Five cool dudes from Detroit: Part Two—the king and the volunteer
February 8th 2011
Since this blog is the second part of a series, I recommend reading Part One—the biker, the musician, and the driver before you meet the king and the volunteer.
On Friday, January 21, the first day during my third visit to Detroit, I had the pleasure of meeting Doug and George, the oldest and perhaps most interesting men of the five cool dudes from Detroit.
Doug the Art-Deco King
I met Doug Ramsey when I stumbled upon his shop Deco Doug located in the artsy section of Royal Oak, Michigan. Although his storefront is small, Doug’s shop is full of rare and authentic treasures such as a 1920s chandelier and a 1930s cash register that he uses to conduct business. He talks fondly of each item and can tell you exactly how he acquired it. When I jokingly asked if he took things from dead people (I had just seen the film Please Give), he responded, “No. Not usually.” I immediately fell in love with his dry wit.
Somehow, we started discussing how his business had declined when one of his biggest buyers, a General Motors bigwig, had become a father and no longer had as much discretionary income. Then Doug mentioned Google. According to him, someone from the company had come into his store to take pictures and put him on Google. The whole thing seemed suspicious to me and although Doug has some computer skills, his Internet knowledge seems limited. I asked him if he had a website or had sold his items on Ebay. He has considered creating the former and has bought stuff on the latter. He looked at me possibly sensing my growing excitement. “What could I sell on Ebay?” he asked.
“Something unique. Something celebrity.” I scanned the hundreds of items turning 360 degrees trying to find the perfect thing to illustrate my point. “THAT!” I pointed to the glass cabinet.
“What?” asked Doug as he peered through the glass trying to discern which item I meant.
“That baseball. You said 1930s—right? Signed by a famous ballplayer?” He nodded. “That is an Ebay item. You need to figure out which ones are … I dunno know maybe 10 or 15 percent of your inventory. The rest would be sold on your website.”
“I need a young person like you. Someone with your enthusiasm to get me going.” I smiled and gave him my card knowing that he won’t call me. Although I can write and edit web content, I cannot design his website. Not only does he need a web designer, but he also needs a photographer. Most of all, he needs a local energetic “young” person who appreciates his store and sees its future possibilities. Doug says if I ever move to Detroit that I should stop by again. I think we would make a great team.
George the Grumpy Volunteer
I actually met George for the first time when I visited the DIA in October. George volunteers at a desk just outside of the gift shop on the main floor. His primary duty is to print copies of any artwork that a patron requests, which I find incredible since most museums don’t offer this service.
Unfortunately, I caught George at a bad time that Friday night. He was swamped with requests. When I asked for a copy of Robert Henri’s The Young Girl, George muttered that he didn’t think he would have time. “Write it down,” he said shaking his head. “Come back later.” Later? The museum was closing in ten minutes. Not wanting to deal with Grumpy George again and sidetracked by Eugene taking me to the Rivera mural, I did not go back to retrieve the print. I had forgotten about George until my most recent trip.
Once again, I went to the DIA on a Friday night because they stay open until 10pm. Having already seen the permanent collection, I focused on the Fakes, Forgeries, and Mysteries exhibition. An hour before closing, I had viewed the exhibit, drank a vodka tonic, and bought too many books. Still wanting a print that wasn’t offered as a postcard in the gift shop, I decided to see George.
Thankfully, there was no line. Once again, I requested an Henri only this time I asked for The Beach Hat. George didn’t recognize the artist; in fact, he didn’t seem that familiar with art at all. He apologized for the slow computer, but I didn’t mind because we were talking. Since he mentioned being a child during the Great Depression, George must be in his eighties. He volunteers at the museum three days per week but only weekday afternoons and/or evenings. “I used to do mornings,” he said. “But the children. They’re so loud.” I nodded and told him I used to teach.
I showed George the books I had purchased, and his eyes lit up when he saw The Detroit Institute of Arts: A Brief History. “Now that’s a good buy.” George flipped through the book showing me the original DIA building. He remembers that it became the welfare department after the DIA moved to its current location on Woodward Avenue. Turning more pages, George pointed to one of the DIA’s most famous works: Rodin’s The Thinker. George says it was originally inside when the museum moved, but then it was placed it in front of the entrance. “Can you believe that? Outside? In this weather. Humph.” That’s when I realized that George cares about art. He cares about the museum. Most importantly, he cares about Detroit. As it turns out, he likes The Beach Hat.
I want to thank all five dudes Marcus, Eugene, Dana, Doug, and George for giving me their time, telling me about their lives, and educating me on a variety of topics from what it means to be Jamaican to how to survive a winter in Detroit. I love how eloquently Eugene’s friend describes Detroit, “[It] is an archipelago of interesting places in an urban sea of desolation.”
I would add, “inhabited by amazing people” between the words places and in.
AWW — XoXo
