Wherever I travel, I try to capture life in urban cities focusing on distinct neighborhoods, building and factories, graffiti and people. Typically, I purposely seek out these subjects but sometimes a series or theme just grows, time after time, and place after place. In this case, after looking through volumes of images, I made the somewhat startling discovery that I had an extensive collection of photos of butcher shops, butchers and different meatpacking facilities.

I’m not sure why butchers interest me but perhaps it is because there are so few real butcher shops these days and butchers often share a unique bond with their customers where other professions fall short. The act of butchering, sales and even cuts of meat have not changed, it seems for centuries, or at least since I’ve been a kid. Maybe I feel sentimental about the neighborhood butcher who regularly and with evident pleasure obeyed the flirtatious requests from my mother to carve off the finest and most lean part of each loin. Or maybe it was just a class trip to the Jewell supermarket where we toured the freezing back room hung with bloody carcasses.

One Saturday morning, my partner and I, along with her trusty and enthusiastic toy poodle, Thumper, headed for Eastern Market. As usual it was packed with shoppers. There was a dark sky brewing like just before the tornado in the Wizard of Oz but I knew we weren’t really in Kansas. Within minutes a vast torrent began causing all of us who were dancing or eating ribs from the barbecue or both to run for cover in the nearest bar, poodle and all. We watched the rain and had a drink with 20 new best friends (Thumper only had water) and then the rain stopped and we went our separate ways.

I realize that I have not written about any actual butchers so far but this does tie in. After the rain, big black clouds still hovered in the east making the red building, the “KAPS: Home of Quality Wholesale Food” pop like a firecracker. After taking a wide shot of the building I drew closer and saw a handsome elderly caramel colored face pop between the plastic dividers that hung above the entry to the butcher shop. His face was sun kissed from the brightness emerging in the western sky and beautifully serene. It was simply a shot that could not be missed.

Two Years Later –May 2010

In May of this year, I went back to the KAPS Wholesale with the butcher’s photo in hand as I wanted to give him a copy. I quickly learned that his name was Ivery and he had passed away the previous April. Everyone seemed to have loved him and I decided I would eat something in his honor. I placed my order for half a slab of ribs with an old curmudgeon of a man. Mostly though, I wanted learn more about Ivery and thought this could be my opportunity. While wrapping up my order, the curmudgeon, Ron, instantly morphed into a sweetheart of a guy and told me his story. I learned that Ron and Ivery had sung in the choir together at Wayne State but never knew each other until they worked at KAPS. I also saw that on the wall in the lobby of the KAPS building someone had placed a copy of a photo of Ivery along with a notice of this death with a funeral location. Just to the right of the notice was a group photo of the choir they both sang in with two red dots pasted in the crowd – one on Ivery and one on Ron. Good friend to the end. http://milhemphoto.photoshelter.com/gallery/Detroit-Eastern-Market/G0000MaQyYXRKi6A/