Its strange to imagine a city being torn down around you. We usually think of buildings as so fixed, cities so permanent. But when you spend an extended amount of time in Detroit, you're bound to see at least one large element of the urban landscape recede. The first demolished building I witnessed was a parking structure on Elizabeth St (my pic above). Certainly not a signature building, this concrete frame structure was essentially a big white block, with rectilinear openings that had been filled-in with glass panels in a steel frame. A vintage painted metal sign that simply read PARKING in vertical lettering hung off the NW corner, carefully removed one day and carried off on a flatbed truck. My friend Tadd noticed that this was the well-known Detroit case of tearing down a parking structure for surface parking. Hmmm. Makes sense.
Here's a pic of the boxy building at night: pic And some during the day: pic
In any case, I designed a coffee table dedicated to this structure for DisturbedSleep, a furniture design collective featuring handmade pieces designed by young Southeast Michigan designers. It will be fabricated this summer by Doormouse here in Detroit and then exhibited at ReView gallery on Willis in Midtown, Detroit this August. Some quick images are below.
Dimensions: 42" x 20" x 20". Materials: powder-coated sheetmetal and branded leather. Felt optional instead of leather. Aqui esta.
Everybody knew the Mayor had a big head. But the replica made it a joke. His twelve-inch mug had been cast fourteen feet tall in colored paper and chickenwire. Hanging high above the crowd that day the piñata was like something from a bad clown dream – maybe funny when you first see it, but completely creepy after you took a step back. One guy blurted out “now that’s a big head.” His neighbor said, “well you KNOW how big the Mayor’s head is.” Considering that, the first nodded “well, yeah.” Made sense that a big head would look even bigger when you scale it up.
People talked in small ways about the piñata, but inside they all felt wretched. Except when the waves of anticipation came. They stood there in yesterday’s puddles – not warmed a bit by the April sun quietly arcing by.
A young teacher stood watching. She had felt angry when she first read of the Mayor’s plan to knock down the old station. Critics agreed it was the most beautiful abandoned structure in the world. And now, like the city’s other grandfatherly buildings whose intricate details won’t be replaced, this gem was coming down. And for what- a trashy casino? A vacant lot? She was pissed.
Finishing the story, her instinct was to walk into the mayor’s office and throw chairs and heavy books at him. Tear it down cause it’s an eyesore? A safety concern? She’d give the bastard a safety concern. She imagined giving him Seriously Loud Smacks. Not the kind where you stop when it hurts, but the kind where you keep winding up until the guy cries “alright, fine- I won’t knock that building down. Ever.” Minutes later she wanted to write him a letter. She started writing it and used the word “idiot” twice and “childish” (or “child”) three times. She tore it up halfway and started another. This one had the words “potential” and “opportunity” along with “safety-concern” and “complicated.” "Selfish" was used, but it was nicely couched in reasonable terms. She felt pretty good about this one as she neared the end, like she was going to level with him eye to eye. But after re-reading it the story seemed flat, like it had lost all emotion.
So she did some things to take her mind off it for a while and later considered other ways to save this treasure. Monkey-wrench the demolition vehicles. Tie herself to the station. Have her students make cards and drawings about how much they love this old building and mail them to the mayor. And then go downtown and kick him in the balls.
The cards might work, she thought. Nothing stops grownups like kids who’ve been manipulated by other grownups. So she felt a bit better. But as a few days passed she lost the fervor of her first impulses, and the building grew smaller in her mind. Then one night she caught wind of the citizens’ plans for the eve of the demolition. Which is where we are today, with the piñata head and the mud and the clear sky above.
The paper head dropped from the crane towards its elliptical shadow. Watching it felt like seeing a giant mechanical hand play yo-yo. Slowly. People were giddy. Number two-hundred-eleven was pulled first. Two-eleven was a wiry old man whose first whack barely budged the paper head. But the crowd roared anyway. Thirty-nine hits finally started a depression, and people were electric. A depression. Yes. Sixty-four swings scored a view of the head’s insides: a dark mass wrapped in wire and tattered paper. At eighty-three, a spout of grey-black poured out from the opening like dead locusts dropping fast. Only a few twists of wire held the large load back.
The next strike exploded through the gash, releasing a flood of seeds. People shouted. Mud was everywhere. Seedpiles grew instantly: dunescapes spreading into the crowd. The people were all energy, grabbing fistfuls of seeds and hurling them into the air. Across the crowd, heads moved in erratic cycles: up to see the show of earthen fireworks, to the side for a high-five, down-low for a too-slow and at their wet shoes pulled from seeds and rustbrown mud.
Chants sprung up over the next couple of hours and almost every person stayed on. Surrounding the empty medeusan shell, the crowd photographed itself, its friends, its neighbors with the station behind. Even the first cold air of night did not deter them, their collective energy warm.
The next morning, the teacher awoke with heavy eyes. She rubbed them, slowly recalling the crowd and the piñata and her sopping clothes. She weighed the memories like a dream pressing full against the morning light.
Minutes later she drove off toward the station, worried that she had missed something.
Subject: Re: Demolition of MichiganCentral Station
Hey XXXXXX,
I want to begin by thanking you for your e-mail.
You raise valid points that I want to address.
Here's the problem. Manny Moroun, the owner of the MichiganCentral Depot, has already shown that he has no intention of taking "care of his OWN building with his OWN money" as many have suggested..
Nor can Detroit continue to wait for him to grow a conscience. His building has been an eyesore for the better part of 30 years. It is also a major safety hazard.
Do not forget that a dead body was found in an attached warehouse about two months ago - something that made the front page of the Detroit News.
Our plan, if accepted is to use stimulus dollars to target this and other large structures that are arguably beyond repair. If the Obama White House accepts this Detroit would use the stimulus dollars as upfront cash to demolish these structures. Following that, we would pursue legal action against the owners to recoup the demolition costs.
So in essence, though tax dollars would be used to take down these buildings up front - the owners would still end up paying at the back end because they would be forced to reimburse these costs to the City.
This is actually identical to what the city does now with owners who fail to maintain single- family homes that are beyond repair. We knock them down and bill the owner.
So why don't we do the same with the Train Station you may ask? The answer is that the costs of demolishing a structure of that size up-front is so massive it would exceed the city's entire demolition budget for a single-fiscal year
I have seen estimates for demolition of the Train Station that run as high as $14 million.
If approved, the use of stimulus dollars to demolish such structures would give us the ability to go after massive eyesores.
Personally, I would like to see structures like the Train Station rehabilitated and placed back into productive use of some sort. This is the other value of reciept of stimulus dollars for this purpose.
If the owners of large structures who have been scoffing at our laws know that we have the financial means to demolish their buildings that can be used as leverage to force them to get off their duffs and develop viable plans for putting these structures back into productive use AT THEIR OWN COST where possible.
Under this scenario everyone wins. The building is salvaged and put into use and the city can direct its funds elsewhere.
