I was 8 years old, at my parent's home in NW Detroit [[7 mile/Lahser) and we could not leave our little postage stamp yard without permission, and then our parents would watch us cross the street to go to the neighbor's house to play. I remember the curfews, and how my dad would drive the family car to a lot on Grand River and take the bus to work instead of driving downtown. The most serious affect the riots had on us was the interruption in beer sales. The old man was going crazy after the stock of Strohs long necks were exhausted. The neighbor two doors down found out and told my Dad "I have a case of beer left over from new year's eve, I've been on the wagon and don't need it, you want it"? the old man leapt at the chance, carried home a case of very hot Pabst Blue Ribbon, cracked one open right there and drank it.
we had just gotten our first color television, a Zenith console. I remember my parents saying that if the riots spread to our area we would load the six kids and the Zenith and some clothes into the Chevy wagon and go live in Union Lake with my uncle. That never came to pass, of course.