JACK DETROIT

A Final Letter From The Editor

Tue, 29 Nov 2011 12:49:27 -0500

It is with a heavy heart that I am informing you of the closure of Jack Detroit, effective immediately. This past year has afforded me an unparalleled opportunity: to reach a widespread audience and inform tens of thousands of readers about the vibrant people, places and happenings that make our city, and region, so wonderful. Four issues later, I firmly believe Jack Detroit accomplished that, at least in some small way. I’m very sorry for the unfortunate economic climate and my inability to overcome the ever-increasing financial obstacles. For your support and belief in the importance of this endeavor, I am truly grateful, as this product would not have lasted as long as it did without your efforts. It is my hope that the intricacies of our city continue to be well-documented, and that these tales of resurgence are given the credence they deserve, regardless of journalistic outlet.

Cheers to whatever the future may hold,

Leah Moss

Founder and Editor-in-Chief

Texting at the Table with the Bator Brothers

Tue, 01 Nov 2011 16:20:00 -0400

By: Leah Moss

Photography: Daniel Lippitt

“No, thanks.” It’s truly incredible to think how often we say this simple phrase and how pervasive the refusal process is in our routine. “Would you like whipped cream on your latte today?” “No, thanks.” “Need help with that box?” “No, thanks.” “For a few dollars more, you could purchase an extra product…” “No, thanks.” With a seemingly similar sense of nonchalance, 25-year-old Ben Bator describes his decision to decline a nearly full-ride scholarship to law school, in order to dive into the company he founded with Lauren Leto, Texts From Last Night. He just said, “No, thanks.”

A couple of years later, Ben sits at the kitchen table in his luxuriously immaculate apartment, reminiscing that crossroads with his roommate and co-worker, Phil: his 23-year-old brother. “At the time people thought I was crazy, people thought Lauren was crazy for dropping out (of law school). They thought that this was all going to be over.” Thankfully their father, a lawyer, aptly told Ben “that ‘law school will always be there, this will not be there if you choose to go to law school, so just see this through.’” With that advice and familial support, Ben deferred his scholarship opportunity; looking back, his and Leto’s naysayers couldn’t have been more wrong.

Texts From Last Night (TFLN) is a website featuring thirty anonymously posted text messages per day, each exposing some element – usually of various sorts of debauchery – from the previous night. The texts are posted only with the sender’s area code and the content, always devoid of any context. The result is a truly hilarious collection of one-liners, each of which is the obvious consequence of someone’s really long night, for better or for worse. It’s beautifully simple, inherently fun, ultimately brilliant entrepreneurship.

The Bator brothers grew up here (in Beverly Hills), and attended University of Detroit Jesuit High School. Ben graduated in 2004, and went to Michigan State University, and Phil followed suit in 2006. They live and work together out of their gorgeous Royal Oak high-rise apartment, after much thought about splitting up and moving to each coast. With plans in motion to relocate to New York and Los Angeles last October, the brothers realized they’d just be back in two months to see their parents for the holiday season. Figuring it would be easier to take up local residence in a short-term lease for the two months, they scouted around. Moving out of their parents’ already-sold home (where they had been living as squatters), the pair moved into the penthouse suite in their current building.

They since haven’t left the building, although they did move to a different space at the end of those two months. Adding to the sheer easiness of staying, the Bators recognized seeds of change sprouting here in Detroit. They knew they’d be a beneficial ally to other local start-ups, and wanted to take part in the social growth that was – and is occurring. They’ve marked this progress by the ever-increasing number of options for weekend activities, instead of the previously limited calendar.

A year later, their modern apartment is beautiful in its detail, masculine in its fixtures and furniture, and somehow cozy in its incompleteness – all the framed art remains on the floor, still unhung. The two men seem to float within the space, gliding between the balcony, overlooking all of the city from their 14^th floor perch, the kitchen, currently missing a new package of espresso pods (Ben’s fault, Phil gripes), and the living room, curled on the couch topping the fur rug. Of course there’s a fur rug. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

In 2009, Ben was living in Royal Oak and Lauren was living in Grosse Pointe, her hometown; the two met daily in Detroit for coffee to discuss ideas and plans for the site’s growth. They quickly realized they were in dire need of someone to take over the day-to-day, minute-to-minute updates of the site, so they could focus their attention on building the company, to take it to new heights. With this in mind, they turned to Phil, then midway through his undergraduate tenure at MSU. Phil remembers, “When the first break happened, it was finals week at Michigan State.” Of course it was. He turned down a temporary job offer (at a summer camp) prior to his senior year in order to work on his brother’s creation full-time, after a long conversation at the dinner table with their parents. They were equally supportive of Phil’s interest in joining TFLN as they had been of Ben in starting it. He stayed on through the school year up until graduation, in the spring of 2010. Juggling a full course load as an advertising major with a new position with TFLN made Phil’s life busy, but invigorating. Phil recalls that each day was different and exciting – he wanted to help and saw the possibility for growth, and a long-range opportunity for himself. As he crossed the graduation stage, life was a lot less pressured for him than for his peers, who needed to find a job “a week after graduation.” He looked a bit for other jobs – no opportunities presented themselves that would be worth leaving Texts From Last Night, so he stayed on, and increased his position once again to full-time.

Now, as 2011 draws to a close, Phil is TFLN’s editor; he examines thousands of texts that are submitted daily, and chooses thirty to post for that day’s update. Additionally, he writes many of the stories featured on the TFLN blog. To aid in the sheer volume of text messages he must sort through, Lauren’s sister Maresa – an undergraduate student at MSU – has joined the team. She chooses her top fifty texts, allowing Phil to use a matching process for the top thirty: he picks some from her “favorites” list, and others from the general pool.

Reading thousands of grotesque, crude, hilarious, drunken, absurd texts each day, Phil and Maresa have run the gamut of “shocking.” Although the gendered dichotomy would seemingly present a problem in judgment, the Bators assert they have an email contest back and forth amongst the foursome, determining which person can shock the others the most. So far, they both agree it’s been Lauren, even though she’s a bookworm currently training to run a marathon. With four differing opinions of “is this funny or not,” the group collectively produces a widely varied list of texts that appeal to many different senses of humor. Ben credits the gender balance with their early success, because he and Lauren began choosing the texts – they balanced each other out, resulting in content that had broad-based appeal.

No different than their own personal shock value is that of their family members’ reaction to their business. The Bators (mom and dad) were enthusiastic about their children’s new endeavor, though explaining it to their grandma was a bit tricky. At this point, they explain it’s the worst when Mom starts Googling – they’d rather just tell her everything first, so she can hear it firsthand. That way it’s filtered, even though it’s awkward sometimes. Hilarity ensues when recalling their mother starting to discuss a text she had read on the site, saying “So then…” “Just STOP IT MOM.”

As it stands now, co-founders Bator and Leto are supported by the younger Bator and Leto: the four core members of the staff run the site’s daily content and the business’s overall strategy. They’re joined by a number of developers and advertising personnel, but the main team is comprised of family members. This unique notion of a family business brings on a sense of new possibility in the tech start up world. A set of siblings joins on to help another set, instead of the archaic version of the same tale, with a Mom and Pop Shop run by, well, a mom and pop, and ultimately taken over by their children when they’re ready to be done with the business. Rather than a leadership shift through lineage by force (or guilt), the TFLN leadership model is focused upon choices. Ben and Lauren chose to put the possibility of success with their start-up before their secured future through law school. Similarly, Phil and Maresa have chosen to support their siblings in this venture, giving its viability some serious validation, from the inside out.

Outwardly, Texts from Last Night has received some serious validation to boot. The site has four million unique viewers per month, with a range between three million and five million page views per day. Given its devoted following, TFLN has capitalized on this opportunity through advertising sales for promotional space on the site. However, Ben explains, “We’re the biggest pains in the ass to our ad agency,” because they are very particular about every aspect of any ad campaigns that go live, “without raping people’s eyeballs.” For example, Ben and Phil remember the first advertising campaign that was posted: Playboy had an innovative, bold campaign, which was sexy without being overt. One image simply had a leg sticking out of a shower – the Bators loved that whole series, but when Playboy renewed its contract, the images changed to a less exciting, softer spread with a cheesy 70s vibe. It was instantly pulled, and the client cancelled. With this specificity in mind with an edge, American Apparel has had huge success on the site – and has been a longtime client. TFLN is launching a series of major updates to the site, with a variety of new features, keeping it fresh and in demand for readers, and thus, for clients.

In addition to the site itself, TFLN has expanded into other realms. The app costs 99 cents to purchase – they’ve sold 1.3 million. A book has been released and a second is in the works. Additionally, there’s a text-a-day calendar they’ve produced, featuring a countdown to the weekend on every weekday. Most recently, the TFLN crew inked a deal for a television show with storylines based upon texts. Ben and Lauren are also hired regularly for speaking engagements and book signings; he recognizes the absurdity in this, given the fact that other people have produced the content for them, and the books are simply compilations of these public submissions. Ben and Lauren were finalists in BusinessWeek’s roundup of America’s Best Young Entrepreneurs in October (winner not announced at press time); on that website’s profile of each company, the listed revenue for TFLN was $1 million in 2010, and it is projected to generate $2 million this year. All things considered, the monetization of TFLN has been enormously successful. The Bators have done well for themselves.

They’re pushing boundaries on a concept that pushes the envelope, and the biggest challenge is continuously catapulting the business forward. Ben acknowledges that most of his peers challenge him, because, “No one really lets you have an off day,” but truth be told, he relinquishes, “Yesterday Ben” presents him with his biggest challenge, given that he never wants to have the same day twice. Using that momentum, he and Phil constantly push one another forward, and in that vein, they view each other as their biggest supporters, no different now than it has always been. Long before they worked together or lived with one another as adults, they were each other’s biggest fans, and Phil said “it’s just natural” that they’ve taken this next step.

For something so simple as a great idea, the Bator/Leto team has managed to scale their business model beyond imagination. Texts From Last Night has made documentation of debauchery a significant component of the debauchery itself. This process makes for a brighter five minutes a day for millions of people, which is incredible. Ben relishes, “We had this idea and put it out there, and it worked. Then, we figured out how to keep it working on a bigger level. And that’s really fun.” It’s not rocket science, nor is it brain surgery. It’s a long-lasting manifestation of a brilliant, and fun, idea. Does that make it sweeter? Absolutely. Phil puts it bluntly, “We’re thankful that people keep sending us their good or bad nights, so we can have some of our own.” Why wouldn’t that be sweeter? Because really, who wants to perform brain surgery, pursue rocket science, or even, go to law school? “No, thanks.”

Hard-to-buy-for people in your life just met their match....

Tue, 01 Nov 2011 16:15:00 -0400

Holiday Gift Guide: Daniel Lippitt

Holiday Gift Guide: Daniel Lippitt

Holiday Gift Guide: Daniel Lippitt

Holiday Gift Guide: Daniel Lippitt

Holiday Gift Guide: Daniel Lippitt

Holiday Gift Guide: Daniel Lippitt

Hard-to-buy-for people in your life just met their match. What’s even better? You don’t have to step foot in a mall to find any of these items. Feel good about supporting local businesses. Feel great about giving gifts they’ll love.

Photography by Daniel Lippitt

Active: They’re fitness junkies who are always on the go, outdoor lovers, and completely health crazed. Give a gift that feeds their frenzy to know it will be one that keeps on giving.

Appreciated: The babysitter stayed late every week when you went for drinks after that movie. Their company gave yours too many referrals to count. Your neighbor watered the plants and took in your mail. For the little things, show your appreciation - and don’t forget handwritten thank-you notes!

Proud: They watch every game, cheering on their favorite team. They beam when Detroit makes national news, now for something positive. Getting behind an important cause is the norm and their expectation. For the person who loves our fair city, give them a great way to show it off.

Intellectual: They’re smarter than the rest of your inner circle, and everyone knows it. Always curious, never satisfied with an “I don’t know” response, they relish in a deeper meaning. Let them explore our world, and give the rest of us the summary later.

Domestic: They throw the best dinner parties and make it look effortless. Their house is immaculate, eclectic and warm. You feel welcome anytime, except weekend mornings, when they’re still lounging.

Fashionable: Dressed to the nines, well-heeled, trendy, en vogue. Call it what you want, but they are the best-dressed people you know with a taste for the finer things in life. Satisfy their need for the next best thing with a stylish piece that’s “right now.”

Lindsey: December 2011 This Livonia resident is, apparently, a...

Tue, 01 Nov 2011 16:07:00 -0400

Lindsey: December 2011

This Livonia resident is, apparently, a study in contrasts – and not just for her striking hair and porcelain skin. She aspires to earn her “degree in and practice dietetics, specializing in cancer patients and children with dietary restrictions,” and yet also hopes to own a “fabulous” greasy spoon restaurant. The wannabe romantic would say the best date she’s been on had “a romantic candlelit dinner with champagne and luxurious desserts, but that would be a lie.” As a child, she did voice-overs for PBS – think, “Up next is Barney!” As a grown up, she loves tasting menus, traveling, and Fleetwood Mac. She might be all over the map, but we like her just the same.

Model: Lindsey LeBon

Photo: Glenn Triest

Kelley: November 2011 As a self-described “Garden Pixie,” Kelley...

Tue, 01 Nov 2011 16:05:00 -0400

Kelley: November 2011

As a self-described “Garden Pixie,” Kelley says, “I continue to refine and revise my passion and purpose within the horticultural realm, season by season. A focus on organic gardening and the use of native plants is unwavering,” but she wishes there was an obvious way to continue down this desired path without leaving Detroit. The worst dates in her opinion are those that occur without her realizing they’re dates. She might be a bit naïve, but she’s off the market – and a Black Belt in Choi Kwang Do if you test that.

Model: Kelley Allen

Photo: Lynn Upson

Makeup: Chastity Tappen

Hair: Laura Rose

Photo

Tue, 01 Nov 2011 16:01:39 -0400

Inside a Knockout: Daniel Lippitt

Inside a Knockout: Daniel Lippitt

Inside a Knockout: Daniel Lippitt

Inside a Knockout: Daniel Lippitt

Inside a Knockout: Daniel Lippitt

Inside a Knockout: Daniel Lippitt

Inside a Knockout: Daniel Lippitt

Inside a Knockout: Daniel Lippitt

Unwilling Killers

Tue, 01 Nov 2011 15:57:00 -0400

By: Jessica Dupnack

Michael Vick might have gotten a second chance, but hundreds of thousands of dogs will not be so lucky. Over the last few years, dog fighting has become a household term used to describe the underground sport associated with urban epicenters across the United States. The star quarterback recently hurled dog fighting into the national spotlight, but for centuries, people in every corner of the world have used dog fighting for entertainment. Unfortunately, the Pit Bull Terrier has been chosen as the ultimate competitor for this covert sport: dog fighters sculpt the loyal breed into fearsome competitors, branding Pit Bulls with a tainted reputation. However, what we pick up from news headlines doesn’t dare scratch the surface of this widespread pandemic, and Detroit is no exception.

Within the 143 square miles of Detroit, hundreds of dog fighters continue this practice, with more popping up every day. The city is plagued by unemployment and teetering city leadership, which gives way to difficult economic times for those struggling in the city. While most scour Metro Detroit looking for jobs, others turn to dog fighting to get their hands on fast cash. From this select group stems varied levels of dog fighting competitors, ranging from amateurs – who fight dogs for street credibility – to businessmen earning hundreds of thousands of dollars on a single fight. The American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (ASPCA) categorized the different levels of fighters into three groups, “street,” “hobbyist” and “professional.”

Debbie MacDonald, investigator for the Michigan Humane Society’s Cruelty Investigation Team, explains that dog fighting is much more ingrained in the metro areas of Michigan than people would think. This twenty-year veteran said, “The street fighters are usually made up of teenage kids fighting dogs in alleys and vacant homes. But the professional fighters also have a strong presence in the city.” Professional fighters are much more organized than the amateurs, with a lot more money at stake. Professionals can earn upwards of $30,000 on a single fight in the Detroit area, and nationally, these fights can produce up to $500,000 in profit.

Professional dog fighting is often compared to the world of boxing, in that the most in-shape and well-trained athletes yield the most money. For this reason, professional fighters must condition their dogs to become the ultimate gladiators. The fighters seek out Pit Bulls with a history of fighting in their bloodlines, often getting these dogs while they’re puppies so they can begin the rigorous training early on for a better result. The vicious training process depends on what the dog fighter is willing to invest. For some, it includes running their dogs on treadmills for hours and strapping weights to their necks as a form of weight training. Owners even go to the extent of injecting their competitors with anabolic steroids to enhance muscle growth and strength; the use of narcotics to amp up their dog’s aggression is also common. Not only are these Pit Bulls conditioned physically, but their trainers tactfully craft psychological manipulations as well.

Most fighting dogs spend their time in small cages or are restricted on heavy chains far from contact with other dogs and people. They are forbidden to be socialized with other dogs, causing extreme anxiety. Keeping them isolated is critical to enhancing aggressive behavior in Pit Bulls, which makes them fierce competitors. Street fighters don’t have the capability of strict training regimens, so instead they use unimaginable tactics like starvation and constant beatings to instill their dog’s aggression in the ring.

Once the fighter is in elite physical condition, a practice called “baiting” is used to build the dog’s confidence before entering the ring. Baiting happens when the fighting dog is unleashed onto a weaker, non-fighting dog: once the baiting dog is literally ripped to shreds, the fighting dog is rewarded for its behavior to encourage the relentless aggression. Baiting dogs are usually strays or stolen dogs taken off the street. Daniel Carlisle, with Detroit Dog Rescue says, “Sometimes the fighters attract strays using a female that’s in heat. Once they get a hold of them, they’re starved without food or water to make them weak.” Carlisle will never forget when he walked into a garage in Detroit and saw a dog ready for baiting. He says the Pit Bull was hanging by its leg from a thick chain hooked to a

2” x 4” board on the ceiling, barely able to touch the ground, while a female fighting dog taunted nearby. He says you can walk the streets in many parts of the city on any given day and see baiting dogs chained to trees with their ribs poking from beneath their skin and saliva coating their mouths. Nearly 50,000 stray dogs roam Detroit, which provides an endless supply of baiting dogs for dog fighters to use and then dispose.

During the baiting phase of training, the dogs must learn the taste of blood. Trainers will use puppies or kittens to teach the dogs how to kill and give them the drive to attack for blood. Much like bating dogs, there is an abundance of abandoned litters of both cats and dogs in vacant homes lining the city. The trainers view the innocent young as objects to help their competitors develop a skill set, much like a boxer uses a punching bag to refine his left hook. When the Pit Bulls develop a taste for blood, trainers will hold the puppies and kittens out of reach from the dogs to taunt them until they are hysterical with aggression. As a reward for this temperament they’re given the young as a treat to rip apart like a stuffed toy.

After months of training, the dogs are prepared to go into the ring. Depending on the level of dog fighter, the brawls are held at different venues. Street fighters set up fights anywhere they can, such as garages and backyards. Carlisle said, “I’ve walked into garages with collapsible fighting rings made out of plywood. There’s a blood spatter all over the walls, so you know there’s been fighting going on.”

Professional fighters tend to hold matches in large pull barns outside of the city as not to attract the attention of the police. With thousands of dollars at stake, more rules and regulations are required for each match and of each dog. Fights can last a few minutes to several hours. Typically dogs won’t fight to the death but will continue until both dogs have sustained significant injuries and one can’t fight any longer. Pam Porteous, of the the Animal Care Network, a rescue organization based in Pontiac, says fighting dogs can have broken bones, shredded skin and painful abscesses following a fight. The undeniable and heartbreaking fate for these dogs comes after the dust is settled and a winner is named. Winning dogs are praised and rewarded for their showing, but for the losers it’s a dark reality ahead. According to the ASPCA, unless the dog has a winning history they are likely discarded. Losing dogs are often executed by blunt force trauma, hanging, shooting or drowning. Some owners will go to the extent of killing off the losing dog’s litters to prevent developing a losing bloodline of fighters. Some Pit Bulls are simply left to die, chained up in vacant houses, or left to roam the streets with untreated injuries. “Many of the dogs are dumped and thrown away like trash,” Carlisle said. “A lot of the Pit Bulls you see dead on the side of I-75 in Detroit came from the ring.”

Each year The Animal Care Network comes across hundreds of dumped Pit Bulls from dogfights. “It’s not difficult to see who’s been in fights. They have layers of scarring and bite marks covering their bodies,” Porteous said. “We got a call once about some Pit Bulls chained to a tree in the middle of a cemetery. When we got there one didn’t have an ear and one of them had so many bite wounds that their head looked like a watermelon.”

Most of the dogs that are dumped will die. But for the few that survive their wounds, the chances of these dogs finding suitable homes is slim.

Michigan has some of the toughest dog fighting laws in the country but it doesn’t deter the sport from continuing. The Michigan Humane Society cruelty investigators have well over a hundred warrants out at any given time for dog fighters. “It’s difficult to crack down on fighters because you catch one and then another pops up somewhere else,” MacDonald said. Her team works closely with the Detroit Police Department to prosecute as many offenders as they can. In Michigan, dog fighting is a four-year felony but the maximum sentence isn’t always given. Unfortunately jail time isn’t enough to stop people from fighting Pits. The Cruelty Investigators see a lot of repeat offenders because, when times are tough, it’s an inexpensive way to make money.

Contrary to what some may think, dog fighting is a priority of police departments in the inner cities. It’s almost always linked to other criminal behavior including drugs, gang violence and even murder. MacDonald has dealt with several homicides over the last twenty years that have been traced back to dog fighting. Beyond the hands of the law, animal rights and rescue organizations work tirelessly to rescue fighting Pit Bulls.

Pam Porteous spends most days driving the streets of Pontiac responding to calls of dumped or abandoned dogs. The Animal Care Network joins forces with the Pontiac Police Department to gain access to these Pit Bulls to help remove them from their situation. If they are able to seize the dogs, those who suffered from extensive wounds receive medical treatment donated by local veterinarians, but this is no guarantee they will make it. If they are lucky enough to live, the next step is trying to rehabilitate animals previously trained to kill.

When all is said and done, the city of Detroit is left with hundreds of former fighting Pit Bulls who somehow survived the life of fighter and now have no place to go. It’s been difficult for The Animal Care Network and Michigan Humane Society to promote adoption of former fighting dogs. The stigma that follows the breed is deeply ingrained in American society and it doesn’t seem to be changing anytime soon. Rehabilitation isn’t promised for every former fighting dog, as some know nothing else but how to kill and will never be able to shake that compulsion. However, the success stories of rehabilitated Pit Bulls are becoming more and more prevalent across the country. As dog psychologists and animal rescue organizations learn techniques to deal with trained fighting dogs, the hope is that the success rate will continue to rise.

In the meantime, animal shelters remain lined with Pit Bulls waiting to be adopted, who, from far away look like any other dog that needs a home. But when you get up close to the cage and squat down, you can see the layers of scars from under their shiny coat, countless battle scars from a life they didn’t choose. You can see their innocent eyes looking up from drooping lids, wishing to tell you their story – if only they could.

Services for Older Citizens Benefit Event

Fri, 16 Sep 2011 10:59:00 -0400

Services for Older Citizens Benefit Event

The Redemption of Jimmy Howard

Thu, 01 Sep 2011 11:12:00 -0400

By Leah Moss

Great sports movies all have an uplifting storyline, but the best ones are true sagas, full of ups and downs, heroes and villains, beloved mentors and a main character so full of contrasts and internal conflicts that the audience is left bewildered by his tenacity throughout the various trials and tribulations set before him. And so it went with the 2011 NHL Playoffs. At the epicenter of the Detroit Red Wings’ rollercoaster post-season was the starting goaltender, Jimmy Howard, who defied every critic’s worst comments, saved seemingly unstoppable shots, and yet said absolutely nothing.

With the 2010-2011 regular season winding down and the 20^th consecutive Wings playoff appearance on the horizon, local sports reporters had a lot to cover – and they had a lot of questions about the ability of the sophomore goalie, without Chris Osgood in the net, due to post-surgical complications. Commentators pointed to Howard’s dip in numbers since his rookie season, his lack of playoff experience, and simply the fact that he isn’t Ozzie. Howard took it all in stride, but rather than answer their questions (or quell their doubts) with words at a press conference – or an hour-long ESPN special – he focused his attention on his job: playing hockey to the best of his ability.

He answered critics loud and clear; a 4-0 sweep of the Phoenix Coyotes in round one demonstrated his goaltending prowess from the start. In the second round against the San Jose Sharks, his stellar performances and acrobatic saves in games four, five and six allowed the Wings to come back from a disturbing 3-0 deficit and make the series even. In game five, he made 39 saves, and in game six, earned a .960 save percentage, which factored into his overall playoff save percentage of .923. And so the hero demonstrates promise, for his own talents and his ability to lift a city in hope. And then he bears the burden of a loss.

The Introduction to Our Hero

As I stood behind my car this spring, trunk flung open, I watched the cream-colored Escalade noisily barrel into the otherwise nondescript warehouse parking lot in Pontiac. Well, I thought, that’s your typical athlete. This should be interesting. The Detroit Red Wings starting goalie then walked up to my car, noticed me struggling to carry armloads of bags, and instantly shattered a whole host of expectations. “Hi I’m Jimmy, let me carry that stuff for you.” And so I met Jimmy Howard, a fierce and focused competitor, devoted family man and friend, and one of the nicest guys in sports.

Our meeting took place just before the playoffs began, long before the unfortunate game seven loss to San Jose, but we talked about losing nonetheless. “You just gotta let things roll off your back. The season is just so long that it’s not a sprint, it’s a marathon. That’s what you gotta tell yourself, is that the following night, it’s a brand new slate for me. You gotta go out there and put an end to what was going on previously.” That afternoon, I witnessed his fiery competitive drive burn, so I can only imagine how pissed he must have been with the ultimate outcome post-comeback. As an elderly mentor figure in the would-be movie would wisely explain, the clean slate starts for him this fall with game one – his chance for redemption.

His Fortuitous Past

A second round draft pick, Howard joined the Detroit Red Wings organization in 2003, leaving the University of Maine after his junior year to go pro. He recalls that draft day was filled with a lot of emotions, but when he heard his name called, he was in total shock, thinking, “’I’m not making an ass out of myself by standing up here and hugging all my family or anything like that, right?’” He remained in the AHL program in Grand Rapids for a longer period than initially anticipated. “I wasn’t as prepared as I thought I was, going into the professional world. The schedule is what really killed me, going from, if you’re lucky and playing in the national championship game at school, you’re playing 40 games. Now all of a sudden, you’re playing 80, 82. It’s a big jump. I remember my first and second year, when it got to February, and I was like, ‘I’m ready to go on summer break.’”

The photographer had his session with Howard before we sat and talked. While he eased Howard’s jitters about getting in front of the camera for the first time in this capacity, I absorbed his boyish excitement about what he does for a living. He relished the times when tens of thousands of people get behind him with the “JIM-MY HOW-ARD” chant at the Joe, in full recognition that what he does is very rare, and incredibly special. This notion makes him the quintessential cinematic character we all get behind – the kid from a small town, whose dad was the high school hockey coach, who dreamt of nothing but playing hockey, now plays in the NHL for an Original Six team. And he appreciates the opportunity.

Still desperately clinging to my journalistic cynicism for our interview, I built up an arsenal of hard-hitting questions surrounding his decision to pass up his last year of college (and his degree) to make money and achieve the status that comes with playing at the professional level. When the photographer finished, the two men exchanged contact information to stay in touch. He chided Howard, noting he was in his mid-twenties, so it might be time to grow up and get rid of the collegiate email address – upgrade to a G-Mail account like the rest of us, dude. In a soft-spoken, unassuming way, Howard responded that he’s still taking classes because he wants to finish his program and earn his degree. Well there goes my interview.

Instead, I asked him why it was so important to finish his education. He said he didn’t come to the decision to leave school lightly – education was always first and foremost to his parents and extended family. When the option to get drafted was presented, he said, “I sat down and talked to my family, and figured that school’s always going to be there, but this opportunity might not be. It was one of those situations where we just had to jump on it.”

Fast forward a few years and he’s in the process of finishing his degree, but says he probably won’t complete it until his career winds down. Obviously professional hockey takes a toll on one’s body, and a career can’t last forever – unless of course you’re Nicklas Lidstrom, but that’s another story. Howard wants to follow his playing career with a role on the bench. “I would like to pass on all the knowledge and experiences that I’ve had with guys, kids younger than me. A dream of mine was always to go back to the University of Maine and get my degree so I can help coach there.” And so the sports movie continues its uplifting, emotional trajectory.

Game Time

For the time being, all he can focus on is his game, and the stiff competition he faces. Citing Sidney Crosby and Alexander Ovechkin as the best players he’s faced, Howard enjoys the challenge they present from inside the crease. “I enjoy being out there, I enjoy the competition of playing against the best. It takes a lot of pride to go out there – when push comes to shove I want to be the one left standing.” So far, he’s managed to be the one left standing, even as a newbie. During his rookie season on the Wings roster (2009-2010), Howard’s save percentage was a stunning .924, with an average of 2.26 goals allowed against him. Naysayers have pointed to a so-called sophomore slump, with a drop in his save percentage during this past season to .908, and an increased GAA to 2.79. Yes, his numbers weren’t as solid as in his rookie year. That’s true – no argument there, even with an outstanding playoff performance. But let’s get real: back off.

Comparatively, Martin Brodeur’s rookie season ended with a .915 save percentage, and his sophomore season culminated with a .902 follow-up. Granted, Brodeur has since followed his second year with 17 more rock-solid ones, but this much is clear: give Howard a break – his first two years go toe-to-toe with that of the best goalie to play the game. Ever. And so the violently enthusiastic music swells in the film – as the crowd goes wild. Gordon Bombay would be proud.

So far, Howard has only played two full-time seasons, but he’s made it abundantly clear that he’d like to stay in Detroit. Early this year, he signed a continuing contract with the Wings, without even shopping around to other teams. I asked why he didn’t bother looking elsewhere. His answer was simple. “I didn’t want to go anywhere. I enjoy it here, my wife (Rachel) enjoys it here, she’s made a lot of good friends with the wives on the fam- team.” I’m not sure if he misspoke and got his words jumbled, or if he actually started to say “family,” instead of “team.” Either way, it warmed my heart.

Jimmy Howard represents a newly added line on a short list of American-born goalies; this past season, there were only 18 of them that were active in the NHL. Hailing from Ogdensburg, NY, Howard is proud of his upbringing and honored by the hometown support. When the Wings won the Stanley Cup in 2008, he didn’t play in the postseason, but he still got to take the cup for a day – and brought it back home to New York. “I brought it all around to the local elementary schools and had a gathering with my family and friends in the house that I grew up in, and then we had a big party at one of the local bars, called The Place.” The bar with the perfect name was happy to have him, as was every single person in town. From the 2000 Census, Ogdensburg’s population was listed at 12,364. It is the only city within the confines of Saint Lawrence County. Two words: local hero.

For the future, he says he obviously wants to win a Stanley Cup. “If I were to win it again, I would bring it to my lake house in Maine, and just have it sit there and have a lot of fun with my friends.” Even without the cup at his side, that’s where Howard spent this summer. He played golf a lot – his second passion – and enjoyed the company of his wife, as they celebrated their two-year anniversary in August.

Celebration of True Character

He’s a homebody anyway: during the season, he doesn’t go out much in town. “We just constantly go go go, when we get home from a road trip after nine or ten days, you know our wives are really excited to see us, so I usually just hang out with my wife. We go out to dinner and it’s very relaxed, nothing crazy… enjoy each other’s company.” The only change in his routine lately is that he is recognized more and more throughout Detroit. He misses the anonymity of his pre-professional life, but says it’s just a sign of how special his job really is, even though it’s uncomfortable to catch people pointing or whispering.

Becoming someone with “celebrity” status is a weird development for him, and he never took advantage of the collegiate version either. I asked what women have done for him, anticipating a slew of outrageous incidents. He said nothing crazy has ever really happened to him, as spoken like a true gentleman, but the status worked anyway. “When I was at school, one of my buddies, my teammate’s friend, told a girl he was me, and he got lucky that night.”

As a goalie, fights erupt on Howard’s behalf. You mess with the goalie, and you’ve set yourself up to get hurt. Throughout the hockey community, analysts, players, owners, coaches and training staff have argued about the new, more stringent head-contact rules and its impact on the overall physicality of hockey. Does it change a core element of the game? Does it make a contact sport less pure? In a close parallel to the NFL’s ruling about concussion prevention, Howard took a strong stance on the issue, clearly explaining that the NHL is doing a great job in cracking down on head contact, in order to put the players’ safety before anything else. “It’s still a contact sport and there still needs to be big hits and everything like that, but guys need to have a little bit more recognition, instead of running around with reckless abandon out there, trying to hurt guys.”

At this point, Howard isn’t thinking about any of that. He’s gearing up for a season packed with ruthless forwards, feisty defensemen, high-flying pucks and a group of crazy Swedes. He says the largely international team speaks great English, eliminating much of the potential language barrier in the locker room, but sometimes the Swedes still talk with one another in their native tongue. When asked if he thinks they’re making fun of the other guys, Howard laughed. “No, no, it’s probably a little easier to get their points across to each other.” Yeah right. In the instant classic sports movie surrounding Howard, his teammates, like a band of brothers, would (lovingly) harass him that he actually believes that about the Swedes – ha-ha, the joke’s on you Jimmy.

Christina: October 2011 She’s sweet but wishes for something...

Thu, 01 Sep 2011 11:07:02 -0400

Christina: October 2011

She’s sweet but wishes for something even sweeter: an endless supply of Seitenbacher Strawberry Alligator Gummi Fruit. Christina has an insatiable sweet tooth and that’s her favorite. Ultimately she wants to become a clinical researcher; for now, as a PhD candidate in public health, Christina’s focus is in women’s health issues; by working with older populations, she gives a voice to a community that rarely receives one. Autumn is Christina’s season of choice, thanks to the “colors of nature, college football, beautiful days and cool nights to snuggle.” She’s in a relationship and says, “I love it when a man can teach me something new and a man who is passionate about what he does for a living.”

Model: Christina Noel

Photo: Daniel Lippitt

Hair and Makeup: Amber Kaczmarek

Meg: September 2011 As a 23-year-old nursing student living in...

Thu, 01 Sep 2011 10:58:00 -0400

Meg: September 2011

As a 23-year-old nursing student living in Traverse City, Meg is about as compassionate as any person could possibly be. She currently works as a nanny and at Pete’s Place, a homeless shelter for teenagers in the Traverse area. When she’s not in class or at work, she spends her free time at church functions, with family and friends, in the kitchen, or on the beach. We like her best on the beach, courtesy of the wardrobe: bikini always required.

Photographer: Jason Loudermilk

Hair & MU: Andrea Pahl

Styling: Emma Hanrahan

Location: Old Mission Peninsula, Traverse City, MI

NO SUIT FOR YOU What do you wear when you don’t wear a...

Thu, 01 Sep 2011 10:57:00 -0400

NO SUIT FOR YOU

What do you wear when you don’t wear a suit to work?

We found a week’s worth of answers to this tough question at The Shirt Box. They’ve been in business for 30 years, and pride themselves on helping men dress for success.

Photography by Daniel Lippitt

The Urban Farming Imperative

Thu, 01 Sep 2011 10:49:00 -0400

By Julian Toles

10:30 a.m., September 19, 2010: The day’s presenters were 20 minutes late. My classmates weren’t sure why, our instructor offered no explanation. Frankly, we didn’t care.

Silent rejoice swelled through the lecture hall, since, well, class didn’t start on time, which gave everyone extra time to update Facebook statuses, and cram for impending exams.

There we were. Sitting. Anticipating arrival by two of Detroit’s leading innovators, handpicked by Professor Scott Kurashige, educator by profession, activist by passion. The course, American Culture 301, or “Detroit History,” approached urban issues through a uniquely vivid prism, entailing firsthand engagement with city leaders and landmarks.

It also required (surprise surprise) pre-readings. These texts, drably filtered and emotionless, still, somehow, left within us a residue of interest for the topic of the day: Urban Farming.

(60 seconds pass.)

10:31: Enter Wayne and Myrtle Curtis, trudging coolly, solemnly, visibly anxious, founders of Feedom Freedom Growers. The man’s charming charisma radiating through graceful gestures, with his partner trailing loyally behind; hers was a nurturing, loving spirit— the two, an immediately endearing sight, frequently trading glances, in awe of each other. Their faces, time-tested, and beautifully weathered by decades of selfless activism, were both bright as enchanted children, packing youthfully zealous minds and voices to match.

The duo snatched our attention immediately, forcing the aura from one of jovial banter, to concern, wonderment. Obviously, something was amiss, though, no guesses as to what it could be. Perhaps this just was their everyday demeanor.

Or, perhaps it was their subconscious protest against the heart wrenchingly apparent disparities, between their barren Eastside Detroit block, and our campus nestled in a vibrant, richly populated enclave, not even an hour away.

From a 139 square mile plodding colossus, they had trekked to Ann Arbor, 28 square miles of privilege, if not opulence. Subsistence farmers in a food oasis, “Tree City,” a relatively tiny region which manages to boast 8 of the nation’s largest, most popular food retailers, between Kroger, Meijer, Whole Foods, and Trader Joe’s.

Detroit, with a population 6 times as large as Ann Arbor, is devoid of even a single one of these retailers. With plans to erect a Whole Foods in Midtown, this does not change the urgent direness, especially those for whom the upscale retailer is uneconomical.

Allow a rephrase: not three; not two; not one; there were, and still are, zero major food retailers in the city of Detroit.

Though plausible, this contrast wasn’t the reason for their somberness.

10:32: The Thompsons gave an enthusiastic apology for their tardiness.

Someone had stolen their only method of transportation overnight, causing both a late entrance and their temporary doldrums.

Actually, “stolen” is somewhat imprecise. Rather, someone had “liberated” their vehicle, mused Wayne, undauntedly, a former Black Panther, gentle as a cub, and poised as a lion.

Less than 24 hours after a cowardly act jeopardized their very livelihood, they still managed to make their appointment, to speak to students in a college lecture hall—students now completely empathetic and invested in their story, their triumphs, their ordeals, their lives.

Wayne and Myrtle went on to give an impassioned 40-minute oration, which left an indelible impact on each pair of listening ears, an invigorating one. Their sermon was uplifting, inspirational, and left us craving more, wanting to know how we could involve ourselves in their cause, and the cause of the city’s denizens at large.

After a potentially life-changing setback, the couple still managed to make their appointment.

This brand of tenacity—fervent, unflinching, by any means necessary—marks the spirit of today’s urban farming conglomerate, in a nutshell.

What happened on September 19, 2010 is not purely about Wayne, Myrtle, and Feedom Freedom. It’s about a city at large, food equality for the multitudes. What happened on this date is, however, paradigmatic of the Urban Farming movement and its decade-plus-long growth. The commonality of goals, motivations, and that distinctively enduring spirit, fashion the Thompson anecdote as an exemplar of Detroit’s farming syndicate. Sure, minutia may vary from garden to garden, yet foundational ideologies, shared struggles and ordeals, remain consistent.

In ideology, and practice, urban agriculture destroys the imaginary lines of separation that exist within our minds; it is uniting all colors, races, and creeds, on the basis that unites us all: food. The Urban Farming movement, embarking in 1997 with Earthworks Urban Farm, is now coming of age, forcefully. As the mutual desires and creative ideation of innovating minds would have it, at present, urban agriculture is a network of over 900 gardens and farms, stretching from school to community, from personal to commercial. Thousands of players, hundreds of thousands of hours of relentless, collective toil, aim at affecting a better life for the community, by ensuring that people have access to adequate, safe, and nutritious food at all times, that citizens enjoy food security.

The idea is not entirely novel, either. The precursor to today’s urban agriculture, the 20 million Victory Gardens of WWII, provided, at their peak, some 40% of the nation’s crops in a period of stringent wartime rationing, in the name of patriotism.

In 2011, it’s time to embrace gardening in the name of humanity, and 2011’s Detroit is the perfect landscape to renew the project.

With 91,000 vacant lots, that the city and its residents should use the land both practically and effectively is a truism. More than 30,000 lifeless acres, and an insufficient number of grocers, classify the city as a “food desert,” which is an area “far out of balance in terms of day-to-day food availability,” according to field leading researcher Mari Ghallagher. In such a desert, the average person must travel twice as far to “reach the closest mainstream grocer,” than they must travel to fringe food locations, i.e., liquor stores and gas stations.

550,000 Detroiters cruise in this unfortunate boat.

This is in spite of an abundance of “food.” If McDonalds, Burger King, Coney Islands and KFC factored into Ghallagher’s equation, Detroit would be a flourishing food ocean. But they don’t count, and rightly so, with offerings that are often nothing more than laboratory concoctions masquerading as food.

Crucially, this abundance of unhealthy, inexpensive food poses a public health nightmare. Detroit’s life expectancy is noticeably lower than any other major city, and ranks as the nation’s fifth highest in obesity rates. Throw in the lack of inadequate public transportation, and that more than one in five households are carless into the equation, and it’s clear that these health effects are the results of poor food choices that many Detroiters are forced to make.

Urban farming crusades in hopes of suffocating this depressing trend. It is crafting a new culture, one away from the ultra processed, salty, and the artificial, and toward the life sustaining, sustainable, and the essential, amongst other staples, offering potatoes, tomatoes, green beans, peppers, broccoli, nutritious and organic—free of pesticides and genetic modifications—food.

Food.

With two years remaining until the grand opening of a midtown Whole Foods, there will be no awaiting the saviorship of large grocers. People living in the city need food now. The absence of large chains means less competition. There will be no moaning about the plethora of fast food options, nor fringe food locations; their presence is merely an unhealthy alternative. There will be no weeping about stratospheric unemployment rates; it provides the perfect workforce. Farming-wise, the city is perfected by its “imperfections.”

This massively scaled urban agricultural experiment is the perfect multipronged juggernaut. More than food, Urban Farming is an attempt at societal transformation, peaceful societal revolution. Its creed beckons us away from our current materialistic modus operandi, in hopes of realizing Dr. Martin Luther King’s other dream, the transition from a “thing oriented society to a person oriented one.” It’s about counteracting the ills wrought when one lacks capital in a capitalistic society. It’s about reforming the bond between ourselves, and bond between the earth and ourselves, eschewing the profit motive and prioritizing the human condition. And underpinning all is perhaps the paramount relationship, self versus self.

In a recent globally inclusive survey on happiness, conducted by researcher Ben Page, concluded with an adage, “If you want to be happy for a few hours, get drunk. If you want to be happy for a few years, get a wife. If you want to be happy forever, get a garden.” He found that people who gardened were measurably happier than those who did not. There’s something sublime about connecting with the ground, which in turn uplifts one’s own spirits.

This is all urban farmers want—to have their own gardens, to hark back to a simpler earth-centric lifestyle, inducing the most natural high of any.

Though noble to its core, as with any growing revolution, urban farming is not without its fair share of controversy. The farm cogs face clog, from the city and state.

Currently, a non-neglible number of farmers—many growing food out of sheer necessity—occupy city lands illegitimately. They’re squatters, technically. But without clear, transparent, and effective city or state policy in regards to urban farming, it’s hard to blame these “squatters.” They save the city from frittering away an unsustainable $1,200 annual maintenance fee that it would otherwise have to expend, on the arable fraction of the 61,000 city owned vacant plots. No precise data exists as to what percentage of vacant land is farming suitable, but with the prevailing norm of 1-2 acre plots, it would doubtless ameliorate food availability, substantially.

On the other end, many farmers, such as Wayne and Myrtle Thompson, rightfully own or lease their land. Yet, per Michigan’s Right To Farm Act—a piece of legislation intended for suburban agriculture, not a postindustrial powerhouse—preempts city administered zoning and regulation for “commercial” farms, gardens with intent to sell goods. This is an unnecessary detriment to Urban Agriculture. The city government also lacks zoning and regulatory powers because of act.

The needless roadblocks to legitimate gardening, owing lack of policy, and a lack of urgency to fit the farming model within the books of law, weigh heavy on today’s farmers, dangling them in persistent limbo.

This is appalling.

Especially with a cohort as capable and motivated as Urban Farmers, and their supporters vying to make productive and beautiful a city, a desert peppered with the cacti of rusty scaffolds, dangerous debris, and unsightly litter—eyesores that double as breeding grounds for crime and mischief.

Governments, both city and state, should, if anything, incentivize this movement. The Federal Government encouraged and facilitated the victory gardens; this historically merited aspiration is fully realizable. A start would be demolishing the $1,000 fee that it costs to even apply for a farming permit—a fee that no doubt forces many would-be farms to abstain from gardening altogether, and perfectly honest citizens to go the undocumented route.

Too much is at stake to wait on a churning political machine to produce these results, it would take too long to wait for sensible policy to navigate itself through the maze of bureaucracy.

In the meantime, though, we can all play some part to push the movement in the direction that it needs to go. We can write letters to politicians, make donations through proper channels, recruit friends to this battle in our backyards, and, for more robust contributions, we can donate a liquid that certainly costs us nothing: our own sweat.

It’s time for everyone, Detroiters, Metro Detroiters, laymen, and policy makers alike, to get drunk with enthusiasm for the urban farming movement, so that we can begin to eradicate hunger for our fellow humans.

Collectively, how could we not support a movement of self-reliance, a revolution par excellence? It’s the American, and Motor City Creed—taking matters into one’s own hands, turning a deaf ear to all thwarting externalities, even a carjacker.

SOUND FASHION Metro Detroit’s Best Dressed...

Thu, 01 Sep 2011 10:44:00 -0400

SOUND FASHION

Metro Detroit’s Best Dressed Musicians

Photography by Monica Breen

Summer Party at American Coney Island

Tue, 09 Aug 2011 12:44:19 -0400

Summer Party at American Coney Island:

July 29, 2011 in Detroit, MI.

Life With a Madman

Tue, 09 Aug 2011 12:28:00 -0400

His story starts like many others. In 1926, Edward Farhat Sr. was born to Lebanese parents in the heart of mid-Michigan. One of eleven children, he had big dreams and little opportunity. So he made his own. A bit of a rule-breaker from the start, he used his older brother’s birth certificate to enlist in the United States Army during World War II, since he wasn’t old enough at the time. After the war, Farhat worked as a laborer while he traveled to Detroit to train for what would become his eventual career.

And that’s where his story gets interesting. I can assure you his career didn’t take place in a machine shop, on an automobile production line or in an office building. It took place in front of the world. Never one to blend in or go with the flow, Farhat went on to emerge as The Sheik, professional wrestling’s godfather of hardcore. Everyone in wrestling knew him, filled arenas all over the world to see him and helped him become one of the most recognized personas in professional wrestling for over four decades.

Along with the likes of Dick the Bruiser, Abdullah the Butcher and Bull Curry, he was known as an uncontrollable wild man in the ring. He made most people wonder if the mayhem was for real — was he really like that outside the arena? I’d like to tell you he was. I’d like to tell you he was ruthless to those he encountered on the street and vicious to the core. I’d like to tell you that what you saw was what you got.

But then…well, I’d be lying.

How do I know? I know, definitively and without question, because the madman we’re talking about was my grandpa. For most people, it’s strange to think about someone like The Sheik as having been a family man. For me, it’s strange to think of The Sheik as anything other than the man I loved and had the pleasure of knowing for the first 27 years of my life. It’s a very different existence, having to share your loved one with the world. But I did all my life. It was all I knew.

In 1964 he bought the entire Detroit territory and named it World Wide Sports — Big Time Wrestling. With an all star crew of wrestling icons like Jesse “The Bull” Ortega, Bobo Brazil, Wild Bull Curry, The Mighty Igor, Leaping Larry Chene, Mark Lewin, Bulldog Don Kent and Dick “The Bulldog” Brower, Detroit soon became the heart of professional wrestling.

Of course, most of his glory years took place before I was born or during the formative years of my life. But from the start, I knew he was special. I knew he wasn’t like other grandpas. And he wasn’t. He took his career as The Sheik very seriously. The controversial way in which he wrestled — gauging eyes with concealed pencils he’d tuck into his signature camel-embroidered trunks and finishing opponents off with his “Camel Clutch” — served to elevate his reputation to that of a lunatic. And he loved every minute of it.

In fact, his unpredictable antics and out-of-this-world behavior are arguably what gave rise to the ultra-violent style of pro wrestling that’s so commonplace today. Unlike the wrestlers of today, however, he never broke character when he was out in public; that’s what made him so menacing. He never spoke around fans, and if he did, it was in either Arabic or, hysterically, gibberish. To the bystander, he was a nut who wouldn’t hesitate to cross any line to maintain his dangerous image.

Of course, I know better. The same men he did battle with in the ring — Bobo Brazil, Andre the Giant and Leaping Larry Chene — were the same men who commonly sat at our family dinner table and hung around the house. They were all friends and businessmen who had one common goal — to make professional wrestling in Detroit, and beyond, successful and ever lasting. These were the forefathers of the WWE. These were the men who led the way.

And I got to see it all first hand. Can you imagine being a 3 year-old kid and having Andre the Giant want to give you a hug? Can you imagine sitting in a locker room within Cobo Arena and being able to see a grizzly bear (soon to be used in a match) walking up and down the hallway? That was a part of my childhood. It was my normal.

How? The Sheik made wrestling a family business. My grandma traveled extensively with him during the course of his career, even appearing in the ring as Princess Salima. My dad became Captain Ed George, a main-event attraction of his own and co-promoter for the company, while my uncle learned everything from ring set-up to business affairs. We were all entrenched in it, in one way or another. In fact, my dad and uncle still run a wrestling promotion in Michigan called the All World Wrestling League. I think it’ll always be a part of our lives.

There even exists, much to my amusement, a “documentary” about Big Time Wrestling called “I Like to Hurt People,” in which I appear. Distributed around the world, this video diary of my grandpa’s business was quite the hit amongst my high school friends. In it, I’m all of two years old and as I wander, unscripted, onto the screen, you can see the wheels turning as I fumble with the belt of my tiny kimono robe. And with a grin full of glee and eyes full of mischief, I whip open that robe to reveal I’m wearing only a diaper underneath. That genius move made the final cut of the movie. Clearly, a penchant for the dramatic runs in our family.

It’s moments like this I’m grateful to have. I remember sitting in an arena in Kentucky watching him wrestle. As it often happened, the match spilled out of the ring and into the crowd. Within seconds people were running, screaming and clutching their kids to their sides in fear. Except for five of us — my mom, aunt, 9 year-old brother, 4 year-old cousin and me. I’m sure everyone thought we were nuts, but to us, that was just our Grandpa Sheik doing his thing. And as he tossed his opponent around like a ragdoll, he snuck in a little wink to let us know he loved us.

And that was quintessentially him. For all his professional rage, at heart, he was a loving man and a humanitarian ahead of his time. One of my favorite stories was about a time in Texas during the pre-civil rights era. The promoters had segregated the African-American fans in a balcony behind chicken wire. My grandfather got to the ring and saw the seating arrangements. He then climbed up 15 feet and ripped down the wire. He was having no part of it. The best part is that he got away with it, without question — simply because he did it as “The Sheik.”

As I was learning to read, write, count and use cursive, my grandpa was winning countless heavyweight titles across multiple wrestling organizations, while maintaining his place as the greatest heel in wrestling. As I was entering middle school and battling braces and acne, he was battling kids half his age and running circles around them in the ring. When I was in high school, playing volleyball and taking college prep courses, my grandpa was playing his role abroad more and more frequently, most often in Japan where he is an unparalleled legend. And as I entered Michigan State to begin the next chapter of my life, he began to live the final chapters of his.

As he grew older, his lifetime of hardcore physicality began to take effect on his body. From hip replacements to heart surgery, he became our own bionic man. That also meant his career was coming to an end. Of course, he fought it out until the last possible second, and didn’t end up wrestling in his last match until 1994, at the age of 68. In front of over 64,000 fans, he had his retirement match and said goodbye to the entertainment side of the business.

But even then, he wasn’t done. He taught many other wrestlers how to become successful, including Michigan natives Rob Van Dam and Sabu. He took great personal pride in helping others develop their craft. His legacy is assured of continuing for years to come — it can be seen every time a wrestler uses a table, a folding chair or any otherwise innocent object for a nefarious purpose. Whether that wrestler knows it or not, he is paying homage to my grandpa.

When I think through his last years, it’s always with gratitude for the time we had together. And more often than not, it’s with a smile.

When I was in college and brought home my roommate for Easter dinner, he’d put on his act and start praising Allah at the table — loudly and with vigor. I’d calmly remind him that we were Catholic.

When I would come visit and tell him some story of accomplishment in my professional career, he’d come back with something along the lines of “Nice work. You want a medal for that?”, after which he’d laugh, grab me in a hug and kiss my head, letting me know he was truly proud. And I’d remind him I was just following in his footsteps.

And at the end of his life, when the collective of his many ailments ravaged his once-strong body and wiped his memory clean of who he’d once been, I’d remind him who I was, that he was loved and that he was safe.

In the middle of a quiet night on January 18, 2003, my grandpa died after his longest and most hard-fought battle. It was the day our family lost our patriarch and the world lost a legend. In the years since, our family has gone through lots — there have been marriages, divorces and great-grandchildren added to the mix. There have been family reunions where his presence is sorely lacking. There have been eight Christmas celebrations, though a hole remains in our hearts. Time marches on, but our memories never fade.

Above all else, I know this to be true: regardless of whether he remembered his own history, it lives on in me. And in my family. And in the countless fans he amassed over the course of his unbelievable life. He was a man that loved his family, loved his fans and dedicated his life to perfecting a craft few others have been able to match.

On March 31, 2007, World Wrestling Entertainment inducted The Sheik into their Hall of Fame. The next night, my family attended WrestleMania 23 at Ford Field where he was honored. What a wonderful way to celebrate my grandpa’s life and accomplishments. It made me miss him that much more.

So, as you drive by Cobo Arena or to go to a show at St. Andrews, remember that once, not so many years ago, there was a wild man that ruled the land with a palm full of fire and a head full of dreams that helped put Detroit on the sports-entertainment map.

But most of all, remember, as I do, that he was a man of great love and sacrifice. And that he was pretty damn fantastic.

By Jen Farhat (family photo)

Antoinette Nikprelaj is Making Waves

Tue, 09 Aug 2011 12:16:00 -0400

You probably missed Antoinette Nikprelaj when you saw “Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides” back in May. As one of five mermaids of Whitecap Bay who seduce, then terrorize Johnny Depp’s Captain Jack Sparrow and his scallywag pirate crew, she’s visible for all of five seconds. Her onscreen time is skimpier than the wardrobe she was required to wear.

But the 24-year old Albanian actress/model from Troy won’t be missed in the future. Hollywood will be making sure of that.

Her parents, of Albanian descent, migrated from Montenegro to New York when she was born. From there, the family moved to Troy when she was 10 so that her father, a construction worker, could find work (both New York and Michigan have sizable Albanian populations).

Let’s get ahead of ourselves for a minute so we can talk about that wardrobe, or lack of one.

“We were pretty much topless mermaids and all we wore were pasties and CGI shorts … and we had really long, long extensions that were covering our breasts,” Nikprelaj said. The extensions, obviously, were crucial for filming the family-friendly film. As she aptly put it: “You know, boobies are not Disney.”

For someone trying to break into the business, it helps to have Nikprelaj’s looks. But it can be nerve-wracking, too. “It’s kind of scary with so many people being around, and you’re topless and you’re the only girl on set, on a set full of men, and everybody’s staring at you and they’re all excited cause they get to see you half-naked,” she said.

To land the coveted “half-naked mermaid” role, the Athens High School graduate had to put in her time like every other aspiring actor. She’s been a featured extra in a handful of films from “Just Go With It” to the upcoming “Real Steel”. Before that she was a model, beginning her career at age 17, but got married at 18 and had a daughter at 20, which caused her to take four years off from her career. To her, using that time to raise her daughter was more than a fair tradeoff, especially when Nikprelaj describes her as “a little model in the making … She wants to do what I do. She wants to be a mermaid, too.”

Following her hiatus, Nikprelaj took up modeling again, but fell into acting after the 2008 Michigan film incentives started drawing more productions to the state. Besides, the modeling industry wasn’t the best fit for her.

“To really book a lot of work, I mean, you really have to be tall. A lot of the high fashion modeling agencies want, like, 5’9 and up. And I’m 5’7,” she said. “For acting, 5’7 is pretty tall … I kind of tower over some people.”

When she auditioned for the mermaid role, Nikprelaj had to jump right in… an Olympic-sized swimming pool with 30 other girls.

“They gave us an hour tutorial on how to swim gracefully and do synchronized moves and look good while you’re doing it,” Nikprelaj said. “The real myth of a mermaid is she’s beautiful and alluring and seductive, but she’s also a devious creature that kills.”

It’s a fitting role for Nikprelaj, who, like her daughter, dreamed about being a mermaid when she was a girl. Although, when she finally got her wish to become a mermaid in a Disney movie, it wasn’t quite as happy-go-lucky as she expected. “I wasn’t a conventional mermaid. Instead of a cute, beautiful little Ariel, I was a crazy killer,” she said with a laugh.

And as luck would have it, one of the other mermaids cast for the role, Toni Busker, was also from Michigan. The two hadn’t known each other at all prior to filming, but there were certainly no shortage of opportunities to bond during the month-long shoot on Universal Studio’s Falls Lake set in Los Angeles.

Though Disney’s already confirmed that they are developing a fifth film in the “Pirates of the Caribbean” series, there’s been no word yet on whether Nikprelaj or any of the other mermaids will be asked back. But she remains hopeful. “I’ve heard rumors about them bringing back the mermaids, so I’m not sure if that’s really going to happen, but it seems so,” she said.

In the meantime Nikprelaj has something much meatier to tackle: She’s lined up for the lead role in CGI action film “Star 23,” written by her cousin and fellow Detroiter Stevie Robinson, who read lines with her prior to her screen test.

“I try to get my cousin work,” Robinson said. “I want to see her succeed and she wants to see me succeed. So once either of us gets a lead on anything we just sort of have that mutual understanding.”

For “Star 23,” the actress will be playing a time-traveling scientist trying to save the world from nuclear devastation. She’ll be taking on multiple roles as the tough scientist and her meeker alternate-universe counterpart. “It’s kind of like a bromance, but with the chick and herself,” Robinson explained.

The part was originally written for, in Nikprelaj’s words, “a very well-known Hollywood lead actress,” but Nikprelaj, as her stand-in, was asked to step into the role when the A-lister dropped out. It’s surreal for her to jump so quickly from being a featured extra to a lead role: “I expected to be in that position five years from now.”

Nikprelaj is training in martial arts for the role, including Krav Maga. “So I’m a trained fighter, with license to kill,” she said with a laugh.

Both Nikprelaj and Robinson have wanted to get into the movie business since they were little, and both have what Robinson says is an unusually strong interest in science fiction for women. “I told her I really wanted to write a cool cyborg movie for her,” Robinson said. “She likes sci-fi stuff like me, which is unusual … There’s not too many women that are into it like we are.”

But Robinson isn’t concerned with whether audiences will have the perception that Nikprelaj only won the “Star 23” role because of family connections. “I don’t care what people think about it as long as they go and see it and they like it,” she said.

The film, to be produced and possibly directed by Philippe Martinez (“The Steam Experiment”), is set in Detroit and was on track to film in the city until Michigan’s proposed film tax incentive cuts caused the production to relocate to Rome, Italy.

“It’d be great to work in Michigan but I doubt I’ll ever be back there full-time like I used to be,” Nikprelaj said. The actress has reluctantly left the state to follow the film industry. “I had to leave to further my career, and Michigan’s not going to do it for me now,especially since all of Hollywood that was going on here is going elsewhere.”

And the elsewhere-Hollywood that Nikprelaj found has already helped her more than the Great Lakes state. Soon after relocating to Los Angeles, she was able to sign with Innovative Artists, a large talent agency that has steered many aspiring screen presences to greatness. It’s a transition that will easily boost her career and visibility, and it’s an opportunity Nikprelaj wouldn’t have had in Michigan.

So why focus your attention on a green actress with the briefest possible role in a film that’s already faded from your memory - an actress who, it turns out, is leaving Detroit far behind to pursue her career?

Because like that mermaid costume, the amount of time Nikprelaj spent in Michigan was both unbelievably small and an undeniable point of interest. Many of the young, gorgeous, talented actresses from Michigan who follow her footsteps in the future will also leave the state at some point. They will go where they feel there is an industry to support them, where they have a chance to work with Johnny Depp, learn Krav Maga and star in sci-fi bromances with themselves.

Nikprelaj was Michigan’s featured extra. Now she’s leaving to take the lead.

By Andrew Lapin, Photo by Daniel Lippitt

The Premiere Event at Cliff Bell's

Tue, 09 Aug 2011 12:11:00 -0400

The Premiere Event at Cliff Bell's:

May 12, 2011 in Detroit, MI.

Photos by Jason Loudermilk

Photo

Tue, 09 Aug 2011 11:59:00 -0400

California Cool? by Leah Moss

California Cool? by Leah Moss

California Cool? by Leah Moss

California Cool? by Leah Moss

California Cool? by Leah Moss

California Cool? by Leah Moss

California Cool? by Leah Moss

California Cool? by Leah Moss

Photo

Tue, 09 Aug 2011 11:53:00 -0400

Chefchaoen by Shay Spaniola

Chefchaoen by Shay Spaniola

Chefchaoen by Shay Spaniola

Chefchaoen by Shay Spaniola

Chefchaoen by Shay Spaniola

Chefchaoen by Shay Spaniola

Chefchaoen by Shay Spaniola

Chefchaoen by Shay Spaniola

Chefchaoen by Shay Spaniola