When place means Flint

When place means Flint
Abandoned house in Flint, Mich., after scrappers worked it over. Photo by Gordon Young
by Kenneth Caldwell |
Rust Belt prodigal Gordon Young discusses all things Flint as well as his new book Teardown: Memoir of a Vanishing City. This interview was conducted by Kenneth Caldwell and first appeared June 14, 2013 on the blog Design Faith.

Journalist and SCU Department of Communication senior lecturer Gordon Young escaped Flint, Mich., and eventually found himself able to purchase a modest cottage (with nothing down!) in overpriced San Francisco. Yet the experience drew him back to his roots in Flint. He began a blog called “Flint Expatriates.” In his new book from U.C. Press, Teardown: Memoir of a Vanishing City, he tells the tale of trying to go home again. Place is not always the result of the work of well-intended design professionals. I interviewed Gordon about his book and his hometown.

For more information about Young’s book, visit www.teardownbook.com.
 

Tell me more about how the book came to be. You’ve created a compelling narrative from a lot of disparate threads. Most of your earlier work had been short pieces for magazines and newspapers, right? How were you able to bring all these pieces together? When did you know that you had a book? 

Believe it or not, the idea for a house in Flint really emerged because my girlfriend, Traci, and I somehow managed to buy a house we couldn’t really afford in San Francisco back in 2004, just as the real estate bubble was starting to expand. Being a first-time homeowner triggered all these unexpectedly warm feelings for Flint and the house with faded green aluminum siding that I grew up in. I’m not sure this qualifies as a midlife crisis, but I began to realize that Flint was the center of my authenticity. I still knew every street, building, and landmark. I’d covered large chunks of the city on foot, bike, and skateboard. I still had a deep connection to Flint, even though I’d only been back a few times over the years. It doesn’t matter that I’ve lived in San Francisco longer than I lived in Flint. Flint is part of me and I’m part of Flint. I wanted to reconnect with the place that made me who I am. It’s also one of the poorest, most violent cities in the country, and I felt an obligation to help it in some way.

P-Nut (left) and Aaron (right) with Gordon Young after a day spent painting P-Nut’s new home in Civic Park, just a few blocks away from the house where Young grew up. Photo by Sherman McCathern

Looking back, I can see now that there were easier ways for me to make this happen, but I somehow convinced myself that buying a house in Flint was the best way to do it. And I sort of convinced Traci. Maybe it was the prices. Anyone who’s bought property in a big city knows how insane the cost can be. Our 700-square-foot bungalow in San Francisco cost half a million dollars. We bought it with a no-money-down, interest-only loan—the sort of toxic mortgage that would eventually bring the world to the brink of economic collapse. You can buy houses in Flint by the dozen on eBay, like they’re donuts, for about $500 each.

The more time I spent in Flint, the more I realized that what was happening in Flint revealed a lot about what is happening in a lot of other cities around the country. And it seemed like every time I told someone a story about something that happened in Flint, they always said I should write a book about it.
 

What role did your blog play in shaping the book?

The blog was really my way of thinking out loud about Flint when all these memories of my childhood came flooding back after Traci and I moved into our house in San Francisco. It was a great way to sort out some of my feelings and connect with current and former Flint residents. But the virtual Flint obviously wasn’t the same as the real thing, even though it had better weather and less crime. I needed to go back and reexperience the real Flint.
 

What about Flint’s history contributed the most to its decline?

Another abandoned house that fell victim to arson on Jane Avenue in Flint’s devastated East Side. Only a single residence remains on a block once filled with small homes built primarily for autoworkers and their families.
Photo by Gordon Young

Depends on who you ask. General Motors is an obvious culprit for eliminating close to 80,000 jobs in Flint. Some say it’s the United Automobile Workers union’s fault because the union was too militant and too demanding. Of course, labor agreements are the result of negotiations. General Motors didn’t have to give in to union demands. And union workers didn’t have anything to do with the horrible management decisions General Motors made over the years. Then there are U.S. policies that effectively swapped our industrial economy for the so-called service economy. The middle class withered, but we get to buy a lot of cheap crap at big-box stores. Others point out that Flint never diversified its economy, but who diversifies during the glory years? Is Silicon Valley trying to diversify and develop something other than technology right now? So it’s a complicated question, and it’s probably a combination of all those things.
 

This pattern of corporations using up and wasting towns seems to be a global trend, not just a U.S. one.

Throughout the city, abandoned houses like this one in Civic Park are ravaged by thieves known as scrappers in search of any metal they can resell—doorknobs, radiators, aluminum siding, but especially copper wiring and plumbing. Photo by Gordon Young

Corporations abandon cities to varying degrees all the time. And that is one of the factors creating shrinking cities all over the world. Some of the statistics are pretty surprising. More cities shrank than grew in the developed world over the past 30 years. Fifty-nine U.S. cities with more than a hundred thousand people lost at least a 10th of their residents over the last 50 years. Flint and Detroit are high-profile examples because they lost half their population, but the same thing happened in Buffalo, Cleveland, Pittsburgh, and St. Louis. But don’t assume this is just a Rust Belt phenomenon. The Great Recession ensured that cities in the South and the Sunbelt are part of the trend now.

Dan Kildee, a Flint politician who advocates the shrinking-city model, is now in Congress. In your book, he talks about a “regional tax-base redistribution system.” How well will that phrase work now that he is in Congress? Won’t he be accused of being a socialist?

Dan Kildee’s never been shy about taking potentially unpopular stances. He frequently says that good policy doesn’t always equal popularity. It’s a refreshing approach for a politician, and Kildee’s recent election to Congress shows he has a knack for convincing voters that he has good ideas and is willing to work to make them a reality, even if the voters don’t necessarily agree at first.

Congressman Dan Kildee, the pied piper of the “shrinking city” movement, wants Flint and other troubled urban areas across the country to accept the reality of decline and negative growth. Photo by Gordon Young

He’s a visionary thinker. As a county treasurer and head of the local land bank, he garnered international publicity for refining and enthusiastically pushing what has come to be known as the shrinking-city concept. It basically calls for abandoning irrational hope and moving on. Kildee wants cities like Flint to accept that they aren’t going to recover from population loss anytime soon. Abandoned houses should be demolished and replaced with parks, urban gardens, and green space. Down the line, incentives could be used to lure residents into higher-density neighborhoods that have been reinvigorated with infill housing and rehab projects. Theoretically, Flint could save money by reducing infrastructure costs. It’s manifest destiny in reverse, a radical urban-planning concept that rejects growth as the fundamental goal of cities.

The details of how it works can get complicated. Kildee casually throws around terms like “scattered-site, cross-collateralized, tax-increment financing” in conversation. But the essence of what he’s created is a system that keeps distressed property away from real-estate speculators. It keeps that abandoned house on Flint’s East Side, where a Buick worker once raised a family, away from some guy in Nevada looking to make a quick buck. Kildee has given cities facing economic decline and a dwindling population a way to control their own real estate outside of so-called market forces. He’s given them a way to control their own territorial destiny.

Now sometimes that means money from Flint’s more prosperous suburbs are used to help the urban core. So far he’s got a lot of communities in the area to go along with the plan. I don’t see any indication he’s going to abandon this approach now that he’s in Congress.
 

For me, there were two climaxes to the narrative. The first one takes place in the chapter entitled “Home on the Range,” when you lose it at the firing range. Because at that point, I think you realize that you are not the kind of man who wants to own a gun to protect his home. And then of course in “Joy to the World,” when you break down crying following the service in Sherman McCathern’s church.

Pastor Sherman McCathern on the altar of Joy Tabernacle in Civic Park, where he leads a congregation beset by crime, unemployment, and heartache. “I told God that if I can’t help these people create jobs and opportunity, I can’t stay here and just preach to people and get them all dressed up with no place to go,” he said. “And that’s what I believe God has promised me.” Photo by Gordon Young

I went to the firing range with Dave Starr, a retired autoworker who still lives a few blocks from my childhood home with his wife, Judy. They bought their house in 1968 for $14,000, and it’s probably worth half that amount today. But Dave has never given up on the neighborhood. He’s still fighting to save it. I realized that if I were going to buy a house in my old neighborhood of Civic Park, I’d have to take precautions like Dave. That meant carrying a gun. So Dave showed me how to make bullets in his basement. He taught me gun safety. And we went to the shooting range together. That experience, although pretty funny in hindsight, really showed me what it would take to be a part of Flint again.

I came to view Pastor Sherman McCathern as a real unsung hero in Flint, like Dave and Judy Starr. He’s coming up with innovative ways to help the city in the face of overwhelming odds. And he’s doing it with a sense of humor and incredible resolve. He’s also someone who can be very practical but never loses sight of all the emotion that’s wrapped up in a struggling city like Flint, a place that has a real unemployment rate pushing 40 percent. I’m not exactly comfortable revealing my emotions, but the pastor has a way of tapping into what I’m really feeling. And sometimes it’s not easy to acknowledge those feelings. I was sitting in his church one Sunday while a blizzard raged outside. It was the same day Flint tied the record for the most murders in a single year. And all the emotion he brought out in me and the rest of his congregation really made me realize why I had returned to Flint after all those years.
 

I found this a surprisingly spiritual book. The story is about big ideas like Kildee’s, but also small deeds and people taking a stand that is within their means. You come across as a lapsed Catholic who is still affected by his religious upbringing. One of your challenges in the book reminds me of what Dorothy Day talks about. Altruism is rarely selfless. You are fairly open about how you need to get out of the way of giving to actually give.

In 1954, more than 100,000 people crowded downtown Flint for a parade celebrating the 50 millionth car produced by General Motors. A “milestone car”—a gold-colored Chevy with gold-plated parts—rolled off the assembly line to mark the occasion. Photo courtesy of The Flint Journal

At best, I’d say I’m sort of a cultural Catholic now. But I’m still guided by a lot of the big lessons the nuns taught me in the Flint Catholic school system. You should help out when help is needed. And you should feel guilty—very guilty—if you don’t. Without really realizing it, I definitely had this misguided notion in the beginning that I would somehow show up in Flint, buy a house, and spur the recovery of the city. I was trying to help the city on my terms. I wanted to be a combination of the prodigal son and a conquering hero. After spending a lot of time in Flint and getting to know dozens of people there, I eventually figured out that this was a pretty selfish approach. And the reality of Flint forces you to be very practical. There is no magic bullet. No quick fix. It will take a lot of time, hard work, and small individual efforts that combine to improve the city. I think I found a way to do my part, but it required me to let go of all the plans I had cooked up back in San Francisco. I never imagined my return to Flint would turn out the way it did.
 

What did your family make of the book?

They love it, but that’s their job, right? Four generations of my family lived in Flint, and my mom told me the book captured the city she always loved but always longed to escape. My goal was to reveal the spirit and allure of Flint, without sugarcoating the reality of life there. This isn’t a sappy, nostalgic book. But it does reveal the powerful hold that the place where you grew up can exert on you.
 

What is your next book?

I’ve got three ideas for new books. I’m in the process of fine-tuning them and deciding which one makes the most sense for me at the moment. Writing Teardown was a very emotional process for me. It took four years to complete. I want to make the right choice. And I still have a lot of work left in Flint.
 

What’s next for you in terms of Flint? The book may be out in the world, but I don’t think your story in Flint is finished.

Without giving away too much of the book, I’ve forged strong friendships with many people in Flint. I talk to them almost daily. And there is no shortage of projects that can help the city. I’m trying to show other Flint expatriates how to connect with the city in some way. I’ve heard from a lot of people who have read the book and want to know how they can get involved. I hope that my experience can help some of the other people who left to create a bond with the city again like I did.

All photos courtesy www.teardownbook.com.

Robert foxworthy said on Aug 21, 2013

I watched the parade in 1954 from a hotel room in the Hotel Durant. I saw recently that the gold ’55 Chevy is in a warehouse in North Carolina.

Gordon Young said on Aug 22, 2013
Robert, that gold Chevy has had an interesting history. Hope it gets restored one day.
Barb said on Aug 22, 2013

My husband was transferred by GM out of Flint in 1977. We were a young married couple having been married only 3 years at that point. We spent the next 15 years trying (wishing) to be back in Flint. We laugh about it now—but that is the kind of hold the city had on folks who grew up there. As a child, I went to brand new schools and experienced the community school concept. I remember buses of educators touring the high school I attended (Northwestern).

Gordon Young said on Aug 22, 2013

Barb, it sounds like you and your husband moved just before things really started to go downhill. The community school concept was another of the ideas born in Flint that was exported around the country. Lot's of material on Northwestern High in Teardown.

Summer 2014

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Mission Matters

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How's the water?

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