1943 and 1967 Detroit riots remembered

My father's main memory of the 1943 riot was of leaving Wayne U., where he was a freshman and had just been sitting in class next to black students, getting on the Woodward streetcar and rolling past burning cars and white mobs chasing black pedestrians and motorists east across Woodward. Then changing cars downtown where everything was calm, getting on the Jefferson streetcar and riding past hordes of well-armed cops and businesses and homes with broken windows near the Belle Isle Bridge. Finally arriving at his job at Chrysler and going to work calmly, as usual, next to his black co-workers on the line.