Alex Karras’ Made-In-Detroit Movie—Jimmy B. and Andre (1979)

Alex Karras proves there is life after professional football.

When Alex Karras retired from the Detroit Lions in 1970, he left town for the bright lights of Hollywood. Alex first caught the acting bug as a senior at Emerson High School in Gary, Indiana when he performed in South Pacific. When he played college football at the University of Iowa, Karras wrestled professionally as villain George Brown donning a full mask and earning $50 a match. He relished playing the bad guy and acting crazy. It beat working in the steel mills.

After Karras was drafted by the Detroit Lions, he supplemented his ridiculously low NFL salary by wrestling in the off-season to help pay the bills for his growing family. He formed a tag team called Killer Karras and Krusher Konovski that performed to boos and sneers while winning all of their matches in the Midwest. While still a Detroit Lion, Karras played himself in the Hollywood film, Paper Lion. He garnered good reviews that led him to pursue an acting career.

Karras with Susan Clark in BABE.

Karras cut his teeth on several minor roles before he landed a co-star role in The Babe Didrikson Zaharias Story with actress Susan Clark, who won a best-actress Emmy for her excellent performance. They began performing regularly together and eventually married. In 1979, they jointly formed a Hollywood production company named Georgian Bay Productions.

Their first full length movie project was Jimmy B. and Andre which debuted on CBS on March 19, 1980. It was based on the true story of Jimmy Butsicaris, co-owner with his brother Johnny of the popular Lindell AC (Athletic Club) sports bar. The Lindell AC was frequented by Detroit Lion and Tiger athletes, sports writers, and sports fans from every level of Detroit society. Alex wanted to make a made-for-TV movie about his friend Jimmy B. trying to adopt a nine-year-old, African-American street kid named Andre Reynolds.

Andre was an elementary school dropout who shined shoes at Jim’s barber shop next door to the Lindel AC to pick up some extra money. But an older, local bully named Billy began harassing Andre for his hard-earned cash. Jimmy Butsicaris rescued the ragged, nine-year-old Andre from a beating one afternoon, finding him in desperate need of a bath, a meal, and some guidance. Over a cheese burger, fries, and a Coke, Jimmy learned the boy’s story. Andre’s mother was a widow who was also a heroin addict in poor health. Much of the money Andre turned over to her ended up in her arm. There was also an older sister and brother in the household.

Jimmy took the kid under his wing and gave him work doing odd jobs and a place to stay in the basement storeroom of the bar. Johnny Butsicaris converted a photo darkroom into a safe place for Andre to stay. He lived there for nine years. After the death of Andre’s mother from an overdose, Jimmy tried to adopt Andre but ran into trouble with the boy’s aunt who wanted him and his siblings as dependents to earn extra welfare money.

Detroit Free Press - March 20, 1980.

Undeterred by the court’s decision to deny him guardianship, Jimmy became Andre’s foster father and treated him like a son. As Andre grew into manhood, he called Jimmy “Pop.” To show his appreciation, Andre had a shirt made that read “I Am a Black Greek.” Jimmy took Andre to Detroit Lion and Tiger games and introduced him everywhere as his son. Jimmy helped Andre get back in public school where he earned a high school diploma from Western High School when he was twenty years old.

In the meantime, Karras and Clark pitched their story idea to CBS and sold them on it. Karras portrayed his friend Jimmy Butsicaris as a gruff restaurant owner with a big heart, and Susan Clark played his long-suffering girlfriend Stevie. In the movie, Jimmy keeps finding reasons not to marry her. Karras’ son, Alex Karras Jr, played a cameo role as the bully who beats up the young Andre, the real Andre played a restaurant employee called Bubba, and local Detroit weatherman Sonny Eliot played a drunk in the movie.

The movie project was shot entirely in Detroit at the Lindell AC, Jim’s Barber Shop next door, the Greektown restaurant district downtown, Belle Isle Park, and the Renaissance Center. The film was notable because of the heart-rending performance of twelve-year-old Curtis Yates, a student at Country Day School in Birmingham, Michigan. The real Andre Reynolds said he cried every time he saw the movie about his life and his foster father Jimmy Butsicaris.

Johnny Butsicaris in front of the Lindell AC sports bar.

After Andre’s high school graduation, Jimmy urged him to attend Grand Rapids Community College where he played football for one semester, but at 5’ 9” and 185#, Andre wasn’t big enough for college ball, so he dropped out. When Andre returned to Detroit, he left the influence of his mentor and drifted into Detroit’s drug culture. When he was busted for possession and drug trafficking, Andre served his sentence in Marquette Branch Prison.

In a prison cell at Marquette Branch Prison in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula on November 21, 1996, thirty-six-year-old Andre learned that his foster father and mentor Jimmy Butsicaris had died the evening before at the age of seventy-five from a massive heart attack. Reynolds wasn’t eligible for parole, so he couldn’t attend the funeral, but he agreed to be interviewed by Detroit News reporter Thomas BeVier.

Andre Reynolds at Lindell AC in 1979.

“(Jimmy) Butsicaris took me in when I was a nine-year-old, punk kid living in a drug infested environment. I had a few moments of fame when the movie Jimmy B. and Andre came out. I was nineteen and wanted to be an adult, but I didn’t know how to do that. I was paid $15,000 for my story, and I used it to buy two cars and go to Grand Rapids Community College. But along the way, I fell in with a rough crowd and was in and out of trouble most of my twenties. I’m ashamed of the life I’ve lived.”

Andre served his sentence and was released. A few days before Thanksgiving in 2000, Andre Reynolds was brutally attacked by an unknown person or persons who beat and stomped him mercilessly. Detroit Police posited that Andre ran afoul of a local drug gang, but no charges were ever brought in his murder. He spent his final days in a coma at Detroit’s Receiving Hospital before succumbing. His body was unidentified in the Wayne County Morgue for four days before he was buried. What seemed on screen like a promising future for Andre became a nightmare in real life.

 

Access Jimmy B. and Andre by name on YouTube!

Billy Martin's fight night at the Lindell AC

Detroit/Windsor Sock-Hop-Jock Robin Seymour

Robin Seymour at the height of his popularity.

Robin Henry Seymour began his career in radio as a child actor on The Lone Ranger show on WXYZ in Detroit. Eventually, he became one of the country's most popular disc-jockeys. During World War II, Seymour spent part of his enlistment as a DJ on Armed Forces Radio.

Seymour's civilian broadcasting career resumed in 1947 in Dearborn, Michigan at WKMH. The newly formed radio station played mainstream pop music with news, sports, and weather segments. Soon, Seymour became the station's top jock who appealed to many of Detroit and Windsor, Ontario listeners. Seymour championed early rock & roll artists and was one of America's first DJs to play doo-wop music and black rhythm & blues which was labeled race music in those days.

As his popularity grew, Seymour began live appearances with his "Original Rock-n-Roll Revue" at Detroit's legendary Fox Theater. Seymour's personal theme song "Bobbin' with the Robin" was recorded in 1956 by a group popular at the time--The Four Lads. They were accompanied by the Percy Faith Orchestra.

Canadian broadcaster CKLW hired Seymour to host a television teen dance show in 1963 entitled Teen Town, modeled on Dick Clark's American Bandstand. Clark's show was broadcast nationally, but Seymour's regional show was wildly popular in the greater Detroit area.

With the help of rising Motown artists, the show gained popularity and was rebranded as Swingin' Time. Local teens would dance to Top 40 hits and two kids were chosen from the audience to rate new records with an "aye" or a "nay." National acts performing in Detroit or Windsor appeared on Swingin' Time to promote their live shows and records.

Seymour had the good fortune to feature virtually all the Motown artists--The Supremes, Marvin Gaye, Little Stevie Wonder, The Temptations, Martha and the Vandellas, and the list goes on. Many of them recorded on Gordy and Tamala records before the Motown label. Swingin' Time introduced white suburban teens to local black performers, helping bridge the racial divide in heavily segregated Detroit.

In addition to Motown artists, many local white rock group performers appeared on Seymour's show--people like Glenn Frey, Mitch Ryder, Ted Nugent, and Bob Seger. Because of technical limitations in those days, all of the performers lip-synced their records. The most frequently booked local group on his show was The Rationals--an Ann Arbor garage band. Seymour managed many of the early Detroit groups.

Robin Seymour shortly before his death.

When CKLW changed ownership in 1968, Robin Seymour was replaced by Tom Shannon, another popular Detroit DJ. America was undergoing drastic political and social turmoil and the music reflected that change. Ever try to dance to psychedelic music? The show dropped in the ratings and ended its run in 1969.

Robin Seymour passed away on April 17, 2020, at the age of ninety-four in San Antonio, Texas. He will be missed by thousands of Detroiters and Windsorites. Robin wrote an indie autobiography The DJ That Launched 1,000 Hits just before he died which is available on Amazon. It is a joy to read.

Robin Seymour's Bobbin' with the Robin theme song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uJFyQuvGG8g

Early Bob Seger Swingin Time performance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LMUrxXwL-NM

 

The Story of Robin Seymour by Robin Seymour with Carolyn Rosenthal.

The Remarkable Mother Waddles--Patron Saint of Detroit's Poor

Mother Waddles Perpetual Mission eventually expanded to include her church, a kitchen/restaurant for the poor and downtrodden, a job training program, job placement services, and a health clinic.

Long before Mother Waddles became an institution in the city of Detroit, she was no stranger to adversity. Born Charleszetta Lena Campbell in St. Louis, Missouri, on October 7, 1912, she was the oldest of three children of seven who survived into adulthood, born to Henry Campbell and Ella Brown.

Her father Henry ran a successful barber shop which doubled as a popular meeting place for African American men in their local community, until he cut a customer's hair who had the contagious skin disease impetigo. Unknowingly, Henry Campbell cut other customers' hair with the same clippers, including some fellow church members who came down with the ailment.

Overnight, word spread throughout his community and congregation that Campbell's Barber Shop was the cause of the outbreak. Members of his congregation shunned him and his family. Campbell lost not only his business but also his self-respect.

Charleszetta was only twelve years old when she witnessed her father die a broken man. She never forgot his despair and the lack of empathy shown to him by their congregation. Miss Charleszetta Campbell quit school in eighth grade despite her love of school and good grades. She began working as a domestic servant to help support her mother and two younger sisters. At the tender age of fourteen, Charleszetta became pregnant by her twenty-four-year-old boyfriend who eventually left her to fend on her own. 

During the heart of the Great Depression, Charleszetta met and married a thirty-seven-year-old truck driver named Leroy Welsh. She was twenty-one. In 1936, the family moved to Detroit. Together, they had six children before she divorced him in 1945. She felt he had no ambition and was not doing his share to support her and her children.

Alone and with seven kids to feed, Charleszetta worked as a bar maid and a "numbers" (illegal lottery) collector to supplement her welfare and Aid to Dependent Children checks, and from a tub in front of the house, she sold barbequed ribs on the weekends to make ends meet. In life, circumstances determine actions, or so it seems. Charleszetta spent the next five years in a common-law marriage with Roosevelt Sturkey and bore him three children before he died unexpectedly.

Finally, with ten children in tow, she found Peyton Waddles and married him in 1950. Waddles worked for the Ford Motor Company and helped his wife in her quest to feed the hungry and clothe the poor. They remained married for thirty years until Peyton died in 1980.

***

In the mid 1940s, Charleszetta began studying the Bible and was ordained twice: initially in the First Pentecostal Church and later, after more study, in the International Association of Universal Truth. By the late 1940s, she began holding Bible readings and prayer meetings in her home with her neighbors and family members.

With the help and support of her new husband, Reverend Charleszetta Waddles founded the Helping Hand Restaurant offering good-tasting, home cooked, soul food meals for 35 cents a plate for Detroit's poor, all cooked by her in her own kitchen and served up in the living room. Nobody was turned away. Her mission ministered to homeless street people, unwed mothers, abused wives and children, the sick, the elderly, and anyone who was hungry and needed a helping hand.

At first, she and her kids did all the work, but soon neighbors and fellow churchgoers volunteered to help. Menu items included smoked rib ends, Southern fried chicken, and ham hocks with two sides of either boiled cabbage, black-eyed peas, rice, grits, baked beans, seasonal vegetables, or collard greens.

If anyone was hungry and did not have a quarter and a dime to pay, dinner was on the house. In the thirty-four years of its existence, the restaurant had several location but never increased the price of its meals. The kitchen/restaurant finally closed in 1984 after a fire destroyed it and everything in the building.

Mother Waddles believed in pragmatic Christianity specializing in emergency help. "The church should get beyond religious dogma and focus on the real needs of people. There is no fire and brimstone after death, but there is plenty of hell in Detroit," she said.

In 1963, Lonnie D. Moore came to her mission a wreck after his mother had died. He had nowhere else to turn. Reverend Waddles calmed him, "I'll be a mother to you." She provided Moore with a place to stay and fed him in exchange for volunteering as a dishwasher. He was the first person to call her Mother Waddles and the name stuck. Her nickname Mother Waddles became the branding her organization was lacking.

***

On her way to becoming a one-woman social-services agency in one of Detroit's most poverty-stricken neighborhoods, Mother Waddles and her Perpetual Mission had many setbacks. In the 1970s, when Detroit and the national economy were reeling from the Oil Crisis, Mother Waddles Perpetual Mission was there to provide services for unemployed autoworkers and their families. In February of 1970, her Mission was burglarized three times.

The first robbery was of typewriters the Mission used to train women how to type. The second time, the Mission's public address system used for Sunday services worth $1,500 disappeared. Then, at the end of the month, thieves took away the Mission's entire filing system that held the contact information for their referral services, emergency shelters, job centers, medical aid, social services agencies, and donor lists. Although police reports were filed, no concerted effort was made to discover who the robbers were or what their motives were beyond money.

Mother Waddles' charities always ran on a wing and a prayer. Dedicated volunteers helped run the kitchen and clothes distribution center, leaving her to concentrate on fundraising from private organizations and church groups, pledge drives, rummage sales, and talent shows, but never government funding. Waddles believed that government red tape and regulations were a fatal noose that wasted time and money.

In an effort to make money for her Mission, Mother Waddles self-published a thirty-six page booklet of her soul food recipes in October 1970. Fifty thousand copies were printed and hand-assembled by volunteers at the Mission. Each copy sold for $2 but only about five thousand sold the first month, prompting Mission spokesperson Maggie Kreischer to remark, "I just hope we can pay the printing bill." When I recently checked for copies of Mother Waddles' Soul Food Cookbook in September 2023, prices ranged from $200 to $450 for used copies.

On November 15, 1970, Lee Winfrey wrote an editorial in the Detroit Free Press titled "Debt-Ridden Mother Waddles to be Absorbed by 'System'." It read, "If Mother's God-intoxicated energies are black-coffeed into financial sobriety, something appealing will be lost." Translated into plain English it means, if the charity is to surive, it will need to be managed better. The Missions' recordkeeping was minimal at best and all but inscrutable. To save her charities, auditors were called in to see how bleak the situation was.

The following year brought more bad news. On February 3, 1971, a "religious fanatic and sick man" (Mother Waddles' own words) named Willie Green (51) entered the Mission ranting scripture and attacked two people in separate incidents, a man and a woman. While the police were in transit, Waddles tried to settle the man down and put him at ease but with little success. 

When two patrolmen arrived on the scene, Green pulled out a handgun. Officier Daniel G. Ellis (29), pushed his partner out of the line of fire and took two slugs in the chest and right leg. He was DOA before medics could get him to the hospital. 

Further investigation revealed that Willie Green had a long criminal record with fourteen convictions extending back twenty-eight years. At his trial nine months later, Green was found innocent by reason of insanity in the slaying of Officier Daniel G. Ellis.

In January of 1984, a warehouse fire destroyed 50% of the food and clothing donations for the needy, and in November, just before Thanksgiving, the Black Firefighters Association delivered a truckload of food and clothing to the Mission meant for distribution to the poor.

That evening or early the next morning, thieves described as neighborhood toughs snapped the locks from two of the warehouse's six doors and emptied the building. Trying to downplay the robbery, Mother Waddles told the press, "You know it hurts, but it doesn't bring me down."

***

But amid the setbacks the Perpetual Mission battled throughout its existence, bright moments shined through too. For Christmas in 1989, Detroit boxer Tommy Hearns brightened the holiday for many struggling Detroiters by donating $3,000 worth of frozen turkeys and toys to Mother Waddles Perteptual Mission. Hearns was eight years old when Mother Waddles' kitchen fed him and his family when they were hungry. Several Christmases later, Detroit rocker Ted Nugent contributed six hundred pounds of dressed, wrapped, and frozen venison (deer meat) and about 1,000 pounds of clothes for the shelter. 

The 1990s began badly for the Mission. Between January and April, their storage facility suffered nine break-ins. Mother Waddles told the press that the only way to prevent further break-ins was to install iron security bars on all the doors and windows. She mentioned in the newspaper article that the cost would be $3,500 which the Mission could not afford.

As had happened so many times before, Providence smiled upon Mother Waddles. Paul and Lynn Lieberman of Bloomfield Hills read in the local papers about the latest break-ins at the Mission and offered to pay for the installation of the security doors and windows. Once again, Mother Waddles' deep faith in the transcendent goodness of people shone through brightly on this occasion.

Mother Waddles' innercity Detroit charity work caught the attention of Michigan's outgoing governor George W. Romney, who was soon to become a cabinet member in the new President-elect Richard M. Nixon's administration. Romney believed Mother Waddles was the living embodiment of the "Black self-help" platform that Nixon campaigned on.

Romney wrangled an invitation for Dr. Charleszetta "Mother" Waddles to attend the 1969 Nixon Inauguration as part of the Michigan delegation. Included in the invitation were invitations to a tea for distinguished ladies, a Republican Governor's party, the vice-president's reception, the swearing-in ceremony for the President, and the Inaugaral Ball at the Smithsonian Institute. "I feel like a movie star, "Waddles remarked to the local Detroit press.

But what to wear?! To help Mother Waddles dress for the occasion, WXYZ-TV sponsored her wardrobe chosen from Lane Bryant women's store. For the swearing-in ceremony and the receptions, Waddles wore a velvet-trimmed knit suit. But for the Ball, she wore a floor-length, pink silk, caftan gown. Lane Bryant general manager Patti Hanes loaned Waddles her milk stole for the occasion. To chauffeur Reverend Waddles around Washington D.C., Thompson Chrysler Inc. loaned her a charcoal Chrysler Imperial and a driver.

What was a Cinderella-like experience for Mother Waddles was commemorated in a photograph of her decked out in the mink stole which ran in the society pages of the Detroit newspapers.

But in a Democrat town like Detroit, partying with the Republican elite did not sit well with some blue collar folks. Rumors began to circulate that Mother Waddles was getting rich on the backs of the people she purported to help. In a public response, Waddles skirted the issue, "I'm in the business of loving the hell out of folks. It's a joy, it really is."

As Mother Waddles' fame grew, she became honored with testimonial dinners from civic and service organizations for her "service to humanity." Corporate donations and foundation grants increased as Mother Waddles' charity work was celebrated publicly.

Disney-MGM Studios in Orlando, Florida began filming a documentary in 1990 about Reverend Charleszetta "Mother" Waddles, underwritten by a $175,000 grant from Warner-Lambery Company (Listerine mouthwash). Mother Waddles' charities were additionally pledged $100,000 over the next five years for Waddles' one-woman war on poverty. The documentary was titled You Done Good! It was widely televised on PBS stations across the country.

Most Detroiters today know Mother Waddles' name from billboards along the highways advertising her car donation program which began in 1992. A used car business was set up to accept running used cars in return for tax write-offs equalling Kelly Blue Book values.

After being cleaned up and minor repairs made, the cars were priced from $300 to $999 and sold from Mother Waddles' Used Car Lot. For its first full year of operation in 1993, car sales totalled 1.4 million dollars, allowing another location to open the following year. All the profits went back into the Mission. This program became the financial backbone of the Perpetual Mission.

Even at the age of eighty, Reverend "Mother" Waddles worked twelve-hour days. But on November 17, 1992, she was hospitalized and listed in serious condition in the cardiac unit of Michigan Health Center. Clifford Ford, acting as Mission spokesperson, told reporters, "(Mother Waddles') health issues are from attempting to stretch that which is virtually unstretchable." Her doctors recommended that she pass on the work of the Mission to others. What she needed most was some prolonged rest.

Almost nine years later on July 12, 2001, Mother Waddles died at the age of eighty-eight from cardiac arrest at her Detroit home. In her lifetime for service to the poor, Waddles received over 300 awards and honors including entry into the Michigan Women's Hall of Fame. Public viewing was scheduled from 9:00 am until 9:00 pm on July 18th at the Swanson Funeral Home on E. Grand Boulevard.

Over 1,000 mourners gathered at Mother Waddles' funeral ceremony on Thursday, July 19th at the Greater Grace Temple on Schaefer Road. The all-day celebration was attended by politicians, pastors, the press, and many of her admirers.

Detroit Free Press reporter Alexa Capeloto described Mother Waddles' burial this way:

         Immediate family members wore white as a tribute to their famous relative who donned white at funerals because she considered funerals celebrations of life. Relatives carried flowers in her honor, black roses for her children and gold orchids for her grandchildren.

        After the service, a horse-drawn carriage transported Charleszetta Waddles' white and gold-trimmed casket to Elmwood Cemetery for burial. Ten white doves--one for each of her children--were released as a symbolic freeing of her spirit.

 

Martha Jean the Queen

Detroit Boxer Joe Louis' Place in American History

Joseph Louis Barrow was best known as the "Brown Bomber." He boxed from 1934 until 1951 and reigned as heavyweight champion from 1937 to 1949. Joe was born in Chambers County, Alabama--the seventh of eight children. Both of his parents were children of former slaves.

Louis' family moved to Detroit after a brush with the Ku Klux Klan when Joe was twelve. The Louis family was part of the Great Migration after World War I. His family settled on 2700 Catherine Street in the now defunct neighborhood of Black Bottom. When old enough, Joe and his older brother worked at the Rouge Plant for the Ford Motor Company.

During the Great Depression, Joe spent time at a local youth recreation center at 637 Brewster Street in Detroit and made his boxing debut early in 1932 at the age of seventeen. In 1933, Louis won the Detroit-area Golden Gloves Novice Division. In 1934, he won the Chicago Golden Gloves championship and later that year became the United States Amateur Champion in a national AAU tournament in St. Louis, Missouri. By the summer of 1934, Joe had gone pro with a management team.

In 1936, Louis got a title shot versus world heavyweight champion Max Schmeling in Yankee Stadium. The German trained hard while Louis seemed more interested in his golf game--his new hobby. Schmeling knocked Louis out in the 12th round handing Joe his first professional loss. Schmeling became a national hero in Nazi Germany as an example of Aryan superiority.

Max Schmeling and Joe Louis rematch.

No path to a rematch was open to Louis until June 22, 1938. Louis and Schmeling met for a second time at Yankee Stadium before a crowd of 70,043. The fight was broadcast worldwide in English, German, Spanish, and Portuguese. It should be noted that Max Schmeling was not a Nazi, but the Nazi party propaganda minister Joseph Goebbels hyped the match proclaiming a Black man could not defeat Herr Schmeling.

The American press promoted the match as an epic battle between Nazi ideology and American democratic ideals. Louis became the embodiment of anti-Nazi sentiment. After the big media buildup, the fight lasted only two minutes and four seconds. Schmeling went down three times before his trainer threw in the towel ending the match. For the first time in American history, every Black person and White person in the country celebrated the same event at the same time. Not until the end of World War II would that happen again.

Joe Louis became the first African-American national hero. He reigned as heavyweight champion from 1937 until 1949--longer than anyone else. In 1951, Louis was beaten by Rocky Marciano and retired from the ring. The following year, he was responsible for breaking the color line integrating the game of golf. He appeared as a celebrity golfer under a sponsor's exemption at a PGA event in 1952. How many people know that?

Joe Louis and Max Schmeling

Joe Louis died on April 12, 1981 of cardiac arrest at the age of sixty-six in Desert Springs Hospital near Las Vegas after a public appearance at the Larry Holmes-Trevor Berbick heavyweight battle. President Ronald Reagan waived eligibility rules for Joe Louis to be buried at Arlington National Cemetery with full military honors on April 21st. His funeral was paid for by his friend Max Schmeling, who also acted as a pallbearer.

In his professional boxing career, Joe Louis won virtually every boxing award there is and was awarded the Congressional Gold Medal posthumously in 1982. The City of Detroit honored Joe Louis with a monument on October 16, 1989. The sculpture was sponsored by Sports Illustrated magazine and the Detroit Institute of Arts.

 

When drivers look left at Woodward Avenue from eastbound Jefferson Avenue (now a No Left Turn), they are confronted with a colossal fist and forearm suspended from a triangular superstructure--a testament to the regard and respect Detroiters hold for their hometown hero.

Link to the Joe Louis/Max Schmeling 1937 heavyweight fight
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2LNzWHuygpw

Five the Hard Way in Detroit's Gamble for Casino Gold

Detroit like almost everywhere else has a long history of gambling, but when it came to approving Las Vegas-style casinos within the city limits, it took voters five propositions and twenty-two years for supporters to outvote the opposition. Detroit's religious community mounted a campaign against what they felt was the moral decline of the city. Because Detroit's mayor Coleman Young was the spokesperson for the legislation to legalize casino gambling within the city limits, he became the focus for everything that was wrong about Detroit.

Mayor Young was confronted by a $44.3 million budget deficit by the end of the 1976 fiscal year, the largest operating deficit ever run by the city. To avoid the anticipated layoff of city workers, wage and hiring freezes, and incentives for early retirements, something decisive had to be done. The proposal to legalize casino gambling in Detroit was dubbed "the Circuit Breaker Proposal." It was sponsored in Lansing by Michigan House of Representive Democrat Casmer Oganowski.

The proposal called for a state casino gambling commission to license and regulate games of chance, namely blackjack (21), baccarat, keno, craps, roulette, wheel of fortune, and slot machines. It was not as if gambling and betting parlors were unknown in the city. Cards, dice, and other games of chance like flipping coins, pitching pennies, shooting pool, three card monte, and sports gambling were commonplace among Detroit's blue collar workforce. 

Three Card Monte

In the inner city, "playing the numbers" had long been part of the urban experience where bettors had much better odds of winning than in the Lottos run by the state of Michigan. In addition, backroom club gambling and poker rooms have always operated just below the surface of polite society for people who could afford losing money. Those who could not were soon given the bum's rush.

Many churches have long raised funds by hosting bingo nights and casino gambling charity events to add to their coffers. But Las Vegas-style casinos in one of America's largest cities posed a major threat to a city already struggling with more than its share of urban problems.

Fears of more organized crime, public corruption, increased poverty, prostitution, alcoholism, drug abuse, and immorality were the powerful talking points of the opposition. Because of the heightened emotion connected with this issue, Republican politicians and the Detroit News and Detroit Free Press came out firmly opposed to the proposition.

Supporters of casino gambling touted how many thousands of jobs would be created in a town with high unemployment and poverty. First, construction jobs would be created, and once the casios were operational, thousands of permanent jobs would be created. Casino gambling would revitalize Detroit's blighted downtown cityscape by generating an estimated $200 million in taxes with increased business revenues generated.

The day before the election, the Detroit Free Press urged voters to vote "No" on the advisory question to allow up to six state licensed and regulated casinos in Detroit. Voters defeated the gambling advisory referendum by 59% for a decisive win. Republican Governor William Milliken and the Detroit Area Council of Churches were the most outspoken opponents advocating the referendum's defeat. Michigan House of Representative Cass Organowski and Mayor Coleman Young vowed to continue supporting casino gambling within the Detroit city limits.

The day after the vote, the Detroit Free Press pronounced on its editorial page that the voters rejected "the siren song of the casino gambling backers. The idea that gambling would help the city renew itself is misleading and diverts attention from tackling the real problems of crime, poverty, and affordable housing."

Snake Eyes

***

Since Detroit's casino gambling proposition was defeated in 1976, supporters of the proposition believed that the current economic climate was favorable in 1981 because of the prolonged tailspin of the auto industry and the election of conservative Republican Ronald Reagan, who vowed to cut federal aid to cities. The budget deficit for Detroit was projected to be $135 million for the 1981 fiscal year and $147 million for 1982.

There were no easy options for Mayor Coleman Young. He recommended that the City Council consider tax hikes, deep budget cuts, across-the-board layoffs of city employees, and the sale of city-owned assets and properties. Mayor Young also renewed his request for legalization of casino gambling to generate income for the city.

This new push for casino gambling was once again sponsored in Lansing by Michigan House of Representative member Casmer Oganowski, Democrat from Detroit. To help with public relations this time was Tom Wishart from the Association for Casinos and Tourism. He was hired as a registered lobbyist. 

On the expectation that casino gambling would build tourism, increase convention business, and reduce unemployment, the proposition was supported by Detroit Police Officers' Association, the United Automobile Workers, the AFL-CIO, the airlines, taxi cab drivers, restaurateurs, hotel operators, and tourism and convention promoters. 

Proponents claimed that casino gambling could raise $50 to $75 million in taxes for the city creating 8,000 high-paying construction jobs and 25,000 hospitality and service jobs for city residents. In a rustbelt town with 13% unemployment, the prospect of creating jobs was a strong talking point for a yes vote.

Vocal opponents of the proposition were popular Michigan Governor William Milliken, Attorney General Frank Kelly, the Metropolitan United Methodist Church, the Council of Baptist Pastors of Detroit, and Detroit's two major newspapers. The governor and attorney general believed legalizing casino gambling would increase organized and street crime, and it would raise property taxes driving the poor and the elderly out of their homes. The city's clergymen denounced the casino gambling proposal on spiritual and moral grounds. The Detroit Free Press called the ballot proposal "An exhumation of a dead issue, and it smells."

Mayor Coleman Young

In March, Mayor Young made an appeal to a skeptical group of Black ministers to support the gambling proposal to help solve the city's problems. Young told the Council of Baptist Pastors that "The state of Michigan is the biggest gambling house operator in the nation right now. You can go into any grocery or liquor store and bet any amount of money you want on today's number, look on television to see what the winning number is that day, and be paid off tomorrow."

The pastors were not swayed by the mayor's argument. Reverend James E. Lewis, the group's spokesperson, said emphatically that his group was totally against gambling. "We are acutely aware of the economic conditions of the city. However, it is our honest conviction that casino gambling would further erode the moral, spiritual, and economic fiber of our community."

After the gathering of pastors, a reporter asked the mayor why he did not campaign more vigorously for the proposition. In what may be the most inscrutable statement Mayor Young made regarding this issue, he replied, "I'm not interested in fattening frogs for snakes." Nobody knew exactly what the mayor meant beyond expressing his frustration.

Proposition C asked: Should the City Council be able to approve a limited number of hotel casinos to be licensed and regulated under State Law with one half of the proceeds of a tax to be imposed on casinos' gross revenue and paid directly to the City of Detroit?

The Detroit News and the Detroit Free Press ran daily diatribes against Proposition C and daily horror stories about how casino gambling ruined Atlantic City in god-forsaken New Jersey, all the while getting paid for running Michigan Lotto numbers over the banner of their front pages. Their hypocrisy could not be denied.

On November 3, 1981, the day of the general election, Prop C was defeated for a second time by a similar 3 to 2 margin, slightly larger than in 1976. The wording of the proposal was short on specifics. Surely, casino gambling opponents in Detroit believed this was finally a dead issue.

***

In January 1988, Mayor Young's opening salvo to try for a third time to get Detroit voters to approve casino gambling was a press conference telling reporters, "Detroit never came out of the last recession. We need to take radical steps to preserve this city. Within days, I am going to set up a commission to study casino gambling and make a recommendation to the Detroit City Council." Political pundits were surprised the mayor would defy the two previous voter mandates against casino gambling.

In February, Mayor Young announced at City Hall that the members of the 60-plus committee ranged from top movers in corporate Detroit to little-known community activists. Former Detroit WJBK-TV Channel 2 anchor Beverly Payne was chosen by the mayor to be the commissioner in charge of administrating the $150,000, three-month study on the feasibility of casino gambling and its probable impact on Detroit.

After the press conference was concluded, Pastor John Peoples of the Calvary Baptist Church told the assorted press that "You can't ride to heaven in the devil's chariot. There is no way you can reconcile an immoral seed to produce a moral one." Reverend William Quick, pastor of the Metropolitan United Methodist Church added, "I think the issue of casino gambling is the Sword of Damocles that hangs over Coleman Young's head." 

Casino gambling supporter and committee member Patrick Meehan told the press, "To think the Almighty is foursquare against casino gambling, yet he winks at the state lottery, horse racing, and bingo, I just find very hypocritical."

When questioned by the press, Jay Berman, spokesperson for the Archdiocese of Detroit said, "In traditional Roman Catholic theology, there is nothing intrinsically evil about the act of wagering. Catholics are free to make up their own minds about casino gambling in Detroit." 

The Reverend Samuel White III of Scott Memorial United Methodist Church got in the last word, "It appears that some of the clergy are hypocritically and immorally supporting Coleman Young's casino gambling proposal. One has to question our appalling silence in the face of such flagrant evils. Gambling is sinful because it fosters avarice and idolizes mammon. It can make us greedy and worship the almighty dollar. The religious community of churches needs to have moral integrity to take a prophetic stand against casino gambling."

The essential issue and the players remained the same this time around, but religious casino opponents agreed to consolidate their efforts under an umbrella committee named United Detroiters Against Gambling to rally the religious community.

Their public relations campaign began with a color poster of Roman soldiers playing dice on the robe of Jesus at the foot of the cross. The caption read, "Over the years, some very influential people have looked down on gambling." The plan was to distribute 2000 of these posters, mostly to Detroit churches.

The opposition got some unexpected support from officials representing the Detroit Race Course, Hazel Park Harness Raceway, and Northville Downs. They came out united against casino gambling because they feared it would drastically affect their business and possibly lead to racetrack closures. They contributed a large chunk of money to the anti-casino forces. In politics, an enemy of my enemy is a friend of mine.

The mayor's committee considered European-style casino gambling which is usually kept small, requires identification, registration, and an entry fee. Most European gambling spots operate only 12 to 14 hours a day, and they offer no free drinks, no free meals, and no credit. One faction supported Las Vegas-style casinos but not wide-open like Vegas, where gambling dominates the landscape and the local economy. The issues of the number, size, location, and how the tax revenues would be used needed study and discussion. 

Some socially conscious committee members wanted tightly controlled casinos discretely tucked away on the upper floors of existing hotels to bring business into the city at minimal cost. The Vegas-style casino faction won out because they favored 24/7, easy access casinos as a way to bring thousands of people into the city to create new jobs.

On June 8, 1988, forty-six casino gambling committee members voted to approve casino gambling, fifteen voted against, and three abstained. The committee was discharged of their duties. Now, the issue was in the hands of the City Council. Proposition Y was drafted and read: "If casino gambling is approved by state law, then it shall be prohibited within the city limits of Detroit and Belle Isle."

Critics of how the bill was worded noted that a yes vote is against casino gambling; a no vote is for casino gambling. The mere mention of Belle Isle was a dog whistle for opponents who were likely to vote yes. It was a red herring for supporters who needed to vote no. Because of strong opposition, the idea of using Belle Isle for a casino site  was discarded five months earlier in February by the gambling committee.

Emotions were running high on both sides. Opponents ran a media blitz of full-page newspaper ads and radio spots everyday leading up to the August 2 primary election. Three days before the election, supporters and foes went head-to-head in a chant-down at Kennedy Square in a rally staged by casino supporters but disrupted by pro-gambling demonstrators.

This exercise in democracy resembled a "Tastes Great, Less Filling" shouting match in the bleachers of Tiger Stadium. Nobody got hurt except for Attorney General Frank Kelly's ego. He was shouted off the podium.

When voting day finally arrived. Detroiters voted for the third time another 3 to 2 margin against casino gambling (61%/39%). Mayor Young's throw of the dice crapped out. After voting, the mayor was exhausted, felt weak, and had a headache. His cousin and personal physican Dr. Claud Young took Coleman's vital signs and recommended several days of rest. "The mayor's condition is not serious," Dr. Young said. "For once, he decided to do what I told him to do."

Box Cars

***

On March 23, 1992, the Windsor, Ontario city council voted unanimously to approve a bid for casino-style gambling to bolster its sagging economy. If approved by Ottawa, Canada's capital city, the downtown Windsor riverfront casino could draw an estimated 50 million people annually from the United States and Canada. Detroit casino gambling supporters across the Detroit River saw Windsor's potential windfall gain as Detroit's loss of income. Ottawa approved the measure to legalize casino gambling in 1993. On May, 1994, Windsor opened a temporary casino called Caesar's Windsor.

The prospect of a Canadian riverfront casino re-ignited the debate over legalizing casino gambling in Detroit. Proponents estimated that Detroit casinos could generate as much as $26 to 50 million in yearly income for the city. Although Mayor Young was still an avid supporter, his ill health became a factor. After failing in four previous attempts, Young decided to allow other people to actively promote the gambling proposition.

When the mayor was asked to comment on plans for casinos in Windsor and Chicago, he took a jab at opponents of casino gambling. "All I can say is, 'I told you so'. If Detroiters did not approve gambling, some other city would emerge as the gambling capital of the Midwest. Casino gambling could be a source of 40 to 50 thousand jobs in this city, not to mention increased tax revenue and increased tourism."

Leading the movement to legalize casino gambling in Detroit in 1993 was sixty-three-year-old, retired Detroit Water Department employee David Greenidge, coordinator of the grass roots Citizens for Casino Gambling. Greenidge wanted to do something to help the city secure new jobs and increase its tax base. "Without those," he said, "we are nothing." He and several of his friends circulated petitions and secured enough signatures to place the measure on the June 2, 1993 Special Election ballot.

The major opposition came from Detroiters Uniting for Open Government, a religious coalition led by Reverend William Quick of the Metropolitan United Methodist Church, who helped defeat the previous attempts to open the city to casino gambling. The group was confident they could once again turn out the vote.

Public opinion appeared to shift in favor of casino gambling in Detroit after the move by Windsor to establish a riverfront casino on the Canadian side of the Detroit River, reducing the stigma for some voters. Windsor hoped to open a temporary casino in the fall.

Also softening public opinion towards casino gambling was when the Detroit City Council voted to allow real estate developers Ted Gatzaros and Jim Papas to place in trust 0.7 of on acre of their own downtown property to the Sault Ste. Marie Chippewa Tribe for an Indian-run casino, pending United States Department of the Interior approval under the "sovereign nation" statute. This move took the issue out of the hands of the voters. Eight Indian casinos already operated legally on reservation property in Michigan under federal agreement.

Caesar's Windsor Casino

Political consultant to Mayor Young, Adolph Mongo, believed the voters were not as emotional this time about casino gambling because it was the fourth time on the ballot. After the blood sport of the last election, voters were weary and more complacent than ever before. Tina Lam, staff writer for the Detroit Free Press, noted "with less than three weeks left before the June 2nd vote, both sides in this quiet campaign have raised little money, generated little heat, and shown little evidence of organization."

After Proposition A went to the voters, the measure went down in defeat by a thin margin of 51% to 49%. In the three previous losses, each measure won by a two-digit margin rather than a 2 point margin. Supporters were edging closer to the victory they craved. 

The Detroit Free Press attributed the close vote to low voter turnout, weariness over the casino gambling debate, and public resignation after the Windsor, Ontario City Council announced it was building a riverfront casino. The Free Press editorial page took a last shot at casino supporters, "Casinos are what you turn to when you are bankrupt of ideas and unable to tell the difference between blackjack and an urban renewal strategy."

On September 16, 1993, the Michigan House Oversight and Ethics Committee approved a resolution to ratify the Indian gambling compact signed by Governor John Engler. The Greektown Chippawa Indian Casino was a fait accompli and out of the hands of local leaders and Detroit voters.

Greektown Casino

***

In 1996, for the fifth time in twenty-two years, casino gambling was on the Michigan ballot. A coalition of well-funded supporters rallied under the banner of Michigan First. Their proposal was more specific than the four proposals that came before.

Proposal E would:

1. Permit up to three gaming casinos in any city that has a population of 800,000 or more and is within 100 miles of any state or country in which gambling is permitted, and has casino gambling approved by a majority of voters. [Detroit was the only city in Michigan that qualifed, allaying the fears of other communities across the state.]
2. Establish a state-controlled Gaming Control Board to regulate casino gambling and keep organized crime out of casino operations.
   
3. Impose an 18% state tax on gross gambling revenues. [In Vegas, this is called "skimming off the top." In this instance, the process is public and above board.]
   
4. Allocate 55% of tax revenue on gross gambling revenues to the host city for crime prevention and economic development.
5. Allocate 45% of tax revenue to the state for public education.

Michigan First projected that construction of three casino complexes would cost $1.8 billion, creating 11,000 permanent jobs and requiring tens of millions of dollars in locally-sourced goods and services each year. The pro-gambling group ran television and radio spots which focused on how well Caesar's Windsor Casino and the Northern Belle Casino, a paddle-wheel boat docked within walking distance from Caesar's, were doing raking in Michigan dollars.

After the first year of Windsor's casino operations, an Ontario provincial government-sponsored study showed:

• The six downtown hotels with a total of 1,171 rooms showed an increase in business from an average of 500 rooms rented to around 900 rented a day.
• Visiting gamblers, mostly from Detroit and its suburbs, spend $29 million on local Windsor businesses.
• Forty-five percent of Casino patrons ate in Windsor restaurants.

A boatload of money was floating around the Michigan airwaves. A WXYZ-TV advertising executive said they were selling twice as many ads than they had in the 1992 campaign. The WXYZ-TV morning news hour ran no fewer than eighteen political ads. 

Reverend Calvin Zastrow, a thirty-seven-year-old Assemby of God minister who lived in Midland, Michigan, actively worked against the casino proposition. The motivated anti-gambling activists were affiliated with churches that viewed gambling as inherently immoral and unethical. Zastrow's mantra was that gambling creates "Neighbors robbing neighbors, husband's beating wives, entrepreneurs declaring bankrupcy, lives being ruined, and souls being lost."

Casino spokesperson Roger Martin called Reverend Zastrow's repeal movement "a small coalition armed with half-truths and scare tactics supported by right-wing extremists from other states that declared war on Michigan voters and 15,000 jobs in Detroit.

Detroiters Uniting for Open Government centered their efforts on the greater Detroit religious community and through extensive advertising on radio, Black radio stations in particular. The governor and the attorney general were still lobbying against casino gambling in the state of Michigan.

Both major Detroit newspapers still ran endless diatribes against gambling, all the while earning revenue from running the State Lottery numbers in their papers and running ads for Vegas get-aways, Windsor gambing weekends, and cruise ship tours with casino gambling featured. The Detroit News and the Free Press benefited financially from the gambling advertising, yet they used every fear tactic they could to defeat Proposition E.

The anti-casino gambling proposal ran out of time and money. It fell short of the 247,000 signatures needed to qualify for the November ballot. Now in favor of the casino proposition, Mayor Dennis Archer flipped his opposition when he realized that license fees alone could top $100 million yearly from each of the three casinos. That kind of money could pay for a lot of city services that the city could not otherwise afford. 

Turnout in Detroit for the November 2, 1996 statewide election was stronger than expected due to a bear hunting proposal and a measure to approve the Foxtown Stadium Complex, a dual stadium project (Ford Field and Comerica Park) downtown. Also there was something about the Windsor casinos vacuuming up $1 million a day of Michigan money that did not sit well with Michigan voters.

Finally, after twenty-two years of struggle, five gambling propositions, and untold millions of hours and dollars, Proposition E won by 59% to 42% in Detroit, a 17 point victory. The statistics further revealed that Wayne County voted 79% to 21%, a whopping 58 point margin. The three casinos granted licenses were the MGM Grand Casino, Motorcity Casino, and the Greektown-Chippawa Indian Casino. By the turn of the millenium, all three casinos were operational and earning income for the city of Detroit.

 

Detroit's Early Numbers Racket 

Beverly Payne--WJBK-TV Channel 2 Trendsetter

Beverly Payne Eyewitness News Publicity Photo

 

Beverly Payne was not a native Detroiter, but fate brought her to Detroit. She was raised in San Francisco and went to college there earning English and foreign language (French and Spanish) degrees. In 1968, she and her husband Harry R. Payne, an executive director of an international arbitration association, moved to Japan for his job.

In Japan, the Paynes hired a housekeeper. Soon boredom set in for Mrs Payne, so she began to study Japanese and picked up enough to teach Japanese businessmen how to speak and pronounce English properly. This led to Payne being interviewed on Japanese TV, which in turn, led to a job teaching English classes on her own educational TV program. After three years in Japan, the Payne family moved back to the United States, so Harry R. Payne could take a job in Detroit.

Not long after the family moved to the area, a friend suggested that Beverly (26) audition to co-host a new program at WJBK-TV Channel 2 in Detroit named Focus: Detroit. It was a public-affairs program that discussed issues important to Detroit's minority community, a largely ignored and underserved television demographic. 

Payne was hired to begin on July 1, 1973 and teamed with experienced Channel 2 newsman Woody Willis for the Sunday morning program. Management wanted to see how she performed in the ratings rankings. Her numbers were positive.

In a move to capture a larger share of the housewife 18-to-49-year-old television audience, coveted by advertisers because they spend most of the household income, Channel 2 quickly promoted Payne to co-anchor the station's new 7 to 8 morning newscast and the noon news with Channel 2 veteran Vic Caputo.

Two years later, Beverly Payne was moved to the 6 pm newscast with Joe Glover, making her the first African American woman to co-anchor a prime time broadcast and gain celebrity status in Detroit. At the time, she was only one of four Black women in the country to co-anchor a daily, prime time newscast.

Eyewitness News print advertisement

Although Payne's meteoric rise appears to be seamless, she had a difficult hurdle to overcome. Detroit Free Press TV critic Bettelou Peterson explained in her column, "The housewife 18-to-49 demographic that Channel 2 wants to attract is also the most critical of women on the air.... Let a woman come across as aggressive and women resent her as do some men. Let a woman on the air seem too intelligent and she is disliked. But worst of all, let her look sexy, and she is unwelcome in the family living room where the housewife watches with her husband. Beverly Payne passes all the tests of being acceptable to men and women viewers. She projects an image of sincerity, trustworthiness, friendliness, and attractiveness."

Simply put, Payne was non-threatening to the Detroit viewing audience. Women began writing Channel 2 saying they watched solely to see what Beverly Payne was wearing. In response to that, Payne admitted in a fluff Detroit Free Press feature article that she spends "an inordinate amount of money on her wardrobe. I like simple clothes and designer clothes. I wear Halston and Geoffry Beene a lot. I see buying clothes and looking nice as part of my job."

When asked in the same interview if she found television glamorous, Payne candidly admitted, "The only time I feel glamorous is when I go to the bank.... People think television is glamorous, but there is incredible tension. We come across cool, but believe me, there is nothing glamorous about doing a live news show."

With television news celebrity comes great responsibility. News anchors are required to make personal appearances, host charity auctions, attend community service group events, and accept awards, that is, in addition to working their scheduled assignments. More often than not, the celebrity's personal life suffers.

Television news is a goldfish bowl inside a pressure-cooker. It requires its on-air talent to lead a somewhat schizophrenic life. Coming into people's homes everynight exacts a personal price. People feel like they know you which entitles them to violate the celebrity's privacy. Everywhere they go and everything they do in public is fair game for newspaper columnists. So even in their most private moments, celebrities have to be guarded with their behavior. Especially so for women.

The demands of celebrity must have weighed heavily upon Payne's domestic life, though she insisted "(her) chosen career was not responsible for the breakup" of her marriage. She and her husband Harry Payne Jr. divorced in mid-March of 1976 after twelve years of marriage. Beverly retained custody of their three sons Harry Payne III (10), Mark (8), and David (6).

In the year since Joe Glover was teamed with Beverly Payne, Channel 2's market research found they were reaching younger viewers without turning away their core audience. This news teaming had a calming on-camera chemistry.

In a business where your career hangs in the balance with every ratings report and the cold calculus of the station's earnings, Glover and Payne competed favorably for market share against Channel 4 in the ratings race, while Channel 7 remained far and away the ratings leader.

Beverly Payne being interviewed behind the scenes.

All seemed fine until June 15, 1977, when Beverly Payne abruptly quit her $80,000/year job in protest over a live phone interview with the head of the Nazi movement in America. She was nursing a cold at home watching Channel 2 news when she saw her co-anchor Joe Glover allow a hate-filled rant against Jews, Blacks, and immigrants go unquestioned.

The 90-second interview with the national coordinator of the National Socialist White People's Party of America was allowed "to spew his hate over the TV2 airwaves without any balance." Payne criticized her colleague for not asking any probing questions and for the station not having booked a spokesperson from an opposing group for rebuttal. "I may have washed my career down the drain," Payne said in an interview, "but I have my integrity and my dignity."

Station manager Bob McBride refused to issue a public apology over the incident but also refused to accept Payne's resignation. The station continued to honor Ms. Payne's contract which had two years left to run. The station gave Payne a temporary leave of absence to allow Glover and Payne to soothe their egos.

Bob McBride

Payne's fans stood solidly behind her, and they made it known to the station. Two weeks after her protest against WJBK, Payne returned to the Eyewitness News desk to co-anchor with Robbie Timmons while Joe Glover was on temporary assignment elsewhere. Station manager Bob McBride opened the Wednesday night broadcast apologizing to the audience for the offensive interview.

In September of 1979, Ms. Payne's agent negotiated a three-year contract with a substantial salary increase from $80,000 per year to $120,000. WJBK-TV management, not known for their generosity, realized Payne was too important to the station and its image. They did not want to take a chance on losing her to WXYZ-TV Channel 7, which had poached several of their top ratings earners in recent years like John Kelly, Marilyn Turner, and Al Ackerman.

Beverly Payne was the Channel 2 golden girl until November of 1979 when she was one of several journalists invited to a briefing session at the White House with cabinet members and President Carter. Channel 2's conservative management refused to let her attend calling the invitation "public relations puffery."

The decision was typical of WJBK management's failure to capitalize on an opportunity that would enhance Payne and the station's local stature. When she complained that if her co-anchor Joe Glover had received the invitation, the station would have sent him with an expense account. Her statement reopened old wounds. Management began to see Payne as a "troublemaker."

In November of 1980, the station sent Payne on a two-week charity mission to help feed starving Somalian children in Africa. She was able to raise $40,000 from Detroit viewers for the project. Her mission of mercy was filmed by a camera crew and later compiled into a WJBK-TV feature story. When Payne returned home, she was hospitalized at Mt. Carmel Mercy Hospital for dehydration and exhaustion. Her doctor ordered three weeks of rest.

When she returned to work, Payne announced her engagement to Guy Draper, a former chief of protocol in the Carter administration. The couple met at the Democratic National Convention in New York City. They wed on June 20, 1981, in Washington D.C. at St. Albans Church on the grounds of the National Cathedral. The bride wore a street-length, eggshell-colored lace gown. The reception was held at the Shoreham Hotel. 

Beverly Payne and Guy Draper

Payne decided to use her husband's surname on the air beginning July 6, 1981. WJBK management was bewildered and miffed after all the years and money they spent promoting Beverly Payne to their Detroit audience. Payne insisted on using her married name--Beverly Payne Draper. She continued to work at the anchor desk until December 1982 when WJBK-TV suspended her without pay for an unspecified reason. Rather than buckle under, she resigned her position after nine years with the station.

In 1985, Payne launched a new career as a consultant and official spokesperson for the Michigan Commerce Department. Two years later in March 1987, after six years of marriage to Andrew Gay Draper, Beverly divorced him and dropped his name from hers. The reason was once again held private.

In an unexpected turn of events, Detroit Mayor Coleman Young nominated Beverly Payne in February 1978 to serve as administrator of the Casino Gambling Commission and its $150,000 budget. The 35 person committee was charged with studying and drafting a recommendation whether Detroit should allow gambling casinos within the city limits. A proposal was written which the voters rejected in a special election.

Glad to be free from her gambling commission duties, Ms. Payne began a consulting firm for small businesses named Beverly Payne & Associates in June 1988. A year and a half later, Ms. Payne announced her engagement to Michigan Senator Morris Hood (D-Detroit). In no apparent hurry to tie the knot, they were married twenty months later in a private, civil ceremony performed by Recorder's Court Judge Geraldine Bledsoe-Ford.

At some point, Beverly Payne moved back to her hometown of San Francisco to be close to family. She passed away at home on November 12, 1998, of complications from cervical cancer at the age of fifty-four. At Ms. Payne's request, there was no memorial service. She left behind three grown sons, five grand kids, two sisters, one brother, and her mother Virginia Wroten.

Beverly Payne's contribution to Detroit television history is that her success opened doors for other women and minorities at news desks across the city: women like Diana Lewis, Doris Biscoe, Robbie Timmons, Kathy Adams, Linda Wright-Avery, Carmen Harlan, Kai Maxwell, and Terry Murphy.

"These women were transformed by the power of television. Deserved or not, a certain glamor and credibility is attached to these golden beings whose fate it is to be on-camera. It is magical!" wrote Detroit Free Press reporter Donna Britt.

Diana Lewis--WXYZ-TV's Grande Dame