In the early '70s, my friend and I crossed from Windsor Ontario to Detroit Michigan where, with a few hours to kill, we conducted our own tour of a darkened ‘Motor City‘. Deciding to sample some American
Budweiser, we pulled into a small variety store, seemingly lost under a lone streetlight hidden down a secluded side street. Six pack in hand, we paid the hesitant, wide eyed clerk. Turning to leave we came face to face with a number of silent stares. A queasy feeling wrenched our stomachs with the sudden realization that the store’s customers were blacks, and we, of course, stood out like white lines on an asphalt highway. Evidently we had strayed into the wrong neighbourhood on the wrong side of town. Perhaps we escaped with our lives only because the locals determined we were too stupid or had too much “balls” to be bothered with. The former was the obviously truth….
“Black day in July
In the streets of Motor City there's a deadly silent sound
And the body of a dead youth lies stretched upon the ground
Upon the filthy pavement, no reason can be found
Black day in July”
Thankfully we now live in more accepting and tollerant times. Nevertheless Gord's song will forever remind me of that trip and what might have been.
Yuri