THIS WAS THE BIG CITY, DETROIT, AND OUR HOUSE
Dad said, “Here is our house”
There it stood, a terrace,
Pressed in between the others.
No lawn, no flowers, not even a blade of grass.
No front yard, no back yard,
Just a cedar-block street, bricks and cement.
A narrow porch was squashed
Between the sidewalk and the house.
Detroit Residential Street 1920
This was to be our Big City home.
Our furniture hadn’t arrived.
Neither had our dog.
Things were strange,
Frightening and confusing.
We had new neighbors.
They proved to be our friends.
An alley behind the houses
A few borrowed pots and pans,
A table and some chairs,
Matresses, a pillow or two,
And we had moved
Moved into our Big City house.
WE LEARNED TO LIVE IN DETROIT
How far away the sandy beaches of Lake Michigan seemed,
The stillness of the hills,
The dewey freshness of the dawn.
We swept and scrubbed away the soot.
We listened to the big city noise.
There were sidewalk promenades to the electric Park.
Electric Park
When our dog arrived, the neighbors knew it.
He barked and howled.
He raced up and down the street.
He’d been in the crate for a week.
One day my father announced with pride:
“Today we own an automobile, a Hub 32.
It can make the boulevard viaduct in “high.”
It will need some repair. It is second hand.
Hazel in the family’s first car
Sunday became our “picnic day”
With a picnic basket, filled, A red-checked table cloth on top.
Potato salad, pickles, and cookies,
Mother’s “ground ham” sandwiches,
Her own special receipe, and cake,
We’d look for a place by the lake.
Picnic at Belle Isle
Sunday swimming at Belle Isle
Returning from Belle Isle,
Over the old wooden bridge,
Took time, stamina and patience.
Traffic jerked, stalled, and “boiled” along
From around the Island To Jefferson Avenue
Over the bridge in a single line.
Old Belle Isle Bridge
Lakeshore Drive was a narrow dirt road.
Lake Shore Drive
We soon learned how to patch flat tires.
To repair holes in the radiator,
And make the car go, but,
It wasn’t very new and Dad sold it.
I so enjoyed seeing all the pictures from the past. Brought back memories of seeing our extended families.
I talked with Ryan Jach recently. He said I would enjoy chatting with you. My email address is dthompson.1@icloud.com. Please drop me a line and we can exchange phone numbers.
I was just looking for some historic photos of Manistee and came across this incredible tribute to your family’s history. What a treasure. I was absolutely transported by every verse written by Hazel Thompson.
Thank you. Did you know Hazel Thompson?