I was 12 yrs old when the Detroit Riot hit. I saw 14th st filled with people running down the street carrying whatever they could. White and Black. I ran to every neighbor I could reach to warn them... I had instinct... you had to living in the city. I was the minority at my junior high.... but, race wasn't the issue to the extend it is now. It wasn't Black kids, or Mexican kids, or white kids.. you were in trouble if you were out of your neighborhood no matter who you were. My best friends were Judy/Black, Alma/Mexican. I was the white kid that knew how to keep watch and to keep safe. When the tanks came in we would give them baby Cokes and the soldiers would give us army rations. Our neighborhood stuck together... I don't think my Mother slept more than an hour at a time to make sure Our house wasn't set on fire. One afternoon when the neighbors were gathered watching the meyham, a man was running across the street in a field that we used call Jack the Rippers house. A Policeman was chasing him. My Mother was the only one that would go with the Policeman to the station to witness that he yelled to the Man to halt three times...we watched the shot... My Mother Died the next March of a heart attack at 38 years old. I still believe it was from the stress. It wasn't a race riot. It was a political riot. I am the 2nd generation of Detroit. My sisters and I were thrown into the foster child program... to be forgotten like so many children of Detroit. My heart bleeds every time I hear the stories of despare and hopelessness. I was a kid from the streets....I know the truth. Yes, everyone was leaving Detroit... they weren't running from Black people... they were leaving because no one was cleaning up the mess. The abandon burned out buildings....whole blocks demolished. No one cared. It was a Riot... but, not Racial. We were all involved.
