Whenever I am asked to describe Detroiters, I always tell the same story.It was 16 years ago, and I had just arrived in the Motor City. I had not yet written a column for this newspaper. The only knowledge anyone here had of me was a small item in the Free Press announcing my hiring.I came to the office.I already had mail.A half-dozen letters. Handwritten to me. They could pretty much be summed up this way:Dear Mr. Albom:
You want to know why no one trusts politicians? Take a look at campaign finance reform, which is now, after a year's worth of hype, lying in shreds on the floor of Congress while lawmakers point fingers at one another and yell: "Your fault! Your fault!"Honestly, I've seen more admirable behavior in "The Sopranos." At least they admit they're crooks.
NEW YORK -- It was still an hour before the summer sun dropped from the New York sky, and outside the crowded Madison Square Garden Theatre, fans sat on steps, sweating through tank tops. Inside, however, it was dark and cool, all long sleeves, custom suits and silk ties. This was pro basketball's version of prom night. The NBA Draft.This one would change the landscape forever.
Mitch Albom writes about running an orphanage in impoverished Port-au-Prince, Haiti, his kids, their hardships, laughs and challenges, and the life lessons he’s learned there every day.
