Another Detroit Resurrection: The Metropolitan Building

I was born in Detroit. This was an article I wrote in 2003, and published in The Town Paper:


The Detroit that I knew, in the mid-1960s, still looks the same in my mind, as I have not seen it since 1970. Downtown was an hour drive from the suburban development where I lived: Westland, which had been farmland until 1950. In Westland, everything was brand new, all buildings were two-stories or less, sidewalks were crack-free, and trees were identically sized. And tiny.

My sense of place was defined by Westland, until the day grandpa MacTaggart took me to his downtown office, a day when relentless newness and banality were swept away by breathtaking grandeur. Buildings jostled for space and leapt toward the heavens, unbelievably tall walls of marble and stone and brick appeared impenetrable, bronze statues abounded, grand fountains were bursting with water — surely magic — majestic trees arched impossibly over busy avenues, and masses of flowers were low-rise riots of color.

My most vivid awareness was of intense solidity. Downtown seemed like it would last for thousands of years. Quite unlike Westland.

Grandpa and I walked into his office building and through immense doors of molded bronze and beveled glass. We entered a cool oasis: the lobby. Marble walls and fluted columns accentuated its height and, as we progressed, an intricate mosaic floor magnified the sounds of our steps. This music accompanied us as we approached a most extraordinary bank of elevators: a colossal sweeping curve made entirely of filigreed bronze; wall, elevator doors, and all. Behind this transparent screen — both substantial and ephemeral at the same time — rose the vertical channel for the elevators, and behind all this were huge windows through which natural light poured. The attendant animation was thrilling: the noise of ringing bells and lights that flashed on and off (announcing the readiness of another cab), and the play of light and shadow as the elevators took flight in their vertical raceways. Surrounding us were many people-in-a-hurry, and their every footstep and voice reverberated off the marble walls and mosaic floors. This half-circle throbbed with vitality, and seemed (to an 8-year-old) the very epicenter of the universe.

We entered a cab and grandpa said hello to the elderly attendant before we were whisked up, up, and up. My stomach felt like it remained on the main floor, a giddy and unsettling feeling. We exited into a Roman temple. The huge half-circle was behind us and, at a right angle, lay a hall of imposing dimensions that extended for a seeming mile. It was solidly formed from yet more mosaic tile and marble and accentuated by a long line of hanging bronze lanterns. I followed grandpa to his office and was transported to yet another aesthetic reality: an homage to the 1950s. The office was enveloped in blond wood, and low ceilings were punctuated by round, dramatically sized heating ducts. The distinguishing feature was acres of opaque glass (with horizontal fluting) dividing the offices. Very Perry Mason. A conference room stood aloof in the center of the office, and its walls were made entirely from the same fluted glass. Sitting inside this glass container was like being inside a square version of the spaceship interior from “The Day the Earth Stood Still.”

As grandpa took care of, whatever, I wandered. Going to the bathroom was a special treat, as it was fully encased in massive sheets of white marble, as were the stalls, which also rested on gracefully curved bronze legs. The windows were of stained-glass, the mirrors beveled, the toilet seats varnished oak, and the lights bronze and porcelain. Well, could you pee in such a palace?

During the ensuing years, I walked miles in the public corridors, repeatedly caressed the cool marble walls, watched the elevators race up and down their magical filigree channel, and sipped from a porcelain drinking fountain sitting on an elegant pedestal. I would take my shoes off and, with a mad dash, go flying across floors so highly waxed that they seemed covered with molten glass. As a special treat, grandpa would always let me put the mail into the glass and bronze mail chute that mysteriously burst from the hall ceiling and disappeared into the floor.

Downtown Detroit was a magical wonderland. In my mind, it still is.


Detroit though was not a magical wonderland in 2003. It was a city globally synonymous with decay, ruination, and abandoned skyscrapers. It was a city with a terrible built-in assumption: Things could only get worse.

But…something magical did happen. The city did not get worse. It actually got much much much better. Indeed, the turnaround has been astonishing.

I have done several posts about long-abaonded Detroit building which have been miraculously resurrected and now yet another building has returned to life.

In 1979, the Neo-Gothic Metropolitan building closed. It was then, as usual, profoundly vandalized. In 2013, plans were underway to demolish the 14-story structure.

In 2018, this week, the Metropolitan Building was reborn.




After. Note also the new hotel, left.








The lobby, last year during a party announcing the rebirth of the building.


The lobby, this week during the opening party.


This kind of back-from-the-dead story tickles my heart in a profound way. I read each new resurrection story with a broad, silly smile across my face. Often, my eyes tear up with joy. My heart just sings.

But there is more.

Also in 2018, a truly astonishing story hit the news: The titanic-sized Michigan Central Station in Detroit, which dominates the western edge of the city, and which was THE symbol of the city’s decay during during its decades-long abandonment, was purchased by Ford Motor Company, and a full restoration in now planned.

Friggin’ incredible.


I greatly look forward to posting AFTER images!






  1. Thad on December 19, 2018 at 7:55 am

    I’m definitely rooting for Detroit as it gets back on its feet.

    While Philadelphia (where I live) didn’t fall quite as far as Detroit, it has more than its fair share of post-industrial decay and sadness, too. And Philadelphia is coming back. For two recent, inspiring examples of before/after not so far from my neighborhood, search for “Divine Lorraine Philadelphia” or “MET North Broad Philadelphia”, both of which have been restored to their original grandeur after dramatic declines.

    It’s exciting to live in a place that’s rising from the ashes, to be even a small part of that.

  2. Carrie on December 19, 2018 at 9:40 am

    Amazing! So thrilled to hear this. My parents live in St. Clair Shores and my father works in Detroit, it’s wonderful to see the city not lose the architecture that makes it magical!

  3. Karen Spencer on December 19, 2018 at 9:21 pm

    I have never been to Detroit, but Detroit has always had a soft spot in my heart. I love old cities. I have lived in NYC, Bridgeport, Brooklyn, Queens, Newark, NJ and now New Rochelle, NY.

    I have followed Detroit’s decline and rebirth through the New York Times (excellent interactive article) the book The Ruins of Detroit and I cheered when Shinola and Quicken opened shop there.

    I enjoyed the magical trip through Ross’s grandpa’s building. In my 20s I worked in a great old building 515 Madison Avenue which had a mail chute.

    This is a beautiful building!

    I very much look forward to the after pix of the train station!

  4. Mike on December 20, 2018 at 12:20 pm

    Excellent post, Ross. What is the current state/status of your grandfather’s building?

  5. Gretchen on December 25, 2018 at 12:43 am

    I encountered a story somewhere about Cass Technical High School in Detroit. The old building, full of history, and an addition built in the 1980’s, was abandoned and a new school built across the street. Later I heard that vandals had started a fire. There was talk of a rebirth into something other than a school, but alas, it was eventually torn down.
    I have never been to Detroit, nor do I know anyone there. Yet when I read about the fate of the old school, I felt profoundly sad. New isn’t necessarily better. I noted that the new school couldn’t handle as many students. There is a video that some Cass students made in the 70’s that shows the lunchroom and the amazing 2 story windows. Do you know anything about the old Cass?

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