By Edward J. Boyer
The internet posts on Aretha Franklin’s failing health in the days before her death made me reflect on the North End, the remarkable neighborhood where we both grew up in Detroit. Aretha lived on Boston Boulevard, a street with large, impressive homes, with some full blown mansions, four blocks from where I lived and a short three-block walk to the Cathedral of the Most Blessed Sacrament. I did not know Aretha growing up, but her older sister Erma, an accomplished singer in her own right, and I were briefly in Spanish class together at Detroit’s Northern High School, pictured above, before she dropped out. Aretha’s brother, Cecil, her manager for a time, was a class behind me in high school.
William Smokey Robinson lived on Belmont, three blocks away and around the corner from Aretha. Diane, later Diana, Ross lived down the block from Smokey before her family moved out of the neighborhood. Smokey and I went through grade school and high school together. Jazz pianist Roland Hanna lived on Harmon, a block away. We all knew Roland’s younger brother Kenny, but Sir Roland, as he sometimes billed himself because the president of Liberia had granted him an honorary knighthood, was off making a name for himself in New York by the time the rest of us were teenagers.
Aretha is celebrated for the artistry, talent and spirit she brought to her music, but her father, the Rev. C. L. Franklin, had some revolutionary spirit of his own. He was a powerful preacher and civil rights leader who in 1963 helped organize a march of an estimated 200,000 people down Woodward Avenue to Detroit’s Cobo Hall where Martin Luther King Jr. gave a precursor to the “I have a Dream” speech he delivered a few months later in D.C. Franklin’s fiery, spellbinding sermons attracted a huge following in Detroit and beyond, but his reputation among the religious and the secular soared after what came to be known as the New Bethel Incident.
In 1969 The Republic of New Afrika, an organization of black revolutionaries, held what I think was its first national convention in Franklin’s New Bethel Baptist Church. The church had been a movie theater that once housed the flamboyant Prophet Jones’ congregation. More on Jones later. Franklin made extensive and expensive renovations, converting the theater into an impressive house of worship. The RNA convention, though, was not a church function. Rev. Franklin simply allowed the group to use the building.
During the convention two cops happened on the scene and decided to “investigate.” I don’t recall that they ever claimed to have a warrant or even probable cause. They just felt entitled, as so many cops do, to roust black people.
But these armed revolutionaries were not about to be rousted. I don’t recall how the shooting started, but one cop was killed and the other wounded in an exchange of gunfire. Ultimately, it was a no-win situation for the revolutionaries. Police responded with force. Dozens of officers shot up the renovated church and took about 150 people into custody. A true Detroit hero, Recorder’s Court Judge George W. Crockett, personally went to police headquarters with a writ and had the prisoners released. As I recall, only a couple of them were held and charged.
But Franklin was clearly on the cops’ radar, and they tried to get their revenge a couple of months later. As Franklin returned from a trip, cops arrested him, claiming he had two marijuana cigarettes in his garment bag. How in hell do you establish a chain of custody on a checked, unlocked, zip-up garment bag? The charges were dismissed, and Franklin later collected $200,000, I think, after suing the airline. That was a fair piece of change back in the 1960s, almost $1.4 million today.
In 1979, Franklin was shot during a home invasion robbery and remained in a coma until he died in 1984. An indication of just how toxic relations were between the police and black Detroiters, a rumor began circulating that cops were behind the robbery, that they had sent in the thugs to take Franklin out. Like so many rumors, no evidence ever surfaced that I recall to substantiate it.
Franklin was a nationally prominent Baptist pastor and a charismatic natural showman, but the most colorful religious figure in Detroit — a purveyor of winning three-digits for the numbers game — was the self-titled His Holiness, the Right Reverend Dr. James Francis “Prophet” Jones. He lived a couple of blocks from the Franklin family in his “French Castle” on Arden Park, practically in the shadow of the Catholic cathedral’s soaring Gothic architecture.
The three-digit numbers game with its 500 to 1 payoff was ubiquitous in the black community, and Prophet Jones packed his church with the faithful seeking a “special blessing” every Sunday. So if the Prophet’s sermon mentioned First Corinthians, the fourth chapter and 16th verse, they knew to bet on 416 in the first of two daily games or “races.” The prophet had an uncanny ability to come up with winning numbers, and he generally offered several biblical references each Sunday to guide his followers’ bets. The game was illegal, of course, until the state took it over many years later.
Prophet Jones was also known for reclaiming destitute young men from the streets, cleaning them up and including them in his flock. When “Dinosaur” showed up at our neighborhood pool room, cleaner than the board of health — new Stacy Adams shoes, new suit and overcoat from Hot Sam’s, a new stingy brim from Henry the Hatter — we all wanted to know what had brought about his dramatic change of fortune. He only smiled and said: “I’m a disciple.” Homosexuality was prosecuted as a crime back then, and the Detroit cop who busted Prophet Jones on a morals charge also lived in the neighborhood. We used to joke around the poolroom that the cop must have really pissed someone off to draw that assignment. But Jones had a good lawyer who successfully argued that the cop had entrapped the prophet, and the jury acquitted him.
At Northern High where Smokey and I both were in the choir and the much larger chorus, we sang a full length “Messiah” without a score every year. George Shirley, the first African American tenor to sing a leading role at the Metropolitan Opera, came out of our choir.
Another North End personality I knew only as a friendly woman who ran a print shop and occasionally took photos of neighborhood kids was Ruth Ellis. None of us knew then that Ellis was a very important LGBTQ pioneer activist. She ran Ellis & Franklin Printing at the intersection of Caniff and Oakland Avenue. We walked past her shop every day on our way to Dwyer Elementary, and she often photographed us. I still have one of her photos. My childhood head shot with this essay is cropped from a group photo Ruth Ellis took. My best guess is that I was about 10 years old then. I later patronized her shop for souvenir dance programs and other printing for our high school club and our college fraternity. I knew her but nothing about her story until I saw a remarkable documentary, “Living With Pride: Ruth C. Ellis @ 100,” long after I had moved to California. The film chronicled her efforts on behalf of the LGBTQ community going back to the 1930s. Her residence above her shop became a social center for gays. She lived to be 101 and died in 2000.
The North End was a magical place, and the beauty of it was that we recognized the magic while growing up there. Actor Lou Beatty Jr., another North Ender, has written a play, “North End,” celebrating the celebrities and characters from the streets where we lived. And those streets were full of nicknames like “Slow Walk,” “Study Books” and “I Got It.” My next door neighbor earned the nickname “Clever” because of his intellectual curiosity and love of learning. He is the subject of a separate blog in the Columns category on this website. But my all-time favorite was “Busy Afternoon.” I never knew him and may have only met him once at Red’s Shoe Shine Parlor on Oakland. He got his name when someone threatened to beat him within an inch of his life. His only response was: “You gonna have a busy afternoon.” So many of the people and places I wrote about on these blogs have disappeared. But they are a legacy and a history of what was and what might be again. The North End magic has largely gone now, overwhelmed by hard times and hard drugs, but the neighborhood lives on in so many of our memories. The Dwyer/Northenders, an organization of former and some current residents, holds luncheons regularly to maintain the old ties. And each summer there is a large picnic and reunion. I haven’t been in a few years, but I definitely plan to return. ◼︎
Testing comment function.
I remember those days on the north end. The guys used to make fun of me because I was a Canadian visitor but also protected me from some of the more shady gang characters in the neighbourhood.
Gary, the Shakers, Chilly Macs and other gangs were threats to us all, but I managed to steer clear of them. One guy who was a leader of the Shakers later became a minister. So did a leader of the Chilly Macs. Both of them had quite a bit to repent for.
This Is A Very Interesting Story Uncle Ed.
You Are A Reporter And Writer From Your Heart.
Love you, Lisa.
I used to live at 7810 Richmond Avenue also went to northern and graduated 1963 at that time we had 2 classes I graduated January lady join a Marine Corps .
Mr. Boyer,
I so enjoyed reading this article!!! I grew up on the North End. I remember Mr. Red (shoe shine shop), I Got It, Busy Afternoon,… We moved to the west side before I got a chance to attend Northern. You’ve brought back great memories!
Thank you.
Thank you, Michele. So happy you enjoyed the essay.
Love reading this Cousin…Think it would make a great movie
I wrote a musical about our NorthEnd neighborhood
Titled ‘ HOLD On To YOUR DREAM’ .
It tells of the MANY FUTURE STARS, the different ethnicities, the FIFTIES, the PEOPLE, OAKLAND Ave and so much more.
I remember your musical very well, Lou. I saw the first act at the Wilshire Ebell. But my date was ill, and I had to take her home on the intermission. Great touch that you had I Got It ride through a scene on his bike.
Ed
Let’s talk. Maybe things could happen with a collaboration.
Hey, Lou. Just seeing this.
Mr.Boyer you were my Spanish teacher at Northern ,and Lou his brother was at St George with me.
Wow, Erschal. My full time teaching at Northern ended almost 60 years ago. I really enjoyed teaching. Hope I was a good influence. You and Lou Beatty’s brother were at St. George together? Tell me about St. George.
St George grade school was located on Westminster and Cardoni. The church as well as a rectory ( home for a priest) and a nun’s residence extended both on Cardoni and Westminster. Formerly a Lithuanian parish, St George became an African American parish when white flight began around the late 40’s to early 50’s. Me and my siblings enrolled there in 1954. The church was magnificent and many Lithuanians returned at Christmas time where they loved our singing . The nun’s were from the Immaculate Heart of Mary Convent in Monroe Michigan. A few African American girls attended the convent school in Monroe. They were Alita Lucky(Lee Lucky’s daughter) , Sue and Jan Durham( frantic Ernie Durban’s daughters) and my wife JEZELLE Milton( Dr. Milton’s daughter).
At St George , my schoolmates were Rosalind Ashford( one of the original Vandellas) Betty Lavette( considered one of americas greatest blues singers) and a number of other exceptional singers who I was honored to sing in the choir with.
Note: because the North End and North Detroit were comprised of Poles, Lithuanians, Ukrainians, Chaldeans, Jews, etc. there were many ethnic church’s left due to white flight. On Saturdays,If you shopped on Westminster, there were many different ethnic markets, bakeries, poultry stores, etc to choose from.
Lou, I did not know about St. George, but my mother used to shop on Westminster. I would go with her to buy live chickens. I remember a walled convent on Oakland, I think, but I don’t remember a rectory on Westminster. Our family moved to the North End in 1946, a year after my dad died. The neighborhood was rapidly changing, but many of the Jewish merchants continued to do business in the area for many years. By the way, I discussed your musical in this post.
The walled convent on Oakland Ave was a different location . That was an order of cloistered nuns( do not speak to the public). Only one nun there spoke to the public when necessary. I was their paperboy. I have never forgotten that nun giving me a large bag of stale cookies saying if you soak them in milk they will soften. Those are the only words I remember her saying. She would normally answer the door and pay the bill in silence. I never knew the name of the order.
Mr. Boyer,
I love reading your writings/postings. I am a senior writer for Detroit-based Real Times Media, which publishes Historic Black Newspapers in America, including the Michigan Chronicle. Over the last 12 months, I have written a series of stories about the North End – past, present, and future. I would love to speak with you about future stories. Thanks!
I would love to talk to you. My email is edjboyer@gmail.com. Send me your phone number, and I’ll be in touch.
This is one of the best essays about a Detroit environment that I have ever read. And I am a Detroit Lithuanian. Living in Detroit ( yep I know King Cole’s) yes we still exist , part of a continual line in my Family of Detroit residency since Summer of 1910 ! I look forward to reading more. I learned a lot from your post. Thank you.
Apologies for the late reply. I thank you for your kind words.
My number is 661-373-4436
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