Missing Motown

"Philly's fine, but it ain't home. Detroit's home, but it ain't mine no more."

Neil Diamond never sang those lyrics, but I'm convinced he would have if he had to choose between those two cities under the same circumstances.

Ahh, Detroit. The Motor City. Motown. The Big D. The 313. Hockeytown. The Arsenal of Democracy.

I miss it. Call me crazy.

A year ago at this time, the dining room of our house in Royal Oak was nearly impassable, filled with a pile of boxes that almost reached the ceiling. We were in a mad scramble to try and get everything organized, labelled, and packed before loading a rental truck bound for Philadelphia. And although we were staring at a mountain of boxes, most of the big things were staying behind temporarily for staging purposes to help try and sell our house. The scene was surreal, and it smacked like something from a Dick DeVos campaign ad.

It was a huge transition for our family. The metropolitan Detroit area had been my home for almost 12 years, and Jena had been there for about seven of them. We dated and got married there. We rented our first apartment together there. We bought our first house there. We joined our first church there. Charlie and Jamie were both born there, in the same hospital.

There were a lot of other "firsts" too, but those were by far the biggest ones. And we left a lot of friends behind. Putting this all together, you can see why I still have so much affection for the place.

But that's not the whole story. I really became interested in the city. I bought a copy of the Detroit Almanac. I did research and learned about the city's history. I read extensively about many things: the buildings downtown, the auto industry, the causes and the events of the 1967 riot, the War of 1812, just to name a few.

I liked to surprise Jena with Detroit things. One year we went to the Dally in the Alley. Another day we checked out the Eastern Market and enjoyed barbecue and bought a smokebush for the yard. We went to see the Belle Isle aquarium on the last day it was open. Just a few days before Jamie was born, we went bowling and ate lunch at the Majectic. We went exploring and found Mexicantown and Greektown and fell in love with its restaurants and bakeries. We brought our boys to the Detroit Science Center. I brought Charlie and waited in a long line to pay our respects to Rosa Parks when she was lying in state at the Charles H. Wright Museum of African American History. Jena and I saw the VanGogh portrait exhibit at the Detroit Institute of Arts. We took my in-laws on the historic house tour of Indian Village. We admired the houses of the Boston-Edison neighborhood. We went for the grand opening of the new Detroit airport terminal. We took my parents to an RV show at the Silverdome, the Chrysler Museum, and took them to the Ford Rouge factory tour. We became members of the Detroit Zoo and visited several times. We went to the North American International Auto Show one year. We were all over the RenCen and Campus Martius the day of Super Bowl XL. We had box seats for a Red Wings' game once. We checked out the new (and small) Hard Rock Café. We saw Jimmy Kimmel at the Gem Theater. We saw the Rockettes at the Fox Theater. We saw "Les Misérables" at the Fisher Theater. We saw "Roman Holiday" at the Redford Theater. And one day I drove her to the intersection of 12th and Clairmount in Detroit and told her that we were at the epicenter of the `67 riot.

I took pictures of abandoned buildings and was fascinated with what the city may have been like 40, 50, 100 years prior. I read all about the Book-Cadillac Hotel, joined its Friends group, and was excited to hear about its renovation (we're making plans to stay there one day when it is finished). I was sad to see the demolition of the Madison-Lenox Hotel and Hudson's flagship store. I admired the United Artists Theater building and its painted windows. I had an opportunity to see the former Michigan Theater building, which is now a parking garage, from the inside following a job interview (the theater is in the movie "8 Mile"). I propped Charlie up for pictures in front of Tiger Stadium, the Michigan Central Train Station, and the Chin Tiki (also in "8 Mile"). I remember what Trapper's Alley looked like before the Greektown Casino took it over. I went to art shows and flipped through pictures of Olympia stadium and the Ford Rotunda. I bought an old Northwest Airlines terminal sign that said "Welcome to Detroit," and bought a piece of steel artwork with a silhouette of Detroit for my basement bar (not built yet). I dreamed of maybe someday buying the GAR Building in downtown Detroit, if my finances, my wife, and the Illitch family would ever allow it.

I also read about uniquely Detroit things: Hudson's, Vernor's, the Purple Gang, the original plans for the PeopleMover, Zug Island, and the Nike base on Belle Isle, just to name a few. I probably have seen enough of Detroit, and know more about its history, than a good deal of the people who have called it home for their entire lives - or certainly enough to have a good, friendly conversation with a local.

So when people ask me today where I am from, I say "Philly ... but I just moved here from Detroit." I guess I am secretly hoping that maybe the other person is from the city, or has at least been there. But most of the time, unfortunately, that's as far as it goes.

It ain't mine no more. But maybe someday it will be again.