The Freep at Fair

15 years ago, I stopped home delivery of the beloved Detroit Free Press in protest of management tactics in the writer’s strike there. Then, the Freep (as it is affectionately known) entered into a Joint Operating Agreement with the Detroit News, known as the "Snooze," the conservative competition for the Freep in Detroit. I was part of a group of volunteer lawyers from the National Lawyers Guild who represented some of the strikers as they fought back against thug tactics with various acts of civil disobedience, like trespassing, lying down in front of delivery trucks. I never went back.

At the Art Fair I signed up for a contest to win a grocery shopping spree before I realized it was the Freep and Snooze booth. The guy hawking subscriptions engaged me with his spiel. Holding up my hand and shaking my head, I said, “No thank you. I quit home delivery 15 years ago, over the strike.”

The young man widened his eyes. “Wow,” he said incredulously, "that was FIFTEEN years ago!” Maybe he celebrated his tenth birthday during the strike.

“Yes, I know,” I said, “I'm a dinosaur. But I am a committed dinosaur.” I know two other Guild lawyers who have held to their boycott over the years, so I'm not the only one.

The truth is I miss it. The Freep was a great paper. I was a fan, bigtime. When I first moved to Detroit to do law school, I would buy the paper every day. I would bring it to Contracts so my pal Sue Shernit could read it too. We’d talk about the stuff in the paper, read the comics. My favorite strip was Brenda Starr, and I still have in my office a panel from that strip: sexy Brenda saying “Justice works out a payment plan for everyone,” her head tipped back and her eyes half closed.

My favorite Freep columnist was Jim Fitzgerald. When I graduated from Law School, what I really wanted was to have lunch with Jim Fitzgerald. Suzy set it up for me, and I ate burgers and drank beer with Jim Fitzgerald at the Lindell AC, a downtown bar known for its burgers and local sports mementoes. (Suzy wanted to have coffee with Robert Jones, a local public radio blues DJ, and I set that up for her.)

All these memories flashed through my mind in a moment standing there at the counter. I love reading papers, and as Benjamin gets older, I have more time for it. I loved the Freep. It’s not the same, but maybe it was time to begin again the civilized practice of reading two papers a day: the Ann Arbor News and the Freep, and on Sunday, the NYT makes it three. My parents always read papers each day, it's always been a part of my life.

The sales guy was going on and on about how there are four unions at the Freep, there’s no more JOA, things are different now.

“And, real newspapers are becoming a thing of the past. I miss the feel of newsprint from Detroit in my hands,” I said. I signed up.

And he gave me $20 in gift cards from a grocery store.

The Ann Arbor Art Art Fair is upon us

We went to the Townie Party Monday, our "local" celebration of Art Fair. The actual fair started yesterday, bringing to town hundreds of vendors and thousands and thousands of visitors. I cruised a little yesterday on my way to a meeting: this will be my third AF and already I have favorite vendors. The paper featured a guy, a potter, who's been here every AF since it started in 1960.

The guy with the great wooden earring holders you hang on the wall is here again. This year I'd like to buy one, we'll see. My favorite fabric art person is here too, but her stuff I can't afford, yet. When preschool-which-costs-as-much-as-college is done, maybe.

Then there's Amanda, a Peach Tree School parent of twin girls who does amazing painting. This year I actually set aside a little scratch to buy one. I'll hang it in my new office on the third floor of the courthouse. It'll look elegant, and it will help Amanda's family pay the tuition. I'm also hoping my metal sculpture guy from Pinckney shows up; the crow I bought from him at our first AF is lonesome and I'm thinking she needs a pal.

Friday night, Benjamin and I will gather with other parents in the courthouse parking lot, load some kids in our wagon, and set off in search of corn dogs, treasures and lemonade.

We haven't lived here long enough to hate Art Fair. It's still a first class adventure to us, and I'm hoping it always will be.

When I am older I will stay still

Tonight, as I usually do, I lie down next to Ben and snuggle as he falls asleep. After he has drifted off, he will often say something: his eyes remain closed and often it's a complete non-sequitor.

Tonight, after we said good night and I sang a couple requests (his current favorite is Java Jive, which he sings with me) he drifted off fairly quickly. He's skipped a nap at school two days in a row. His eyes closed and that sweet, sighing breath came slower and steadier. Then he said,

"Are you going backward or forward?" His eyes were closed tight, but his legs were twitching, as they often are before he is fully asleep.

It seemed a profound rhetorical question. "I'm not moving, sweetheart, I'm staying still." Up on one elbow now, I was studying his face closely to see if he really was asleep.

"I can't stay still," he said. His eyes stayed closed, he didn't move, except for the little twitch of his legs.

"Yes you can, sweetie, you can stay still," I said softly.

"When I am older I will stay still," he said. I moved my arm from under his, and there was no response. His eyes were still closed.

He never awakened, and is sleeping still. There's plenty of time for him to stay still, later, when he is older.