It's been forty years since the Detroit riots on Twelfth Street. We drove down from Flint afterward to look at the damage. I'd never seen a war zone before, but it looked like I imagine one might. A year later, the Tigers came back from a two-game deficit to win the World Series against the Cardinals (the first time in series history that had happened), which went a good way toward healing the city.

I used to live two blocks from Grand River, not far from Tiger Stadium when I was about 8. I remember vivdly those nights, sitting on the front steps of the apartment with my Dad during the curfews and watching the skies lit with fires. I remember one night when I looked out the window to see dozens of police cars on the street around the apartment building, because a sniper had been reported on the roof (it was a two-story building, and if there had been any shots we would have heard them).

The owner of the building sold out to the Wonder Bread bakery across the street, and my parents decided to move back to Kentucky the next year. I never really understood how bad it was, not until much later when I read about what happened. I did understand the aftermath, with the stores I remember passing being gutted and burned out, and others boarded up never to reopen. It really was "interesting times."