Alleys & Ruins no. 147, Dequindre Couch (2015, Detroit, MI, 11pm)

Alleys & Ruins no. 147, Dequindre Couch (2015, Detroit, MI, 11pm)
 
A short behind-the-scenes video is available here.
 
Sam the Man and Chuck the Magnificent
I met Sam the Man and his brother Chuck the Magnificent while searching for a location to shoot in Detroit. I had been exploring the 2-mile long Dequindre Cut, a one-time rail route, carved below street level in the 1920’s. The Cut was another epic example of Detroit’s ruins. I had seen it a few times over the years but I was always too afraid to shoot it. It was a valley of abandoned buildings and bridge underpasses that at night was pitch black and desolate to the extreme. Lighting it would be a huge undertaking, drawing attention to me in a remote, obscured location that just seemed too dangerous, even by Detroit’s standards. I had hoped that finally, tonight, I could at last muster the courage to shoot it.
 
When I dropped by to take a look, it was being demolished! Construction and demolition trucks were parked all around and the cut was losing its appeal – for my purposes any way. There was one last remaining piece of blight, at the northern tip, and I knew it would not last. But devastation continued to persist in most other areas above and below – to the left and to the right. I ventured to the northern tip and began exploring.
 
Crossing the Cut on the Alfred St bridge, I find Sam and Chuck sitting by the road. Chuck is actually curled up on a couch and half asleep. But Sam is friendly and wants to talk. He sees me looking closely at everything. “Hey what you lookin for?” I tell him I’m looking for a place to photograph later at night.
 
“You gonna take pictures?” he says laughing. “Ain’t nothin to take pictures of here.”
 
I laugh too, and explain briefly what I wanna do. And I ask what the gang situation is like around here. Sam has a unique way of breaking up words in the middle, and adding emphasis to the second half. “Well, I’m the care-Taker… been here 30 years, this is my neighborhood. Seen it all change – used to play ball on the street. I can give you access – you take all the pictures you want! – just buy me a beer!”
 
I tell him I’m gonna explore a little and if I see something I wanna shoot tonight, I’ll buy him a beer. I walk through the ruins of an old lamb skin factory and I’m not surprised to find a thousand great locations. But one in particular grabs me: a once elegant couch sits quietly among the rubble, framed beautifully by a literal hole in the wall. Behind it, the interior of the building is now a budding forest.
 
I walk back to Sam and Chuck. “Here’s $5,” I say, giving Sam the bill. Excited, he says, “Hey that’ll get me three beers!! You got full access man! And don’t worry – everyone here knows me. I’m the vi-Per. Ain’t no one gonna mess with you.” He gives me a fist bump and introduces himself: He’s Sam the Man, always has been. His inseparable brother is Chuck the Magnificent.
 
I tell him Chuck the Magnificent looks comfortable, and he says his brother is sad because his girlfriend died recently. I say I’m sorry and ask how she died.
 
“She died because of ob-Session.”
 
“Obsession?”
 
He hunches over and looks at the ground. “She was stabbed 37 times by a guy … who was obsessed with her. He loved her, but she had a boyfriend. So he killed her, right here in front, right on the street. Thirty-seven times…” he emphasizes, looking at me. “He don’t like to talk about it. It was his girlfriend. Killed her right on Mother’s Day too.”
 
That was only 4 months ago. He nods, “Mmm-hmm”
 
I ask him how he’s the caretaker.“
 
I sleep right in there,” he says pointing to a doorway of the building I’ll be shooting in later. Sam tells me matter-of-factly – with zero disappointment or regret. “That’s where I live. This is my spot – me an my brother – right here. Thirty years … This been my hang out.”
 
“What about winter?” I ask.
 
“What about winter??” He begins to shiver. “It gets cooold in the winter, man, it gets cooold! Tell me about it!” he laughs again.
 
“What do you do?”
 
“Blan-Kets man! Aaa.lot.aaa.blan-Kets!”
 
“Looks like you got this whole place all to yourself.”
 
“Me and my brother…and lots a cats.” He leans back and looks up as if remembering something. “Thirty years…”
 
I tell Sam I’m gonna look around a little more. He gives me another fist bump and I head off back to the ruins of the old Lamb Skin Co. Then I do something I wish I had done more often in the many years I’ve been shooting the Alleys & Ruins: I shoot a video of the area. It’s still light out and my friend Nate (who’ll be watching my back) hasn’t arrived yet.
 
Since I normally shoot exteriors, I’m not prepared for the hazards of the enormous amount of rubble, especially the nails, and I very nearly puncture my foot while shooting the video.
 
After the video, I’m back near the couch thinking about the photograph I’ll be shooting, and how do I light this – the couch, the rubble, the weeds in the background. I wonder if my foot will get impaled during the shoot, while I stumble around countless exposed nails with my lights in the dark, wearing the wrong shoes. As always, I want to create a kind of fairy tale version of this bleak scene…and then I wonder who sleeps on the couch… is it Chuck?
 
Then I notice behind me, Sam the Man is walking down the alley. “You going to get your beers?” I call out.
 
“You know it!” he yells, fist in the air, and laughs.
 
By the time the shoot is over, it’s near midnight. Nate and I pack up and walk out to the street. Chuck is fast asleep on the same couch, but Sam is not around. Maybe he’s in his bed. I dig into my pocket and pull out another fiver. I roll it up and jam it into a crack in the chair… a little morning surprise for the brothers. It’s the least I can do for the Viper.
 
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UPDATE: Over the years, much of the Dequindre Cut I knew was transformed into the Dequindre Cut Greenway, a nearly two-mile pedestrian and bicycle path connecting Eastern Market to the Detroit Riverfront. What had once been one of Detroit's most desolate places became one of its urban success stories.