride every day coming and going.
At NBD, I was working in the Estate Tax Division of the bank. We managed the preparation of estate tax returns for what are called now high net worth individuals. I worked for Dick Dorney, a vice president, who wore a bow tie and smoked a pipe. The first day he handed me a copy of the Internal Revenue Code and told me to start reading it. I don’t think I did anything but learn for the first few weeks. My point is, the job was created for me, not because I was needed, but because that’s was you do in those circles. Privilege at work.
My desk was first in a long row of desks leading to a bull pen of other desks. The secretary behind me was Denise, a young African American woman about my age. She was friendly and polite, and I was friendly back. Like all the secretaries, she was an excellent typist and was busy all time.
The two lawyers in the office were also friendly and there was a certain camaraderie in the whole group. The lawyers would go off to do battle with the IRS over things like determining the taxable value of a string of thoroughbred race horses. This all seemed like an adventure.
After work on Fridays, Jill and I would stay downtown for a date. We would eat at iconic local restaurants like the Lafayette Coney Island, Pontchartrain Wine Cellars and Jim’s Garage. We walked about downtown without a thought that there might be any danger. What could possibly go wrong?
All of that came to an end in the early hours of Sunday, July 23, 1967.
“Blind-Pig Raid Was Spark”
It all began when Detroit police raided an after-hours bar (called a Blind Pig) and arrested 82 people. It was a particularly hot July Sunday night. Those arrested had been at a party for two men just returned from service in Viet Nam. The neighborhood responded by confronting the police, and things began to unravel.
What followed over the next five days was the bloodiest incident in the “long hot summer” of 1967 that saw 159 race riots erupt across America. Over five days of rioting in Detroit, 43 persons would be killed, 33 of them African Americans.
But on that day, we didn’t know what was coming.
As is often the case, there was confusion at first. The TV news (there were only three channels then) relayed Sunday’s events. Detroit Mayor Gerome P. Cavanaugh asked Michigan Governor George Romney for help (yes, the father of now Senator Mitt Romney.) The governor sent 300 state police, but they could not control the protests. The Michigan Army National Guard was called in but didn’t arrive until evening.
At the end of Sunday, five people were dead. It was clear I could not go to work on Monday. I was confused and scared.
Like most of my fellow white residents, I couldn’t figure out what was happening. Why were people confronting the police? Why were they looting and burning buildings? There were rumors that black rioters were marching up Mack Avenue toward Grosse Pointe. This was not true, but some white residents took up positions atop the Woods Theater at 7 Mile and Mack with hunting rifles and shotguns.
On Monday the rioting continued, and President Lyndon Johnson sent in 2,000 troops from the US Army 82nd and 101st Airborne divisions. The fighting went on for four more days.
When it was over on Thursday, 43 Detroiters were dead, 1,189 were injured and more than 7,200 had been arrested. Most of them were African Americans. Reports differ, but somewhere between 1500 and 2000 buildings had been destroyed and 5000 people were homeless.
I went back to work at the bank that following Monday. I can still recall vividly looking out the bus window on Jefferson as we turned up Woodward at the City-County Building. Soldiers had set up sandbags and machine guns. More armed soldiers stood about 20 feet apart in a perimeter surrounding the J.L. Hudson department store which occupied a full square block. The scene was like something out of a movie. Everyone was tense. The young secretary, with whom I had bantered days before, was now more reserved. We didn’t talk much.
Everything had changed. No more Friday night dates wandering Detroit for Jill and me. What had only been news items earlier when riots broke out in Atlanta, Boston, Cincinnati, Buffalo, and Tampa, was now in my immediate reality.
I need to make something clear and it is about white privilege.
Yes, I was a witness to history. I was in it, but not of it. While thousands of Detroit residents were homeless, I was able to return home each night to my bed. While tensions remained high in the city, I could return to college and carry on with my life. That’s what you get when you are a nice, middle-class white male in 1967.
The Long Hot Summer of 1967 saw more riots in Birmingham, Chicago, New York City, Milwaukee, Minneapolis, New Britain, Rochester, Plainfield and Toledo. The most destructive riots of the summer took place in Newark and Detroit.
Does any of this sound familiar? It is important to know what came next.
“Our nation is moving toward two societies, one black, one white — separate and unequal.”
President Lyndon Johnson established a special commission headed by Illinois Governor Otto Kerner to investigate the riots and urban issues of Black Americans.
The National Advisory Commission on Civil Disorders released its 426-page report seven months after the Detroit riot. The report identified more than 150 riots or major disorders between 1965 and 1967.
Ominously, the report declared that “Our nation is moving toward two societies, one black, one white — separate and unequal. Reaction to last summer’s disorders has quickened the movement and deepened the division. Discrimination and segregation have long permeated much of American life; they now threaten the future of every American.”
However, the authors also found cause for hope: “This deepening racial division is not inevitable. The movement apart can be reversed.” Additionally, the report stated that “What the rioters appeared to be seeking was fuller participation in the social order and the material benefits enjoyed by the majority of American citizens. Rather than rejecting the American system, they were anxious to obtain a place for themselves in it.”
For Detroit, things were only going to get worse.
The riot triggered “white flight” to the suburbs, leaving only the poorest in the city. Like those in other cities around the country, African Americans in Detroit continued to experience high levels of frustration, resentment, and anger that had been created by unemployment, underemployment, persistent and extreme poverty, racism, segregation, and police brutality. Ironically, today the white population is returning to Detroit only after a devastating city bankruptcy. Whether Detroit’s economic revival extends to its poorest citizens remains to be seen.
So the bottom line is that here we are more than 50 years later and people are in the streets protesting the same kinds of injustice people were protesting half a century ago.
So, what is the lesson here?
What am I supposed to do? What are all of us of good will and genuine caring supposed to do?
- First, let me speak to cisgender white males like me. Guys, here is what not to do: don’t try to take control of fixing things. I know that you’re hardwired to jump in and take charge. You’re used to people listening to what you have to say. But that is exactly the wrong thing to do. Instead, listen, and follow. This goes for your interactions with all persons of color, women, and members of the LGBTQ community or any oppressed minorities. We can’t see the world through their eyes, and we shouldn’t pretend we understand their suffering. We can only say, “I’m sorry this happened. How can I help?” And friend — they may not want our help. That’s their right. This isn’t about us. It’s not our story.
- Second, recognize that racism, sexism, and white supremacy are systemic issues that you can do something about. If you want to fix something, fix the justice system. Hold police, legislators, and judges accountable for seeing that justice is equal for everyone. As a former prosecuting attorney, I can tell you that prosecutors have tremendous power in the criminal justice system. Make sure you elect people who will use that power fairly, equitably, and evenly. The law only works if it works for everyone.
- Finally, if you have white privilege, use it for good. Find ways to amplify the voices of those who are unheard. See that they are asked into the conversations where policy is made. Speak up when you see people being marginalized and do something about it. Don’t talk over the oppressed. Add your voice to theirs.