Already Gone - Restart in Detroit

Restart in Detroit

When he could no longer work as a coal miner due to an accumulation of coal and rock dust in his lungs, Dad did what most men like him did- he sought a new beginning somewhere else. Several of mom’s brothers and a sister had moved to Detroit years before and were, by all accounts, doing pretty well. They offered to help Dad get a start in the ‘Motor City’. Since he could perform no manual labor due to the Black Lung disease, he certainly could not work in the auto factories. After moving in with my mother’s sister, as she had a big house on Townsend Street, he quickly found work as a security guard. The job turned into a sort of security guard/body guard for the owners of a small chain of independent grocery stores located mostly on Detroit west side.


The stores were owned by a family of Jews. There were few, if any, stores owned by Arabic speaking people at that time. Dad was actually employed by a company called Simpson Patrol which had been contracted by the Levy family to provide security and such for the six or seven stores they had. Dad soon became a trusted person with both companies and did well despite his physical limitations.

As in most large cities and for a variety of reasons, the very face of Detroit had started to change in 1965. The flight to the suburbs was underway. The Civil Rights movement was in high gear as well certain so called ‘militant groups’ were becoming more and more prominent. These were major changes for a family fresh out of the hills of West Virginia and my dad was suspicious of many of these changes. He had believed the hype and smear published by the feds, namely Hoover and the FBI against the ‘Black Panthers’ and others, like Malcolm X. In his mind these entities became hated as much as the ‘cool-aid color clothed, do-rag wearing fools' that paraded the streets all about. I heard a lot about these types of people from my father’s mouth and believed it all to be true. It became known to us and others that because of his work with the Jewish family in helping to protect their stores, he became a target of the Black Panthers, who were reportedly against any businesses in black neighborhoods that were not owned and operated by Blacks. In fact, there were two known assassination attempts made against Dad in those days. The first was when a rifle bullet was fired into his car as he drove into the parking lot of the 12th street store and a second one was when they shot the wrong man and Joe Moore, a co-worker lost his life. These incidents solidified my belief as to the nature of the Black Panthers and other ‘militant groups’.

Then there was the 1967 riot in Detroit. During that first Sunday, the day the riot got started, he was at the 12th street store helping to get the workers out and to shut the place down. Later that night, after coming home to get better armed, he went back to help secure the buildings as looting had become rampant. Over the next few days I saw him leaving and returning home with an ammo belt of shot gun shells, a Colt 45 semi-auto hand gun in a shoulder holster and a 38 police special in a hip holster. What happened here? - Why just a couple of years before he was a simple coal miner. Those images remain in my mind to this day.

We lived on the east side of Detroit. The direct effects of the riot were not as pronounced as it was on the west side of town. Though we saw national guard troops riding in troop carriers and jeeps, all carrying rifles and other arms, there was relatively little looting and killing. The family who lived, then, in the house on the corner went out and looted a sofa from, we think, Federals Department store. As they were carrying it across the Townsend foot bridge toward their house, Dad, who sitting on the front porch, commented, that the sofa would sitting out in the alley for garbage within six months. Sure enough, his words were prophetic. He had stated that because they did not earn the money to pay for the sofa, they would not appreciate the value of it and would ‘dog it out’.

That fall I entered the 9th grade. High school was so vastly different from junior high. Kids seemed more pugnacious in junior high. Generally speaking, everyone was more laid back and settled in high school, generally speaking. From my perspective kids were becoming more socially aware of themselves and others around them. We were growing up. I joined ROTC, I think, because I had always wanted to be a Marine since I was 7 or 8 years old. I got some flak from these guys who were labeled ‘militant’ by some of the teachers.

A friend from junior high, Al Justice, started to hang out with the 'militants' as we used to call them. The group thAT Al associated with were known as 'The Republic of New Afrika' or RNA. Al and I were cool from our days in junior high. But we seemed to drift apart as we got older. Al seemed drawn to the RNA a seemingly militant group., among who were the two Trice brothers (Morgan and Bokeba). At first, I associated these guys with the groups my dad used to talk about. They wore dark sunglasses and seemed to not listen to teachers. They were not bad as criminal bad goes but seemed recalcitrant and unwilling to go along with the crowd. The Trice brothers dressed in the U.S. army issued fatigue clothing of the day, usually olive drab green and combat boots. These guys even wore a denatured 50 caliber bullet on a string as an amulet or necklace. This appeared dangerous to me if not rebellious. They seemed angry all the time. I often wondered why but kept my distance. For the most part though, most of the kids I hung with held a quiet admiration and respect for the Trice’s and Al Justice. They were serious minded though knew how to laugh and have a good time. Still, they represented the RNA, who appeared to me to be similar to the Black Panthers who were, in turn,  responsible for trying to kill my dad. I hated them, respected them and feared them all at once.

Some years later, while attending classes at Wayne State University in Detroit, I learned a great deal more about people and certain affiliations. There were also those on the fringe of any group; those who had become truly angry and obsessed with a cause. The Trice brothers were not of this sort. They were sincere in what they strove to teach and obtain. I would have been glad to have struggled with them in those high school days, but time, family, and life itself led me down a different path. I will always remember Al, Bokeba and Morgan and many others who either knowingly or not, helped shape the person I am still becoming. I’ve looked around for those days and times but they were already gone.