Gene Bennet

One early Sunday afternoon my wife, my 2 kids and I were coming home from Cedar Point. As a speeder I usually drive 5 10 or 15 over the limit; driving a ‘63 Chrysler 300, it was very unusual to see anyone pass me. But driving up 75 and 94 at least a dozen cars passed me and each one had at least 5 or 6 Black males in it; no women or kids.

I worked at Chrysler’s Dodge forge on Lynch Rd on the midnight shift at the time. Late into the night, a friend and I climbed to the top of the loading tower for the power house to see Detroit lit up like a Christmas tree and listened to the gunfire. The next night my friend was down there on the street with the National Guard. At the time it made me wonder where all those guys that passed me on the freeway were going as there was nothing special going on that weekend downtown. But I often wondered if they didn't get something going on with the after-hours club.