Cradle to grave — Birth and death of cars on Rouge River

May 8, 2008 – 10:29 am

There was a time in the 20th century when Henry Ford’s Rouge car factory literally started at one end from scratch with iron ore, limestone and coke and at the other end rolled out finished automobiles. Sort of a nativity scene, with newborn cars delivered there on the Lower Rouge.

That piece of history is well-known. What most people don’t know is that a few miles upstream from the Rouge plant, cars have been abandoned, lying submerged in the river, sitting askew on the banks or just resting on the floodplain.

The Rouge is a birthplace for cars, but it is also a car graveyard.

I discovered this feature of the Rouge three years ago when I was still a reporter with the Detroit Free Press. Together with my old friend and colleague Pat Beck, a Free Press photographer, I paddled a canoe up the Rouge River, starting at Zug Island where U.S. Steel makes iron that eventually goes for cars and many other products. We decided to go upstream because that’s how early European explorers would have seen it, arriving from Lake Erie.We paddled past the Rouge plant, where the steel mill now belongs to a Russian company. And for five days we kept at it, forcing our way over, around or through 72 logjams, four dams and spotting along the way 16 junk cars. I dictated their locations into my audio recorder.

My story and Pat’s photos, including amazing shots of junk cars in or along the Rouge — ran in the Detroit Free Press Oct. 19-20, 2005. The following spring, I got a call from Sally Petrella, public involvement coordinator at Friends of the Rouge. Would I be so kind as to show her where those cars are? A Livonia company, Aristeo Construction, had offered workers and heavy equipment to remove them.

By now, it’s gotten to be a yearly thing. Last week, for the third time, I got out the transcript of the audio log I made as Pat and I paddled up the Rouge June 6-10, 2005. I knew where the volunteer crews had already pulled 10 1/2 cars out in 2006 and 2007, so I didn’t bother looking at my comments for those areas. n 2006, six and a half cars were yanked from River Rouge Park. Last year, three cars were pulled out in the half-mile of river north of Fenkell Street. But according to my log, we spotted another seven junk cars in the last half mile, roughly, before Six Mile. Some were near the river, above the banks, while others were right in the river.

In June 2006, during Rouge Rescue, the Aristeo workes, led by Rick Lewandowski, slowly brought front-end loaders through the woods to the river in Detroit. The statistic six and a half comes from the fact that they got enough parts at one spot to make half a vehicle. Invariably, whoever dumped the cars scraped vehicle identification numbers off, so it’s impossible to track down ownes. In 2007, I showed Rick and Sally four cars just north of Fenkell. Aristeo got three of them. The fourth is still there, buried in the bank under the Fenkell Street bridge.

On our hike last April 29, with Sally and Cyndi Ross of Friends of the Rouge, we found the seven cars Pat and I spotted from the canoe, plus three more.

It was an amazing sight from the canoe. Your vision takes in the river and its banks nd the woods that rise up from the banks. What you don’t see are the lanes and streets that end close to the river. It’s those neighborhoods and their streets that populate the Rouge car cemetery.

But there is some good news. All of these cars are rusty and look like they’ve been there for years. It doesn’t look to me like more cars have been added to this sad pre-owned car inventory.

Is word getting out that this is a bad practice, this junking of old cars in the river?

The bad news, though, is that in the neighborhood to the east of this area, I saw many more burned-out houses than were there in previous years. No people, no junk cars? Maybe.

On Saturday, June 7, Aristeo will be back with front-end loaders, ready to yank more car carcasses out of the drink. I’ll be there again to watch and report.

Removing trash that may have come from that factory downstream is a wonderful step towards making this river more like the pristine gem it was when white explorers found it centuries ago.

Friends of the Rouge are always looking for more people to help with their annual Rouge Rescue. For more information, see their website at http://www.therouge.org/Programs/PI/River%20Restoration/Rouge%20Rescue2/RougeRescue2008/Rouge_Rescue_2008.html

Contact me at joelthurtell(at)gmail.com

Wayne State University Press is publishing a book by Pat Beck and me about our Rouge canoe trip. There will be dozens of Pat’s photos with a discussion of Rouge issues and trip narrative written by me. It’s called “Up the Rouge! Paddling Detroit’s Hidden River.” It’s to be for sale in early 2009.


A challenge to the council

May 7, 2008 – 7:41 am

Go ahead, prove me wrong.

I predict that Detroit’s City Council never will remove Kwame Kilpatrick as mayor. That long opinion they paid attorney Bill Goodman to write, which supposedly excoriated the mayor for his behavior in the text message scam, was a great show. Full of thunder and lightning.

In sum, it amounts to nothing.

The council could remove the mayor, but that would take time and cost money, supposedly.

Therefore, the council most likely will bounce their problem to Gov. Jennifer Granholm and ask her to fire the mayor for them.

Why not do it themselves? Don’t want their fingerprints on this one.

Meanwhile, we hear that maybe the council will “censure” hizzoner.

Censuring him won’t get rid of him.

So that means nothing again.

And the governor isn’t likely to bounce him for the same reasons the council doesn’t want to touch him.

Despite all the nasty headlines and despite the prosecutor’s criminal charges, Kilpatrick is a young man with plenty of political future ahead of him. He’s the scion of a powerful political family. His mom’s a congresswoman, no less, and his dad has been prominent in public office and as a Democrat for many years. Then, too, we’ve seen the Council President Pro Tem, Monica Conyers, switch to support for Kwame. I’ll bet she had a talk with her hubby and changed her mind about the mayor. She’s married to U.S. Rep. John Conyers Jr., chairman of the House Judiciary Committee and one of the most powerful politicos in the country.

With the Conyers and Kilpatricks on his side, nobody with any brain will gun for Kwame.

Except Kym Worthy, the Wayne County prosecutor. And if she screws up the prosecution and Kwame skates free, his name and connections will assure him some public office, maybe even more years as mayor, for a long time.

There is a long shot. Questions about his misuse of a city credit card could smell like an ongoing pattern for deceit, possibly involving electronic transfers. Maybe the feds will weigh in with wire fraud or racketeering charges.

Don’t hold your breath.

Those people on the Detroit City Council know this. They know memories can be as long as grudges.

That’s why I think Kwame’s safe where he sits.

Okay, council members, prove me wrong!


Identity crisis again

May 6, 2008 – 1:06 pm

I was just kidding when I said my birth certificate might cast doubt on whether I’m me.

A clever little kicker to a mildly sarcastic story about the need — post 9/11 — to prove unequivocally who we are.

Planning a trip to Canada later this week and unable to find my passport, I realized no longer would my Michigan driver’s license and my say-so get me back into the States.

Nothing for it but to drive to Grand Rapids and fork out ten bucks to the Kent County Clerk for a copy of my birth certificate. There was a certain irony, maybe only in my mind, to the fact that I was doing it on my birthday.

I couldn’t help wondering, though, how probitive of my identity any of these formal records might be. I got my answer when I looked over the birth certificate Kent County copied for me.

Lo and behold, there were blanks. My mother’s maiden name was there, and her age, 25, and her residence, Lowell. All correct, or at least all according to family lore. My father’s name and age were there, though according to my parents, dad was in Alabama in the air force. World War II was still on that day, which was May 5, 1945.

But what’s this? Mom’s married name was “not recorded.”

Minor detail.

Still, all that info came from mom. What we in journalism call a single-source story. Now, I believe my mom, but you see, there’s a principle. Vital data should be confirmed and re-confirmed, don’t you think?

You can imagine, I was starting to get nervous. More so when I noticed the blank where it asks for a witness, someone to sign under “I certify that the personal information provided on this certificate is correct to the best of my knowledge and belief.”

In place of a signature, it says, “not recorded.”

Not looking good. This really is a single source story. What if things were going on in that hospital that mom didn’t know about? What if someone slipped a different kid into my crib? Well, I guess that different kid would actually be me, but if that were the case, who would I be? And what happend to the kid they took away, which was really me? Does this mean I’ve lived all these years as a phony me? A pseudo-self?

See what I mean? There are holes in my story, as an editor once told me.

Golden opportunity here for someone inclined to fiddle with a kid’s ID. Sixty-three years a guy thinks he knows who he is. Gets his birth certificate and blamo! As the editor one said, hole in the story big enough to drive a truck through.

I read further. Big relief. Four days later, along came Dr. B. H. “Shep” Shepard. He was the doctor who delivered me. I don’t remember him, but I heard plenty about him. He was a barber in Lowell for many years before going to med school. There were 75 kids in my Lowell High School class of ‘63, and I bet he delivered half of them. Beloved G.P. in town. Drooling with credibility. Shep dropped by Blodgett Hospital and signed my birth certificate where it says, “I certify that the above named child was born alive at the place and time and on the date stated above.”

Hmmm. Not sure I like that. It’s not quite the same as attesting that I’m me, is it? Any kid could have been born at the place and time and date on the record.

Worrisome.

What’s more, I gotta say, looking at this embossed blue and pink document, doggone — oh my God, I shouldn’t say this with a border crossing looking me in the face — but I can’t help it. The darn thing looks fake. I bet you could do better with a color Xerox.

How many people have figured that out and crossed illegally their pretty little color Xerox certificates while the federales are hassling bona fide citizens to prove what everybody knows, which is who they are?

But that’s not my worry, is it? My concern is solely with getting back into the good ol’ US of A.


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