Detroit History

Remembering Maryann

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When I think of Maryann Mahaffey, I think of a short woman who thought Tall.

When it came to the “least of these,” people without means, people without housing, the downtrodden, the forgotten. Maryann thought Tall. Maryann spent several nights on the streets with the city’s homeless people to bring attention to their plight during her 31 years in office. Unlike so many other politicians who talk the talk, Maryann was brave and, privileged enough to walk the walk.

When it came to the “working class.” People who work with their hands as well as their heads, Maryann thought Tall. In 1995 when employees of the Detroit News and Free Press went on strike, Maryann was arrested after she and others blocked the entrance to the Detroit News during a sit-in. She participated at the picket sites, intervening with the Detroit Police to protect the pickets. Maryann walked the walk, she stood Tall.

Maryann Mahaffey was born January 18, 1925 in Burlington Iowa. She moved to Detroit with her husband, Herman (Hy) Dooha, in 1952. Maryann worked as a social worker and advocate in public housing – as well as community centers and welfare rights groups. She was elected to the Detroit City Council in 1973, the same year that Coleman Young was elected Mayor. Maryann was one of Detroit’s longest serving politicians – she retired at the end of her 8th term after she was diagnosed with leukemia. She passed away, July 27, 2006.

I’m not sure why Maryann and her husband chose to move to the city of Detroit or the state of Michigan, but, I for one, am glad they did. In my eyes, Maryann was a true Servant Leader.

 

Written By: B Knox for Presbyterian Villages of Michigan, Brush Park Manor, Paradise Valley August 2006.

 

Prose

EYES

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When you look into one’s eyes.

You’re bound to become, hypnotized.

You see things that you rarely see.

Like Peace, Love and Harmony.

You’ll stare and glare, all through the night.

And then you’ll seem, to regain sight.

The eyes will put you in a daze.

And, you’ll just stare there, in a maze.

 

Written By:  B. Knox

 

Prose

HE

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THE MAN.

So strong, Yet weak.

HE walks alone, HIS shadow hidden.

THE MAN.

To strong to ask for guidance

To weak to admit HE needs it.

But, willing to NEED a Woman.

WANT,

Not really.

HIS need is greater, because his want is hidden behind his

SHADOW.

 

Written By B. Knox

Uncategorized

Slow Me Down, Lord

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Slow me down, Lord.  Ease the pounding of my heart by the quieting of my mind.  Steady my hurried pace with a vision of the eternal reach of time.  Give me, amidst the confusion of my day, the calmness of the everlasting hills.  

Break the tension of my nerves and muscles with the soothing music of the singing streams that lie in my memory.  Help me to know the magical restoring power of sleep.  Teach me the art of taking “minute vacations,” of pausing to look at a flower, to chat with a friend, to pat a dog, to read a few lines from a book.

Remind me each day of the fable of the hare and the tortoise, that I may know the race is not always to the swift, that there is more to life than increasing its speed.  Let me look upward into the branches of the towering oak, and know that it grew great and strong because it grew slowly and well. 

Slow me down, Lord, and inspire me to send my roots deep into the soil of life’s enduring values, that I may grow toward the stars of my great destiny.  Amen.

 

From LIFE Guide, A Resource for Wellness Planning, copyrighted by Wellsource Inc. 1988

TRUTH

The Child Stalkers

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They prey upon our children like wild wolves in the night. They prey on our children’s innocence and trust. They prey on our children, not always as strangers but, as fathers, uncles, men of the cloth, teachers and friends of the family. People whom we trust; adults whom our children are taught to trust and obey; adults who take advantage of that trust. One out of every four girls is sexually abused before puberty. One out of every three girls is sexually abused by age eighteen. One out of every eight boys under eighteen is sexually abused in this country alone.

Pedophiles, child molesters, who are they? Where do they come from? What makes them stalk our innocent children? What makes them molest their own children? What makes them scar a precious little life? What is it about babies, children, the little people, that sends a pedophile into a sexual frenzy, committing the worse sin imaginable towards a child?

Some believe that pedophiles were abused as children and therefore turn around and re-enact that pain on another innocent child – why?  If anyone can understand the hurt and pain that is inflicted on a child, it should very well be the pedophile who claims that he, himself, was sexually abused as a child. Why scar another life and another and another (pedophiles usually molest many children before they are caught) as they were scarred. Pedophiles, child molesters and abusers of children, should stand up, recognize that what happened to them was wrong, realize that it wasn’t their fault, get help through counseling and become healers to our children, advocates for children rights, mentors to kids who find it too hard to tell, and nurturing parents to their own children – educating should be the repercussion of a child molester abused as a child instead of an abused child evolving as a child abuser, himself. But, all child molesters were not sexually abused as children and all adults who were sexually abused as children are not child molesters – what’s going on here?

Adults make decisions in their lives. That’s one advantage of being an adult in our society. The majority of adult decision makers have morals and beliefs that they strongly adhere to. Sometimes we do things that we wouldn’t normally do in order to survive, to eat and provide for our families, to make a better life for ourselves and our loved ones. We accept the responsibility for our actions. The pedophile makes a decision to rape a child, to shatter their childhood, to inflict pain not imagined by an innocent human being, to force an unwanted and unknown act on a little person. The pedophile makes a decision not out of survival, not out of the need to provide for his family and definitely not for the well being of his victim – the pedophile makes a decision out of selfishness – who else could he possibly be thinking of when he performs such a cruel and horrendous act. He makes a decision, not a mistake. These wolves in sheep’s clothing tend to blame others for what they do – their spouse, jobs, society as a whole and even their innocent victims. It is estimated that 90% of child sexual abuse involves a person whom the child knows well. It is also estimated that 25% of Americans have been victims of child sexual abuse. In incestuous child abuse cases the most common is father –  daughter or stepfather – daughter, where, in the eyes of the pedophile, the daughter takes the place of the mother. Usually, in this incestuous situation the mother either knows or has a strong indication that something is wrong. The child inherits a sort of power that is silently acknowledged in the family’s household by both parents – the child in this situation is referred to as an “EXECUTIVE CHILD.”

We hear about children being molested all over the world, everyday on the news, in the paper, at work, school and even at church. Priests, doctors, fathers, entertainers – all walks of life molesting their own children or someone else’s. There is evidence that women pedophiles exist; but the male clearly dominates this unbelievable practice. To make access of children available to them, these men tend to enter into professions that involve direct contact with children, interacting directly with them, gaining their trust and eventually molesting them.

Whom do our children turn to in a world that insists that children should be seen and not heard. These children are confused, scared and lonely. They want to tell, but who will believe them? (Children rarely lie about such things as sexual abuse.) The child reasons with herself that it would be better not to tell than to have family members doubt them, and some family members do tend to doubt the child, some dismiss it altogether and think the problem will just go away – it will not just go away. People who dismiss this awful problem are just as bad, maybe worse, than the pedophile who stalks our children. They have the power, the law to stand up against these individuals yet a large portion of them do nothing but close their eyes. We must listen to our children when they are trying to tell us something, we must make them feel comfortable when it is too hard to tell. (Telling someone is the first step to recovery.) We must encourage our youth to be honest and tell the truth no matter how much it hurts. We must notice different behavior patterns in our children: nervousness, restlessness, withdrawing from people who really love them. Parents, listen to your children. They may be trying to tell you something.

By:  B. Knox

 

 


	

	
	




	
	

			
	

				

			Prose
		

			
Imagination or Reality

		

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As the rain fell lightly onto the window,


my imagination wandered farther and farther into distant places,


taking me to higher regions of imaginative thinking.


Children,


playing in huge green parks,


laughing and screaming, enjoying their childhood – As children ought to.


People,


sharing thoughts, that they had never really shared with anyone,


in fear of being laughed at or made mockery of.


Neighbors,


of all races and backgrounds,


uniting, and


trying to make this world a better place for all.


A world of Peace.


Of EQUAL JUSTICE!


To the poor, the hungry, the homeless, the least of these


AND


everyone else.


Will this world ever see such a thing in REALITY?


Or.


Will it be, just a thing, for the imagination to dwell into, occasionally.


As my imagination comes back to reality,


the rain still falls onto the window,


only,


HARDER.


 


By, B. Knox


 

	

	
	






	
	

			
	

				

			Prose
		

			
ME

		

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Way down deep inside of ME.


There lies another living being.


Someone that knows ME very deep.


And, sometimes talks to ME in my sleep.


Someone that guides ME day by day.


And, helps ME along my hurried way.


When I’m feeling all alone.


In my heart, I search and roam.


For that person I never really see.


But, I know, lives deep down, inside of ME.


 


Bridget Knox (Written in 1980)

	

	
	




	
	

				

			Uncategorized
		

			
CHANGE: (Written October, 2005 for Presbyterian Villages of Michigan) Bridget Knox, Admin. Assistant

		

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When I think of October.  I think of CHANGE.


The leaves of the trees CHANGE colors from simply green to brilliant bright red, yellow, orange and gorgeous gold.  They light up the sky for a season like beautiful Christmas lights – except, the leaves are perfect.


Then.


The leaves take on another CHANGE.


They fall.


They fall to the earth with their bright reds, yellows, orange’s and gorgeous gold’s and their brilliant colors decorate our lawns and busy streets.


Children play in the leaves and toss them to and fro while their parents or older siblings rake the leaves and put all those brilliant, bright and wonderful colors away.


Nice and tidy. Like a package of crayola crayons.


CHANGE happens.


The way we react to CHANGE has a lot to do with our attitudes toward CHANGE.


Are we willing to CHANGE ?


Sometimes, CHANGE is forced upon us. Then, we must CHANGE!


If we could make CHANGE more comfortable, whether good or bad.


Then maybe.


We could CHANGE.


Like the leaves.


From simply green.


To bright, bright, gorgeous, GOLD.


 


 


 


 

	

	
	




	
	

				

			FICTION
		

			
75 SOUTH (A Mini Series) Part 13

		

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It was Epsom salt time!


I was feeling out of sorts, out of my mind and more confused after talking to Vickie.  The only thing I could think about right now, at this moment, was soaking in my tub filled with Epsom salt.  Tomorrow would be here before I knew it and I, along with my parents would be heading south.  As I began to run the water in my Sanford cast iron, clawfoot tub someone was ringing my buzzer.  “Not now” (I yelled to the air).  I continued running my water and pouring the salt thinking about how all my troubles were going to fade away once I stepped my body into this elixir.  Somebody was still ringing my buzzer.


“Who is it!” (I yelled through the buzzer).


“It’s us Thomasina, let us in.”


“Who is us?  (I yelled back).


“Artesia Ms. Tommie. It’s Artesia.  Jay and Anderson are with me.  Can we come in?


“Artesia!  What’s going on?


“Hey Ms. Thomasina, this is Jay. We just want to talk to you. It won’t take long. Come on, buzz us in please.”


“It’ not a good time. I was just about to take a bath.”


“Girl, come on now. Put on a robe. It won’t take long. We need to talk to you right now.”


“OK, OK Anderson.  Give me a minute and I’ll buzz y’all in.”


I turned the water off, grabbed my robe and house shoes and buzzed the trio in.  I’m not sure why they were here but it looked like the only way I was going to get rid of them was to see what they wanted.   Oh my God. (I thought to myself)  I have not talked to any of them since I left on vacation.  I hope Linda broke the news to them so I won’t have to look like the tyrant.  God, I hope that their severance package was fair, I pray that they got jobs at good properties.  Poor Artesia, she’s so shy, hopefully she’s going to be OK with another manager.  Anderson, Anderson sounds like he’s pissed at somebody – I hope it’s not me.  If any of them can handle the situation it’s Jay.  He’s a free spirit and he probably can’t wait to take whatever money they gave him and start his own business.  Anyway, Anyway…


“You go open the door or what Boss!”  (Jay yelled).


“Hey, come on in y’all.  So what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”


“What you got to drink in that fridge Miss Powell?


“Help yourself Jay. It should be something in there to your liking.  Artesia, Anderson, you want something to drink, something to eat, some chips or something, there’s some barbecue fritos on the counter, help yourself.”


“So when you leaving?  (Anderson asked).


“Tomorrow.  I’m heading out tomorrow morning.”


“Well what about us Miss Thomasina. What’s going to happen to us?”  (asked Artesia).


“Didn’t Linda talk to you all.  Linda did tell you about Mort selling Paradise, didn’t she?”


“Yeah, yeah Boss.  Linda told us, she told us everything. Good looking out – Linda told us that you wanted to make sure we got treated right, fair.  We all got offers to go somewhere else.  I for one go take my small severance  and chill for awhile.  I don’t know if I want to be a janitor at another property.  As a matter of fact, I don’t think I want to be a janitor period.”


“Well Jay.  What do you want to do?”  (I asked).


“Right now I wanna finish off this golden champale I’m drinking.”  (we all laugh).


“Artesia. What about you. What do you want to do sweetheart?”


“I’m not sure Miss Thomasina.  I was thinking about going to Community College.  You know, take some classes in something.  I don’t know though.  I’ll be 20 in a few weeks and all I can think about right now is buying me a new used car – something a little more reliable than what I got now.  What you think I should do Miss Tommie – should I go to another property and pick up where I left off?”


“I don’t know Tesia.  Do you like working in Property Management?”


“Paradise is my first job.  I don’t know if I like it or not.  I know I liked working for you and working with Anderson. I even like working with Jay sometimes….


“What’s that suppose to mean shy girl?” (Jay asked).


“I mean, I like working in property management at Paradise because you, Anderson and Miss Thomasina work there.  Most of the tenants are like my friends, like uncles and aunts that I never really had.  I’m not sure if I like the job more than the people that work and live there.  It probably won’t be the same somewhere else.”


“Anderson, you got to be thinking about maybe retiring now.  I’m sure Mort was generous to you – long as you been keeping that property in working order.  What you think old man?  You got it in you to maintain another building at this time?”


“I got your old man Miss Powell.  But seriously.  Ever since Lula Mae passed I’ve been asking myself that same question, better yet, been asking myself who I’m working so hard for now at my age – You know I’ll be 62 next month?”


“That’s all! (yelled Jay).  I thought you was at least 80 man, you only in your sixties?”


“Alright young blood.  Show some respect to the old man who taught you how to use tools and then some.”


“I’m just playing with you man.  You don’t look a day over 60.”


“I know that’s right.  If Lula Mae was still alive – she would agree with you. God knows I miss that woman.  My only regret is that we could not have children.”


“Why not Anderson?” (I asked).


“We tried. Lord knows we did.  I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.”


“Anderson, where you and Lula Mae from?”


“Well Thomasina. We came to Detroit so long ago – it feels like we from here. We came here, me and Lula, when we were in our teens. We went to high school together, and once we graduated, we followed my brother Don this way. Don had got a job at the Ford plant and helped us out till we got our footing.  We came from Clayton. Clayton Alabama.”


“When’s the last time you been down south Anderson?”


“Oh Thomasina. It’s been a long spell.  I’m not sure if anybody I know is still there, in Clayton.  Me and Lula Mae got here and never looked back.  We stayed in touch for awhile with friends and kin folk – after our parents died, we went to the funerals. After that, we never went back.”


“What you doing tomorrow Mr. Anderson?”


 


B. Knox


To be continued