DETROIT heads ONLY!!!!!!!!!!!1

darth frosty

Dark Lord of the Sith
BGOL Investor



Detroit's ballroom dance community rocked by coronavirus, including multiple deaths

BRIAN MCCOLLUM| DETROIT FREE PRESS
Updated 1 hour ago






For decades, urban ballroom dancers have assembled in clubs and venues across the metro area to take part in one of Detroit’s richest and most distinctive social traditions. And during the second week of March, just before Michigan’s ban of mass gatherings, there they still were, dancing as they’ve always done — mingling closely, hand in hand, cheek to cheek.

By month’s end, the coronavirus had swept ferociously through Detroit’s ballroom dance family, igniting ongoing waves of grief and pangs of anxiety among a tight-knit group mostly made up of older African Americans, for whom dancing was supposed to be a respite from life’s rigors.

“This thing has been a direct hit on us,” said dancer Darrell Wilson. “Facebook is like an obituary page right now. Every time I look up, somebody I know has died.”

People entrenched in Detroit’s urban ballroom scene offer varying estimates of the toll on their community to this point. Some say they know of five, six, 10, a dozen dancers who have died during the past two weeks. Others put the count at more than 30.

Whatever the precise number, the tragic stories continue to mushroom. Friends and dance partners in the ballroom community often find themselves struggling to absorb the magnitude of the crisis in their sphere.


Club Yesterday's in Redford Township.

GOOGLE MAPS
“We’re all shell-shocked,” said a Southfield resident and ballroom regular who asked not to be named. “The dance community is losing people daily.”


Some ballroom dancers, promoters and DJs declined to speak on the record for this article — or to even talk at all — citing the ongoing emotional trauma and a sensitivity for victims’ families. They also worry their community might be unfairly stigmatized and scapegoated in a city that has emerged as a coronavirus hot spot.

That stance is understandable, and it’s important to stress there’s no available data confirming that any given dance event or venue was an exposure site, or that dancing was a transmission point at all for people who since have tested positive.

Michael McElrath, spokesman for the Wayne County Public Health Division, said the county is not conducting retrospective investigation into early coronavirus clusters.

“We are aware of places people gathered,” he said. But with the subsequent escalation of coronavirus across the region, “we now assume everywhere is an exposure site.”

McElrath said his own mother is a Detroit ballroom dancer, and he acknowledged that coronavirus has struck that community in a “devastating” way.

“She is in (emotional) pain right now,” he said. “Every day she’s calling me about someone in her ballroom group."

Some of Michigan’s most publicized COVID-19 victims were ballroom dancers, including Michigan state Rep. Isaac Robinson and Wayne County Sheriff Cmdr. Donafay Collins, who also moonlighted as a DJ.

In Detroit, urban ballroom is a lifestyle for many involved — part exercise, part therapy, part social connection. It's an accessible community that eagerly welcomes newcomers, said Jay Danzie, who oversees the online group Ballroom Nation.

But when it comes to coronavirus, ballroom's virtues may have been its vulnerability.
"Because the dancers come together — it’s a contact sport — naturally it might be a haven for a rapid spread," Danzie said.

On social media, the scope of the outbreak among ballroom dancers is stark and poignant. There are tearful tributes to those known dead, and frantic questions about friends whose accounts have abruptly gone quiet.

Some users have turned amateur detective, piecing together dates and venues possibly linking those who have fallen sick or died of COVID-19 — including events the second week of March at popular nightspots such as Club Yesterday’s in Redford Township, EARS Showplace in Hamtramck and the Paradise in Southfield.

On Friday, March 13, Michigan Gov. Gretchen Whitmer issued the first in a series of orders limiting public assemblies. Within days, as the mandate tightened to ban gatherings of 10 or more people, dance and music events were effectively shut down.

“I started noticing after that weekend that people were getting sick,” said Charles Hicks, 65, a longtime event DJ. “After that, all hell started breaking loose. That’s when we realized this was real.”

Urban ballroom dancing — sometimes known elsewhere as Detroit-style ballroom — is a pastime that goes back decades to venues such as the Graystone and the black patrons who crafted their own signature steps.

The style was formalized in the 1970s by Detroiters who combined the grace of classic ballroom dance with contemporary urban moves, typically to a playlist of midtempo R&B, and who took the phenomenon nationwide.

In recent years, urban ballroom has continued to draw dancers to near-daily events across metro Detroit, including group classes, lunch-hour sessions and nightclub parties. All told, the events likely draw thousands of participants collectively month to month, though dedicated ballroom dancers interviewed by the Free Press suggest there are about 500 people in the core group of enthusiasts who attend multiple events each week.

They include people from all walks of life, from blue-collar workers to nurses to judges to CEOs, said Jeannine Gant, a ballroom dancing fan from Detroit.

And coronavirus has struck the scene across the board.
“It’s really frightening — especially when you consider it’s just something you do to have fun and gather as a community,” said Gant. “The other thing that’s really concerning is you see a lot of older people ballroom dancing, so you’re talking about high-risk people here.”


For Sherrad Glosson, a Detroit dance instructor and publisher of Go Dance Detroit, the impact on the ballroom scene hits on multiple fronts: Like others in the community, he has grieved the sudden loss of multiple friends and colleagues. On top of it, as an independent business operator, he is confronting the loss of income amid the coronavirus shutdown, uncertain what forms of government relief may come his way.

Detroit dance instructor Sherrad Glosson, left, has watched as the urban ballroom dance community has been ravaged by the coronavirus outbreak.
SHERRAD GOSSON
Moreover, Glosson said, he worries for his students, many of them older folks who had turned to ballroom dance as therapy following divorces, family deaths and other life blows.

"It’s affecting people who were using dance to help change their lives," he said. "I’m seeing that a lot right now — people are missing out."

What's new normal for dancers?
Joelle Gwynn, a former Detroiter who lives in North Carolina, has been following the developments on her hometown ballroom scene via social media.

"I started seeing this anomaly of postings by African Americans," she said of the wave of reports about dancers who had fallen ill or died.

Gwynn is launching a campaign calling for increased coronavirus tracking and changes in testing policy. Many of the ballroom dancers who have died did not show the symptoms currently tagged as prerequisites for testing, including fever, she said. She is also calling for better tracking of outbreak clusters in high-risk populations.

"I believe they need to address this on a hierarchy of risk, based on known exposures and preexisting conditions," Gwynn said.

As the ballroom dance family continues to absorb the immediate pain of coronavirus, some are wondering what's in store for the long haul — and what the new "normal" might entail for an activity that's all about partners together, up close.

"When things are lifted, and this virus is 'clear' or 'flattened,' how does this impact the community when it’s time to return?" said Glosson. "How does it affect the morale? Will people fear: 'Do I really want to go out dancing tonight?' "
 

darth frosty

Dark Lord of the Sith
BGOL Investor
Army core of engineering setting up cobo Hall for service as fema hospital

QWMnA1v_d.jpg
 

darth frosty

Dark Lord of the Sith
BGOL Investor



So Big Gretch said she loved the song Detroit dedicated to her and she appreciates the Buffs. Oh and she coming to the cookout after this shit over.... #Only my peeps can pull this type of behavior #Love It ❤❤❤



94889390_10157780406633557_5987170164217479168_n.jpg





Oh...they started a go fund me to get Big Gretch buffs and they reached the goal ‍♀




95942786_10157780579463557_3777855990930604032_n.jpg
 
Last edited:

big enos burrnet

Rising Star
BGOL Investor



So Big Gretch said she loved the song Detroit dedicated to her and she appreciates the Buffs. Oh and she coming to the cookout after this shit over.... #Only my peeps can pull this type of behavior #Love It ❤❤❤



94889390_10157780406633557_5987170164217479168_n.jpg





Oh...they started a go fund me to get Big Gretch buffs and they reached the goal ‍♀




95942786_10157780579463557_3777855990930604032_n.jpg

hey leave big gretch alone..... :lol: :lol: she's become very popular here...but then also its alot of brotha's and sista's
caught on to the death rate real quick and she and the mayor got to testing real quick fast in ah'hurry...they didnt leave
detroit behind like lansing usually do.....
 

darth frosty

Dark Lord of the Sith
BGOL Investor
I was a police chief stopped by my own officer. After Floyd, we need change at all levels.



At 14, the more I screamed, the more the police beat me. That day, I promised myself I would become a Detroit police officer and change the force.



Isaiah McKinnon


Detroit Free Press Opinion

George Floyd could have been me.

That was my first thought when I saw the video of Minneapolis police officer Derek Chauvin choking the life out of George Floyd.

In 1957, I was a freshman at Cass Technical High School. As I walked home after speaking with my favorite teacher, four white police officers jumped out of their cruiser, threw me against it and beat me severely. I hadn’t done anything wrong. Officers in the feared “Big Four” were well-known in the black community for brutally maintaining their kind of “Law and Order.” The more I screamed, the more they beat me. Time seemed to stand still as I saw the anger on their faces and the horror on the faces of black people who gathered around us, yelling for the police to stop.

After what felt like hours, they told me to get my ass out of there. I ran home crying but did not tell my parents, fearful that it would put them in danger. I was 14, the same age as Emmett Till when he was killed in Mississippi two years earlier. I was scared, angry and confused. Why did they hurt me?

That day, I promised myself that I would become a Detroit police officer and change the Detroit police force from the inside.


f29ee9b7-a1d8-4e0b-98ad-cae6ad2a749c-IMG_635785375357380612_M_2_.JPG


After graduating and serving four years in the Air Force, including a deployment to Vietnam, I joined the Detroit Police Department on Aug. 2, 1965.

As a rookie officer, I encountered overt and casual bigotry and routine denigration and brutality. Many white officers refused to ride alongside black officers. Some made cardboard dividers in patrol cars — designating the “white” section from the “colored.” Others used Lysol to “disinfect” seats where black officers sat. Some of my white colleagues refused to speak with me during shifts, dared not eat near or with me, and frequently used the N-word to describe me and the African American citizens they were sworn to protect.

A white colleague tried to kill me

Two years later, I felt the sting of betrayal as an officer during the 1967 rebellion. One night, after a grueling shift, two white DPD officers pulled me over. I was still in uniform, badge affixed to my chest and a #2 pin on my collar, indicating that I worked in the 2nd Precinct. I identified myself as a fellow officer, thinking they would see me as an equal. Instead, one pointed his gun at me and said, “Tonight you’re going to die, n-----,” before discharging his weapon. I dove back into my vehicle and miraculously managed to escape. I realized then that not even our shared uniform could save me from their racism. And I wondered that if they were willing to shoot and kill a black police officer, what were they willing to do to black civilians?

As a supervisor a few years later, I stopped a group of officers from beating three black teens. I was finally in a position to hold them accountable for their excessive use of force. But my precinct commander yelled at me for attempting to "ruin the lives of those good officers." I witnessed this kind of complicity repeatedly. When other officers reported abuse, as they should, they were ostracized, transferred to lesser assignments and treated so poorly that many quit.

Enforcing the law while black: I understand the anger but don't defund police. It could make things worse.

During these years, my mental salvation was education. I earned three degrees, including a master’s degree and Ph.D. When I became chief of police of Detroit in 1994, it was important for me to root out the bad officers — like those who beat me as a teenager and tried to kill me in 1967. I also worked to rebuild trust with the community, which for too long felt like it was at the mercy of a violent and indifferent police force. It was my mission as chief to make a difference in the lives of Detroiters.

It was incredibly difficult, however, to eradicate implicit biases and systemic racism in the department. When I was chief, a white DPD officer pulled me over one night. He approached my unmarked vehicle and without looking at me, asked for my license and registration. Wanting to see how far this would go, I said, "Yes officer." At some point, he recognized who he had stopped and immediately apologized. My question to him was, “Why did you stop me?” He said, "I thought it was a stolen car." The officer was reprimanded for his actions.

Joe Biden: We must urgently root out systemic racism, from policing to housing to opportunity

Later, as deputy mayor, I attended a Criminal Justice Forum in Washington, D.C., with police chiefs and other high-ranking officials from major cities in America. I told them my story and asked what suggestions they had to rid our departments of similar acts. No one said anything. Unfortunately, silence has been the norm in most departments for too long.

Serve, protect and end discrimination

If my uniform, badge and education cannot protect me from anti-black violence, what can? Now is the time to get to the heart of the matter: There must be a major effort to fundamentally restructure police departments so that they actually do what they promise: Serve and protect all people.

This should include a change at all levels. Here's what we must do to get started:

►Require higher aptitude and fitness standards for incoming recruits.

►Require regular mental health check-ups to deal with the stress and challenges of law enforcement.

►Develop a nationwide database of all officers to prevent bad officers from jumping departments to avoid marks on their permanent record.

►Stop promoting officers to become supervisors who have multiple disciplinary complaints, particularly, to positions of first-line leaders like sergeants and lieutenants.

►Rehabilitation within police unions. Their intransigence makes it almost impossible to fire and hold officers accountable for breaking the law and the public’s trust.

The relationship between the community and the police is fundamentally changing. Departments should be at the forefront of a transformative model of public safety, for all possible outcomes, including defunding the police. The arrest of Derek Chauvin and three other Minneapolis police officers for the murder of George Floyd is a move in the right direction. As hundreds of thousands of people around the world demand accountability, now is the time for a meaningful change so that no one, especially black men and women, has to ever again think “that could have been me.”

Isaiah McKinnon is a retired chief of the Detroit Police Department, retired associate professor of education at University of Detroit Mercy and former deputy mayor of Detroit. This column originally appeared in the Detroit Free Press.
 

big enos burrnet

Rising Star
BGOL Investor



Detroit's ballroom dance community rocked by coronavirus, including multiple deaths

BRIAN MCCOLLUM| DETROIT FREE PRESS
Updated 1 hour ago






For decades, urban ballroom dancers have assembled in clubs and venues across the metro area to take part in one of Detroit’s richest and most distinctive social traditions. And during the second week of March, just before Michigan’s ban of mass gatherings, there they still were, dancing as they’ve always done — mingling closely, hand in hand, cheek to cheek.

By month’s end, the coronavirus had swept ferociously through Detroit’s ballroom dance family, igniting ongoing waves of grief and pangs of anxiety among a tight-knit group mostly made up of older African Americans, for whom dancing was supposed to be a respite from life’s rigors.

“This thing has been a direct hit on us,” said dancer Darrell Wilson. “Facebook is like an obituary page right now. Every time I look up, somebody I know has died.”

People entrenched in Detroit’s urban ballroom scene offer varying estimates of the toll on their community to this point. Some say they know of five, six, 10, a dozen dancers who have died during the past two weeks. Others put the count at more than 30.

Whatever the precise number, the tragic stories continue to mushroom. Friends and dance partners in the ballroom community often find themselves struggling to absorb the magnitude of the crisis in their sphere.


Club Yesterday's in Redford Township.

GOOGLE MAPS
“We’re all shell-shocked,” said a Southfield resident and ballroom regular who asked not to be named. “The dance community is losing people daily.”


Some ballroom dancers, promoters and DJs declined to speak on the record for this article — or to even talk at all — citing the ongoing emotional trauma and a sensitivity for victims’ families. They also worry their community might be unfairly stigmatized and scapegoated in a city that has emerged as a coronavirus hot spot.

That stance is understandable, and it’s important to stress there’s no available data confirming that any given dance event or venue was an exposure site, or that dancing was a transmission point at all for people who since have tested positive.

Michael McElrath, spokesman for the Wayne County Public Health Division, said the county is not conducting retrospective investigation into early coronavirus clusters.

“We are aware of places people gathered,” he said. But with the subsequent escalation of coronavirus across the region, “we now assume everywhere is an exposure site.”

McElrath said his own mother is a Detroit ballroom dancer, and he acknowledged that coronavirus has struck that community in a “devastating” way.

“She is in (emotional) pain right now,” he said. “Every day she’s calling me about someone in her ballroom group."

Some of Michigan’s most publicized COVID-19 victims were ballroom dancers, including Michigan state Rep. Isaac Robinson and Wayne County Sheriff Cmdr. Donafay Collins, who also moonlighted as a DJ.

In Detroit, urban ballroom is a lifestyle for many involved — part exercise, part therapy, part social connection. It's an accessible community that eagerly welcomes newcomers, said Jay Danzie, who oversees the online group Ballroom Nation.

But when it comes to coronavirus, ballroom's virtues may have been its vulnerability.
"Because the dancers come together — it’s a contact sport — naturally it might be a haven for a rapid spread," Danzie said.

On social media, the scope of the outbreak among ballroom dancers is stark and poignant. There are tearful tributes to those known dead, and frantic questions about friends whose accounts have abruptly gone quiet.

Some users have turned amateur detective, piecing together dates and venues possibly linking those who have fallen sick or died of COVID-19 — including events the second week of March at popular nightspots such as Club Yesterday’s in Redford Township, EARS Showplace in Hamtramck and the Paradise in Southfield.

On Friday, March 13, Michigan Gov. Gretchen Whitmer issued the first in a series of orders limiting public assemblies. Within days, as the mandate tightened to ban gatherings of 10 or more people, dance and music events were effectively shut down.

“I started noticing after that weekend that people were getting sick,” said Charles Hicks, 65, a longtime event DJ. “After that, all hell started breaking loose. That’s when we realized this was real.”

Urban ballroom dancing — sometimes known elsewhere as Detroit-style ballroom — is a pastime that goes back decades to venues such as the Graystone and the black patrons who crafted their own signature steps.

The style was formalized in the 1970s by Detroiters who combined the grace of classic ballroom dance with contemporary urban moves, typically to a playlist of midtempo R&B, and who took the phenomenon nationwide.

In recent years, urban ballroom has continued to draw dancers to near-daily events across metro Detroit, including group classes, lunch-hour sessions and nightclub parties. All told, the events likely draw thousands of participants collectively month to month, though dedicated ballroom dancers interviewed by the Free Press suggest there are about 500 people in the core group of enthusiasts who attend multiple events each week.

They include people from all walks of life, from blue-collar workers to nurses to judges to CEOs, said Jeannine Gant, a ballroom dancing fan from Detroit.

And coronavirus has struck the scene across the board.
“It’s really frightening — especially when you consider it’s just something you do to have fun and gather as a community,” said Gant. “The other thing that’s really concerning is you see a lot of older people ballroom dancing, so you’re talking about high-risk people here.”


For Sherrad Glosson, a Detroit dance instructor and publisher of Go Dance Detroit, the impact on the ballroom scene hits on multiple fronts: Like others in the community, he has grieved the sudden loss of multiple friends and colleagues. On top of it, as an independent business operator, he is confronting the loss of income amid the coronavirus shutdown, uncertain what forms of government relief may come his way.

Detroit dance instructor Sherrad Glosson, left, has watched as the urban ballroom dance community has been ravaged by the coronavirus outbreak.
SHERRAD GOSSON
Moreover, Glosson said, he worries for his students, many of them older folks who had turned to ballroom dance as therapy following divorces, family deaths and other life blows.

"It’s affecting people who were using dance to help change their lives," he said. "I’m seeing that a lot right now — people are missing out."

What's new normal for dancers?
Joelle Gwynn, a former Detroiter who lives in North Carolina, has been following the developments on her hometown ballroom scene via social media.

"I started seeing this anomaly of postings by African Americans," she said of the wave of reports about dancers who had fallen ill or died.

Gwynn is launching a campaign calling for increased coronavirus tracking and changes in testing policy. Many of the ballroom dancers who have died did not show the symptoms currently tagged as prerequisites for testing, including fever, she said. She is also calling for better tracking of outbreak clusters in high-risk populations.

"I believe they need to address this on a hierarchy of risk, based on known exposures and preexisting conditions," Gwynn said.

As the ballroom dance family continues to absorb the immediate pain of coronavirus, some are wondering what's in store for the long haul — and what the new "normal" might entail for an activity that's all about partners together, up close.

"When things are lifted, and this virus is 'clear' or 'flattened,' how does this impact the community when it’s time to return?" said Glosson. "How does it affect the morale? Will people fear: 'Do I really want to go out dancing tonight?' "
this is really real...my neighbor teaches ballroom and he done lost over 35 dancers due to the virus...now he just sits in the house
being thankful he's still living....
 

King_of_Posts

Rising Star
Registered
It’s under new ownership now. Not as good as when Richard was there. I miss the festival bread. I wander what happened? Anybody know?

Shit man, I last been to that place back in 2007 or so and it was hot as FUCK up in there and all they had was jerk chicken and beef patties left. Yet, they did not close! How the fuck you gonna remain open with just two menu items and a couple drinks? Smh.

Rather than tell me what they DID have, they let me go down several items on the menu while replying "We no have dat!"
 

darth frosty

Dark Lord of the Sith
BGOL Investor




Whitmer signs ‘clean slate’ bill to expunge petty marijuana-related offenses from criminal records
By Steve Neavling @MCmuckraker
click to enlarge
  • State of Michigan
Nearly two years after Michigan residents approved the legalization of marijuana, residents convicted of many pot-related crimes now have an opportunity to clear the offenses from their criminal record.

Gov. Gretchen Whitmer signed a package of bills on Monday that provides a fresh start for up to 235,000 Michigan residents with pot-relate convictions. Marijuana convictions can be a barrier to accessing jobs, loans, housing, education, and some public resources.

The legislation is one of the most comprehensive in the nation, allowing for expungements of misdemeanors and some low-level felonies.

“During my 2018 campaign for governor I made expungement of marijuana charges one of my key priorities, and I’m so proud today that we can follow through on that goal,” Whitmer said at a press conference. “For too long, criminal charges have created barriers to employment, barriers to housing and others for hundreds of thousands of Michiganders. These bipartisan bills are going to be a game changer.”

The “clean slate” bills offer two paths to expungement. For people convicted of marijuana offenses that would have been legal after marijuana became legalized on Dec. 6, 2018, they can apply to have their convictions removed from their records under a streamlined process. A prosecutor would have 60 days to protest the expungement if they want to block them. In that case, a hearing would be set.

For others, the legislation requires the state to automatically expunge misdemeanor and low-level felonies beginning in 2023. Misdemeanors would be cleared seven years after sentencing, and felonies would be expunged 10 years after offenders complete their sentence.

“This is a historic day in Michigan. These bipartisan bills are a game changer for people who are seeking opportunities for employment, housing, and more, and they will help ensure a clean slate for hundreds of thousands of Michiganders,” Whitmer said. “This is also an opportunity to grow our workforce and expand access to job training and education for so many people.”

The automatic expungement also applies to convictions not related to marijuana. Offenses that aren't eligible for expungement include assaultive crimes, human trafficking, serious misdemeanors, “crimes of dishonesty” such as forgery, felonies that carry a maximum penalty of 10 or more years in prison, and crimes in which the victim is injured or is a minor or vulnerable adult.

“This is the right thing to do on behalf of people everywhere who deserve another chance, and will help improve livelihoods,” Lt. Gov. Garlin Gilchrist II said. “There is more work to do, but Michigan has now established itself as a leader in removing barriers to economic opportunity for people who have made mistakes. I will continue to stand tall for Michiganders across the state who need someone in their corner.”

Michigan Attorney General Dana Nessel, a former defense attorney, said she supports the bills.

“I can tell you from first-hand experience that the expungement process in our state was in serious need of reform,” Nessel said in a statement. “We not only needed to expand the types and numbers of offenses that could be eligible for expungements, but we also needed to make that process more accessible to our residents. This package of bills accomplishes both of these missions and that is why I consider it a step forward in Michigan’s effort to implement lasting criminal justice reforms.”
The bill drew applause from Michigan Liberation, a network of organizations opposed to the crimination of Black families and communities of color.

“Michigan’s clean slate bill will help pave the way for thousands of Michiganders to finally be liberated from the lifelong barriers that accompany a criminal record,” Marjon Parham, public relations manager at Michigan Liberation, said in a statement. “At Michigan Liberation, we have bailed out so many people this year. We are happy to see that these individuals will be given a second chance at living a normal life. Having a clean record is so imperative when it comes to the necessities of life like getting a job.”


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