The September ceremony featured speeches both lofty and bitterly political; a serenade from a transgender singer; the dramatic lifting of a white sheet from the marker; and a steady parade of attendees snapping selfies with DeGrieck and Kozachenko. (Wechsler, who lives in Boston, could not attend.)
Read MoreTwenty-two years ago, Bob Materka stood on the balcony of the three-story bed and breakfast he and his wife, Pat, had recently bought, facing the lawn by the Rackham Building. It was Christmastime, and he found his yard lacking. “Gee whiz,” he thought, “we should decorate this in some way.”
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For many years, when I go back to my roots in Ann Arbor, I have been invited to play with a great group of golf enthusiasts. If the weather is good, they are trying to make it to the golf course.
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An old photo shows my mother, Geraldine, in the middle, at age fifteen, and Irv, age thirteen, on the left and Rolly, age eleven, on the right. The cost to park that close to the stadium was a whopping 25 cents.
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I think my life hit its peak when I had a bike and two dollars in my pocket.
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What I have learned from my second summer here is that the city is only quiet if you’re looking in the wrong places. Campus may be quiet, but the city most certainly isn’t.
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It’s hard for me to grasp that I’ve now lived with my wife, Mary, at Arrowwood Hills Cooperative for five years. It’s been a circuitous and fortuitous journey.
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When he grew up, Louie partnered with Mama Dux—a brown mallard—and together they raised twelve ducklings: nine were brown, and three were yellow, soon to turn white. Louie was an attentive father.
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If you have ever walked in Gallup Park, you’ve experienced the animal sculptures.
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My husband and I had been wondering about replacing our own second car, a ten-year-old Buick Enclave SUV with 146,000 miles. As soon as we learned about the tariffs, we, too, hurried to dealer showrooms to see what we could find.
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I was sorting hotel room keys one afternoon in 1978 when I looked up to see Ella Fitzgerald approaching the front desk at the Campus Inn. “Miss Fitzgerald would like to check in,” a man accompanying her announced.
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I had a seminal experience in sixth grade. I rearranged my school schedule to maximize my exposure to the wisdom of Soupy Sales.
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Swift Run—I love the image the name conjures. I love the dusty parking lot, never empty, and the crabapple tree along the fence line of the little-dog park. I once saw an old woman gathering the sour fruit; I wondered what she was going to do with them but was too shy to ask.
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Seeing guests leave the warmth of St. Andrew’s on a cold winter morning, Maureen had an inspiration: An experienced knitter, she could make scarves for them! She invited us, her sisters in PEO (Philanthropic Educational Organization, a women’s service group) to a knitting bee at her home. “This was over 20 years ago,” recalls her daughter Kate Martin.
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Why did you sign up to be a poll worker on Election Day? I did it to see another side of our process and to make sure that every citizen got to vote in the manner of their choosing.
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One Saturday in May 1971, I was a sixth grader on a mission: I wanted to buy a silver peace sign necklace. At the store Middle Earth on South University, in the heart of the campus, I looked carefully at the young woman with wire-rimmed glasses behind the counter. She had frizzy hair, a macramé belt, large hoop earrings, and a choker-style necklace. She looked a little like Janis Joplin and was wearing a T-shirt with the word REVOLT and a picture of a clenched fist. This young woman looked like she would be just the right person to help me.
Read More“I will happily trade Florida’s hurricanes for Michigan’s blizzards,” muttered our son Benjamin as he spent his birthday bolting metal hurricane shutters over the windows of his St. Petersburg townhouse, anticipating a second major hurricane in two weeks.
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Russ told Sam and Ray that they shared something rare: both owned a vintage Toyota FJ Cruiser. Furthermore, Russ had just opened his July–August Car and Driver and found the full-page “What to Buy” column at the end, extolling the 2007–2014 FJ Cruiser.
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My formative years, from grade school through twelfth grade, were spent in a house my grandfather built on Miner St. I can’t imagine a better place to get started in life.
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In early May of 2023, Sarah Stein, general manager of the restaurant Anna’s House, was prepping for the 6 a.m. rush. Her gaze lighted on the pond just beyond the patio. A mother duck glided serenely across its surface, followed by eleven adorable ducklings. One of them immediately stood out: unlike his brown or yellow siblings, his feathers were white.
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