I was 7 years old at the time of the riots. My family had just moved from the east side, living with my grandmother, to the west side. I remember my Mom talking on the phone with her Mom and mentioning a "race riot". I knew something bad was happening but could not put my finger on it. Hearing the word "race" and running my imagination, I envisioned revelers tearing up a city to conduct some kind of race.
Later on, the event became apparent when we visited my Grandma and stood on the porch with my brother and sister watching the National guard pass by in their vehicles and waving to them, thinking "this was different".
My Dad worked downtown at the Greyhound bus terminal and shortly after the violence subsided he drove our family down 12th street to see the damage. It was a surreal scene I won't ever forget and it really left an impression on me as a kid.
To this day, I am fascinated at the history of this unfortunate event and even ended up working with a former National guradsman when I was 35 who was sent into the middle of the most dangerous areas.
For all of Detroit's troubles and history, I will always be proud to call it my hometown and I pray that it will rise again to it's former glory.