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Compound D (Old English-Public Domain): The Struggle of a Family in America's Most Dangerous City Now that we are retired, we travel around the country and meet folks who claim to be from Detroit. We ask, "Really? What neighborhood?" The response is some affluent suburban community. They react with mild surprise when we reply that we live "downtown in Woodbridge, not the street on the east side. We are named for the Woodbridge Farms, one of the first housing communities of the new century, the twentieth century, that is." We've lived here for over fifty years. For decades after the '67 Riots,…mehr

Produktbeschreibung
Compound D (Old English-Public Domain): The Struggle of a Family in America's Most Dangerous City Now that we are retired, we travel around the country and meet folks who claim to be from Detroit. We ask, "Really? What neighborhood?" The response is some affluent suburban community. They react with mild surprise when we reply that we live "downtown in Woodbridge, not the street on the east side. We are named for the Woodbridge Farms, one of the first housing communities of the new century, the twentieth century, that is." We've lived here for over fifty years. For decades after the '67 Riots, one by one, businesses shuttered their doors and fled. The popular saying was "the last one out, please turn off the lights." But in truth, it wasn't long before the streetlights were already out of service. Over the years, we installed security, got rottweilers, obtained concealed-carry permits, and defended our home. During the summers, the lawns are manicured and the gardens are lush with food and beauty. Why do we stay? Perhaps it's a mixture of guilt for not volunteering to fight in a war I felt was wrong and a hardheadedness born in our deep Ozark roots. We don't like being told where we can live. We worked hard, and over the years, we found enjoyment and pleasure around the city-from a Friday night beer and friendship at the old Dakota Inn Rathskeller (the last German bar in Detroit) to Saturday morning walks with the dogs and a friend around Belle Isle to a Sunday morning mass at Saint Anne Parish (the second-oldest parish in the United States). We are finally beginning to emerge from Detroit's nightmare. Detroit is roaring back and reinventing itself. Come for a visit.
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Autorenporträt
David Suttner was born in 1944 and raised in the small town of Poplar Bluff, in the foothills of Missouri's Ozark Mountains. He spent much of his early youth on his grandparent's farm, tending cattle, riding bareback, hoeing the garden, and picking cotton for cash to buy school-bought clothes and shoes. For fun, he attended church socials, pitching horseshoes, camping, canoeing, fishing, hunting, and listening to old timers tell tall tales from their past. He received his first rifle for his eleventh birthday. It was a Winchester pump gallery rifle chambered for .22 shorts. It was for killing vipers, plinking, and bringing home small game. The gun is now in possession of his son, Bob, the third generation to shoot it. At fourteen, he began working as a grease monkey for his father's construction company (draining swamps). He worked on the brush crew hacking its way to the big machines, whose big buckets dug canals, built levies and earthen dams, hauling in fuel and maintaining the drag-line and equipment. He and his younger brother, Danny Mac, roamed the fields and swamps at the job site and drove the back roads and byways of Southeast Missouri looking for adventure in Dave's 1946 Ford Sedan (a retired candy apple red car that had belonged to the fire chief of Saint Louis. He purchased it for $55.00 from Erma's family junkyard). His early life seems like an impossible dream in today's world, but it prepared him, his wife, and their son, for the rigors of living in inner-city Detroit, America's most dangerous city. He earned his Bachelor degree in Cape Girardeau, Missouri, found time to explore the Indian Mounds near and around Missouri and Illinois. After moving to Michigan for graduate work his interest in the early western history and cowboy literature was stoked with horseback riding, country dancing and trips to the Southwest. When the time was right, he began writing first about life's survival adventures in Detroit. He and his wife, Erma together for 62 years are still having fun. They live in a Victorian neighborhood in downtown Detroit and are witnessing a rebirth of their community. The dangers they have faced in the inner-city are similar to those faced by the early settlers on the Western frontier; economic uncertainty, corrupt politicians, criminal gangs, and a general disrespect for law.