These are some things that happened to my suburban, punk, white ass while I was working for my father’s company in a rough neighborhood of Detroit in the early to mid 70’s:
After ordering lunch at the McDonald’s at Wyoming and Fenkell, the smiling face behind the register informed me that my total was, “ $3.50, Whitey”. I paid.
While sitting in the parking lot of the local Burger King ( no wonder I was so fucking fat, I never packed), a couple of black dudes pulled in next to me and asked if I wanted to buy some blow. I was so intimidated, I wouldn’t have been able to answer what time it was, let alone broker a deal for some blow. It may have helped if I knew what blow was. After some stammering on my part, they roared away laughing, “Motherfucker don’t even know what blow is.” I wonder where those ambitious capitalists are today?
My father received a violation from the City of Detroit for trash in his alley...in the Wyoming-Fenkell neighborhood. Not ridiculous enough? Among his twenty or so employees, my dad selected his son and son’s best friend Rob to clean the fucking alley so he could avoid paying the paltry fine. I could understand why he selected me, I had been eating his food and beating off under his roof for sixteen years. But what had Rob done? Pure guilt by association, I’m afraid. Anyway, we found ourselves behind the shop picking up Andy Capp Pub Fries wrappers and empty cans of malt liquor ( I could have said trail mix wrappers and iced tea bottles, but come on). A couple of nice young men from the neighborhood stopped by to show us their firearms and suggest that we share the contents of our wallets with them. Pussy that I am, I turned over my wallet in one second. Rob, ever the hard case, paused and received a punch in the face for his bravado. He held out an additional four seconds. The cool kids with the guns then suggested that we turn our backs to them and place our hands against the wall. I’m not sure how long we stood like that, but I’m certain it was way longer than necessary. The cops did not give a shit about the robbery and we were never reimbursed for the money taken. I think the littering fine was forgiven.
Toward the end of my dad’s stay in Detroit, the alarm company had us on speed dial for break-ins at the shop. Many nights found us repairing a crinkled door jamb or boarding up a broken window, often with no protection or interest from the police. One summer night, the ride to the shop was different, marked by the circling of police helicopters in the area, shining lights, and actual cops at the shop. Lots of them. Crazily, Detroit’s finest let us in the building where they had trapped one of the intruders. They were frustrated at not being able to find him among the piles of furniture. One cop stepped forward with straining German Shepherds at the ready and gave the hiding robber three seconds to come out before the dogs located him. The threat must have been real, because the dude immediately came out from between two mattresses. He was greeted by a punch in the gut and pushed face down over a work table with a gun pointed at the back of his head. Who was with him and where the fuck were they? No answer. The cop with the dogs suggested some alone time in a small room with the dogs and the robber opened up. My dad and I were finally noticed and whisked outside. Maybe we shouldn’t have cheered.
There was lots of cheering Friday night as fellow cue ball Tony and I made our way to deepest Downriver and Marlow’s Chill and Grill Sports Bar on the east side of Telegraph Road south of West Road in Brownstown. There is ample parking in the lot which surrounds the bar, just ease in amongst the pick up trucks.
Back in the day, Little Brother and I had frequented this roadhouse when it was known as Harlan’s. It had a decidedly unfriendly vibe at that time, so unfriendly that it took only four or five visits for us to sour on the place. The new Marlow’s sign on the top of the building has a temporary look to it, but at least it doesn’t say Harlan’s.
There was no cover to enter and we were able to find a place at the horseshoe shaped bar in the center of the room and score two beers for a reasonable $6.25. Checking out the room didn’t take long, as there could not have been more than twenty patrons staring back at us. I was despondent, this had been a long drive and quite a commitment, and had the look of a bust ( a bust I had recommended earlier in the week). But Tony, who has been watching a lot of NCIS and CIS with our mom, quickly noted that there were a lot of waitresses and barmaids milling about. He reasoned that we were early for this joint and should cool it while the crowd caught up with the waitstaff.
Tony is one smart boozer, as long as you catch him before the gin and tonic demons set in. The crowd poured steadily in, a crowd much friendlier and ready to have a good time than the ones that stained the bar when it was known as Harlan’s. This group was definitely young, late twenties and early thirties dominated the room. But what really caught your eye (not mine, but yours), was the overwhelming amount of ladies populating the comfortable room. These were not your plus sized, tight jeaned, big haired, downriver dollies. These gals would be welcome in Ferndale, Royal Oak and even some areas of Northville (shout out to Fran and Mike in Northville).
Aside from the aforementioned horseshoe shaped bar in the center of the room, there is a small dance floor in one corner with a surrounding rail perfect for eyeballing. For such a young crowd, the floor did not get much of a workout during our visits. There is also a patio area with televisions and a lovely view of the parking lot. Tony enjoyed the loose smoking enforcement in this area and the smell of Capones soon filled the air.
Finally, a salute to the barmaids and waitstaff who seem to know you after the first round and never let you get thirsty. Once, after ordering at the bar, the barmaid had trouble getting to us and marched out from behind the bar to get around the crowd and get us our drinks. Hell yeah. Did I mention that they are hot and represent all ages and sizes?
Go to Marlow’s, enjoy great service, a friendly crowd and keep a lot of your hard earned money. Who knows, maybe they will replace the temporary sign with a more permanent fixture.
Cheers! Jim
Marlow’s Chill and Grill Sports Bar
23307 Telegraph Road
Brownstown, Mi 48134
734-362-0988
