Let Start With a Little Detroit History
The Rebellion of 1967 (Not a Riot)
Before I begin writing about my childhood, let me share a little
Detroit history with you.
My beloved city of Detroit was once one of the most admired
cities in America. In fact, in 1963, the mayor at the time, Jerome
Patrick Cavanagh, was preparing a bid for the 1968 Olympics,
even beating out Los Angeles in the early stages. Officials planned
to break ground for the games at the Michigan State Fairgrounds,
with Wayne State University’s campus serving as the Olympic
Village. However, Detroit ultimately lost the bid to Mexico City.
Despite these grand plans, 1967 became a boiling point for the
city, marking an unstable and frightening time for many. For
people of color, it was particularly harrowing, as nothing seemed
fair, and the situation grew increasingly frustrating. The root
causes of the tension included a lack of economic job
opportunities, insufficient job training programs, housing
discrimination, subpar education systems, failed infrastructures,
judicial inequities, and, perhaps most significantly, the
mistreatment and intimidation by the Detroit Police Department.
At the time, the police force operated by its own set of rules,
frequently terrorizing and harassing members of the Black
community without cause. They routinely targeted citizens for
beatings and unjust arrests, fueling mistrust and resentment
among residents.
Detroit’s schools were far less diverse than they are today, yet the
city had its bright spots.
The car manufacturing industry was booming, and the Motown
Sound dominated the charts, bringing global recognition to
Detroit’s cultural vibrancy.
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It all began on a Sunday, July 23rd, at the intersection of 12th and
Clairmount Street. A homecoming celebration for two Vietnam
veterans was being held on the second floor of the Economy
Printing Company, which doubled as an illegal after-hours club
and gambling spot—what the police referred to as a Blind Pig.
Two Black undercover officers were sent in to make a drug buy.
After the transaction, the police broke through the front door with
a sledgehammer and raided the club.
Outside, three or four paddy wagons waited to transport the 80 to
85 attendees who were arrested. Word of the raid spread quickly,
and Detroit’s simmering anger began to boil over. Bottles and
bricks were hurled at police cars. Fires erupted. Law and order
began to break down as the community’s long-standing mistrust
of the police ignited into full-blown rebellion.
This event marked the beginning of the Rebellion of 1967—the
most severe civil disorder in Detroit’s history and one of the
darkest chapters in the city’s timeline. From July 23rd to July
28th, the chaos engulfed many parts of Detroit. By the time it
ended, over 1,000 people were injured, and 43 lives were lost—
33 Black and 10 white.
As pandemonium escalated, the National Guard was called in by
Governor George W. Romney to assist the Detroit Police in
quelling the fires and looting. A command post was set up in the
very hospital where I was born, Herman Kiefer Hospital.
National Guard troops also used Detroit Central High School’s
football field as their campsite.
The situation grew so dire that President Lyndon B. Johnson had
to deploy the 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions.
The rebellion spilled over from Detroit into neighboring cities like
Highland Park and Hamtramck, with looting, fires, and the
torching of vehicles becoming widespread.
The events of those days left an indelible mark on Detroit, its
people, and its history.
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Volunteer free food pantries began opening all over the city to
help people who had lost their homes during the destruction.
These pantries became a lifeline for those who had been displaced
and left without basic necessities.
At the time, there were no Black firefighters in Detroit, and only
5 percent of the police force was Black.
The racial tension within the force itself was so severe that Black
officers were being shot at by their own comrades during the
rebellion.
A few days into the uprising, the jails became so overcrowded that
law enforcement had to transport prisoners to Belle Isle,
temporarily holding them in the park's bathhouses. The chaos led
to a shortage of blood supplies for victims, both Black and white,
leaving hospitals struggling to care for the injured.
Snipers hid in vacant buildings, targeting law enforcement under
the cover of night. To counter this, police used tear gas to flush
out the snipers, often filling entire buildings with gas to regain
control. Meanwhile, some stores that were unaffected by the
destruction began price gouging, exploiting the chaos and
desperation of the five-day atrocities.
Most Black business owners were unable to recover after the
devastation. Insurance claims for property damage were often
denied, and many couldn’t afford to make the necessary repairs.
As a result, countless Black-owned stores and shops were lost
forever.
Five days of fear, violence, and destruction completely unraveled
this once-model city.
Something else unfolded during and after the 1967 rebellion that
further devastated Detroit—it marked the beginning of the
exodus, commonly referred to as White Flight.
At one time, Blacks and whites lived together in harmony
throughout many neighborhoods.
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But by the 1940s and 1950s, 90 percent of Detroit’s population
was white, while most Black residents were confined to poorer
areas like Detroit’s Black Bottom due to a practice called
Redlining. This systemic discrimination excluded Black families
from purchasing homes or living in predominantly white
neighborhoods. Economic threats, physical intimidation, and
outright violence were used to keep them out.
During the rebellion of 1967, over one million white residents
began packing up and leaving urban Detroit in droves, moving
their families and businesses to the suburbs.
Steel industries, car manufacturers, and small local businesses
followed, relocating outside the city limits. The mass departure
left Detroit’s Black population without jobs, training
opportunities, or adequate education, forcing many families onto
welfare.
By the mid-1970s, Detroit had become a majority Black city.
Here’s an interesting fact I discovered while starting this
book: right before I was born, African Americans had to pay
a $2 poll tax just to vote in elections. This was a deliberate
form of voter suppression designed to keep Black citizens
from participating in democracy.
I honestly didn’t know about this until now, and it underscores
why we need our books to remain accessible in schools today.
This history must not be erased.
Personal Timeline 1965
It happened.
While addressing an audience inside a grand ballroom, this
brilliant man, a beacon of truth and empowerment, was brutally
assassinated. The world lost a revolutionary voice that day. Just
one week before, his home had been firebombed in a heinous act
of hatred and intimidation.
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At the time, I had no interest in studying the Muslim religion. Yet,
as the years passed, his teachings began to resonate with me,
shaping my perspectives on truth, justice, and equality. He was a
man who fearlessly confronted the injustices of his time, even
when he knew his life was at risk.
Many years after his death, my father started reading the Holy
Quran, and soon, copies of the Muhammad Speaks newspaper
began finding their way into our home. Curiosity led me to pick
up those newspapers, and I found them profoundly informative.
The articles opened my eyes to a world of knowledge and ideas
that I had never considered before.
Who was this brave man who knew his end was near and yet
continued to speak truth to power until he was abruptly silenced
on February 21, 1965?
Malcolm X.
Make no mistake about it—Malcolm X was not just a man. He
was a movement, a force of nature who challenged the status quo
and demanded dignity and equality for his people. His words,
though often controversial, pierced through the lies of the time,
leaving behind an enduring legacy that still influences me today.
My dad worked tirelessly to provide for his wife and children, and
he did an outstanding job.
But life has a way of throwing unforeseen challenges, and I
truly believe the 1967 rebellion played a significant role in
shaping the struggles that followed.
For my family, 1967 was a dream-killing year. It wasn’t just the material
losses—it was the ripple effect on a young, growing family’s
aspirations. For many years, I struggled to understand why our
family’s hardships seemed to linger, why it felt like we were stuck
in an endless loop of challenges.
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But as I grew into adulthood, the clarity came.
I began to see the invisible threads connecting our struggles to the
societal upheaval of the time. I began to understand why my
family became who we are today.
We were rich—not in money, but in determination. That
unshakable will to endure and overcome was, and still is, a
defining family trait.
Without a family setback, there can be no family triumph. This is
not just a story. It’s a vital family memory—a piece of who we are.
— Eric Wright