Another one of these, from the big cynical grumpy guy.
Greetings from suburban Detroit. I live in Ferndale, Michigan. See photo above. We’re one of those places that’s ignored nationally because we’re not on either coast, so let me tell you a bit about my town.
We were founded as a bedroom community for autoworkers working in the factories of Detroit. Most of our housing stock was built from the early 1920s to the late 1940s. We’re five square miles of dense subdivisions, light industry, and two main streets, Woodward Avenue (M1, running from the Detroit River up through Pontiac) and 9 Mile Road that support a lot of businesses. A railroad track runs through us diagonally. CN has a major depot in town as well. Our southern border is the (in)famous 8 Mile and our northern border is I-696. Our population is just over 20,000. Like most Detroit suburbs that were built out, Ferndale suffered greatly when the auto industry had its big downturn. We’re in the very southern reaches of Oakland County, and the county and state were all too happy to fund endless expansions into the former farmland in the north while ignoring cities like ours. In 1991, a friend of mine opened a shop on 9 Mile. He picked Ferndale because it was close to some of the more ritzy suburbs while being dirt cheap. I remember visiting his store and seeing over half of the shops boarded up.
Then something happened- the LGBTQ community fell in love with Ferndale’s compact, character-filled, well-built houses. The city welcomed them, grudgingly at first, but as the nucleus grew and others moved in, they became more receptive. The newcomers fixed and beautified their properties. Tax revenues increased. The new locals began running for office. One thing led to another…
Today, Ferndale is perhaps the hottest property in Michigan. We’re filled with young, hip, educated professionals. It’s a mecca for the local LGBTQ community, and we were the smallest city in America to receive a perfect score for LGBTQ rights. It’s a foodie destination- we have everything from inexpensive Thai to upscale American fusion. We have bookstores, record stores, oddball shops, a LGBTQ community center, lots of interesting bars, gyms, dog parks, and little theaters. We have a meadery, a distillery built in a former pool table factory that turns out award-winning vodka and gin, great vintage stores, coffee shops, maker spaces and weekend markets. One of the nicest changes has been seeing my street fill up with young couples and seeing little kids run up and down the sidewalks playing. City services are excellent, rents are high, and the house I bought here in 2003 has doubled in value. Our last mayoral election was a close-fought contest between the gay Democrat and… the other gay Democrat (I voted for the gay Democrat.) We have a new library, refurbished city hall, and businesses are clamoring to come to town. Now we have the problem of whether to build upward like neighboring Royal Oak or try to keep it under control. It’s a good problem to have, frankly. It’s also a great example of what happens when you let progressives run your city. Get that? We’re extremely liberal, and businesses are busting down our doors to try and open up here. Go ahead, call us commies. I’ll laugh in your face.
So today I voted. I always walk to my polling place, about a mile through an alleyway and then the quiet streets lined with little houses and old trees. It was cloudy but not too chilly, and the leaves were pretty- much better colors than last year. I like to walk because it gives me time to think, to go over the names of the judicial nominees, and wonder if I woke up this morning in the timeline that’s going to turn bad or the one that’s going to turn good. I was also aware of the fact that if the bad guys win, this might be the last time I’m able to freely do this.
So I arrived at my polling location. It was about 9 AM, time for most folks to be at work, but the line was still out the doors, and I had to wait for a spot to open up at the tables to fill out my scantron ballot. I was voter #323 at my location, which is a way higher number than I ever recall hearing at this time of day. It was a great cross-section of our city. Young hipsters with beards. Middle-aged grumps like myself. An elderly lady in a motorized wheelchair. White people and people of color. Women and men. All pushing their blue pens across their ballots, marking their choices and participating in our great democracy.
I voted. For the good guys, of course, and for the judges endorsed by the good guys, and for the side of the proposals recommended by the good guys. In Michigan, we have mary jane legalization, a proposal for automatic voter registration, and an anti-gerrymandering thing. I hope they all pass.
I fed the scantron in. Vote recorded. I got my sticker and walked home, collecting a few leaves to press in my scrapbook.
I gave money to various candidates, both local and out of state. I wrote letters with Vote Forward. I voted myself.
I hope it’s enough. Together, I hope we can turn this tide.
Peace out.