I was nervous about the loss of employees and tax revenue, but their CEO assuaged those concerns by confirming that a full staff of employees would be staying in Detroit. He said there would be a staff reduction, but nothing drastic.
I saw the move as an opportunity to create competition within the banking industry for Detroit’s dollars. It was time to maximize the opportunities that other financial institutions might offer. Detroit was big business with financial power. In the past, Detroit had largely kept money in Comerica and executed elementary transactions through that relationship, never attempting to demand or leverage anything from it. The City didn’t recognize its power. Well, that was about to change.
The City’s annual budget was approximately $3 billion. But when we pooled all of our money, the sum total of which was held in several banks outside Comerica, we became a $14 billion powerhouse. That kind of money moving daily through those accounts helped create a more competitive creative environment for Detroit’s banking business. There were better banking products out there, and they could save the City tens of millions in transaction fees, while producing some creative lending opportunities for our residents and businesses. I moved on the opportunity, tapping my Deputy Mayor, Anthony Adams, to lead the strategic implementation of a new Banking Consolidation Plan. We sent RFQs (request for quotes) to several local banks, and the response was overwhelming. We received strong statements of interest from the Royal Bank of Scotland, Bank of America, National City and others. And, of course, Comerica. I met with several of the CEOs from these financial institutions, and they all wanted our business.
We enforced a deadline in which to receive responses, and announced our process to everyone who expressed interest in the business. We set up an extensive proposal review process, and brought in several financial and banking experts to assist us in information gathering and processing. It was truly an exciting undertaking. It became very obvious, fairly early in our evaluation of the different proposals, that for years, Comerica had been overcharging the City severely, while providing terrible, substandard banking services.
It is also noteworthy to mention that Bank One, which was in the process of being absorbed by Chase Bank, held the second-highest amount of the City’s cash at the time. They didn’t respond to the RFQ until well after the cutoff date. However, we still allowed them to submit their proposal, and it was absolutely horrible. It was a true reflection of the Detroit business community’s old economy arrogance. So much for home court advantage. We moved forward, and each bank made an oral presentation. I was very impressed with how well prepared the institutions were. I asked questions, and discovered a plethora of opportunities available for better management of City dollars. In return, they offered better ways to leverage our dollars and provide our citizens with opportunities for small business development. The process was exciting, and felt revolutionary. We were positioning Detroit to become a player in the global banking economy, and break from the ways of the old, traditionalist economy.
Our committee met to bring back a recommendation. Meanwhile, Anthony recommended to me that we take some of the City’s money out of Comerica and put it in a smaller bank. We looked at First Independence, a small bank that happened to be historic, given that it was Detroit’s first African-American-owned institution. It didn’t hurt that the headquarters were local, either. Anthony suggested that this move could substantially strengthen one bank without hurting the other. I agreed, feeling that First Independence, with its good track record and corporate citizenship, would greatly benefit. I also thought Comerica would hardly flinch, given that we were talking out a relatively small amount, compared to the much larger City sums they still held.
After First Independence confirmed that they were prepared to handle the deposit, I agreed to move $90 million from a Comerica account to our new banking partner. It was the single largest deposit in the bank’s history. The confidence and opportunities that sprang from that deposit afforded First Independence the ability to compete and thrive in new, wider areas of the market. I was so proud to be associated with that process. But Comerica’s leaders were not happy. In fact, they were enraged.
The majority of Comerica’s board members were elite members of Detroit’s business and corporate community. Reggie Turner, who was a new Comerica board member, hustled back over to my office to give me the news, telling me that his fellow members “were pissed.” I explained the entire thought process around the Banking Consolidation Plan, and also how creating competition significantly helped the City. But he was the messenger, there to warn me about the anger and contempt that was brewing toward my office. I told Reggie that I was really surprised. I was a public sector CEO charged with the task of providing optimum levels of city services, while continuing to drive down costs. In addition, I had to keep finding ways to cut grass, provide for adequate trash pick-up, shovel snow, build homes, repair streets, run buses on time, put out fires and keep people safe without spending any more money than I had the previous year. People wanted me to do more, but with less money. Now that I’d found a way to save millions—tens of millions—for the City and create additional resources, while working from within homebound networks, the business community was mad. At me. For conducting business. Incredible.
It would take a few more years for me to fully comprehend such a collectively draconian mindset. It was selfish. The sense of entitlement was foreign and uncomfortable to me. I wanted nothing to do with it. I thanked Reggie and told him that we were marching forward. There would be no publicity around who I pissed off, but I heard the hoofbeats. There were grumblings at this point, but I would feel a complete withdrawal of support when the rumors began to eat at my reputation.
My Family! Four Generations of descendants of Marvell and Bessie Cheeks (MBC). Still Standing Strong!
Me and my niece, Anaya. The first girl Grandchild for my parents. She is our Princess!
Keeping the City Safe. We had a forty year low for crime in Detroit, during my tenure as Mayor. We also were the first city to deliver our Homeland Security Plan to then Homeland Security Secretary Tom Ridge.
Call to Action. The Black Slate, the Shrine of the Black Madonna’s political and community organizing arm, along with many other organizations and individuals assisted our efforts to keep our schools and community safe.
President Barack Obama and me. We knew each other before his meteoric political rise. Here we share a moment in my office in 2007.
Me and my sons out front of our home in Texas.
After a record snow storm in Dallas, we made a snowman, and named him “Motown.”
16th Anniversary of my pledge line, The Nubians of the Nu Dynasty (Chicago 2000). I love my bruhs! (David Wells, Joel Johnson, Pat Scott, Byron White, Rich McCloud, Derrick McCants, Ted Gilmore, Robert Flakes, Joe Youngblood, David Askew, Mike Bonds, Mike Hargrett, KMK and Vince Adams.) Regie Wynn, not pictured.
Carlton & Pamela Poles, Carlita, me and Laura Jayne (Granny). We all love Miss Granny. The Poles—my in-laws—are two of my favorite people in the world. Their union represents the epitome of a great marriage. They did it right. They played by the rules, and I admire, respect and love them dearly.
Motor City Makeover. We renovated dozens of parks and recreation centers. During our annual clean-up in Detroit, we marshalled the forces of over 60,000 volunteers, with additional volunteer businesses to scour the city clean. We demolished structures, removed abandoned cars, and thoroughly cleaned streets. The City was cleaner during my administration than it had been in more than a generation.
Me and Liberian President Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf. The first woman to be democratically elected as President on the continent of Africa. The hope and pride that I saw and experienced, during my time with the Liberian people, was unlike anything that I ever felt or seen before. I had the great pleasure and honor of meeting with the Presidents of Ghana (John Kufur) and South Africa (Thambo Mbeki), during visits to those countries as well.
(Above) Mom, me
and Former House Speaker Nansi Pelosi. I was a part of a Speaker Pelosi lead, Nine Country Fact Finding mission. We visited Countries, and met with leaders in Europe and throughout Africa.
(Inset above) Me, a tour guide and Congressman Jim Clyburn (South Carolina). On tour at Robben Island Prison, of the coast of Capetown, South Africa. Standing in the cell where Nelson Mandela was housed for so many years was, both, a tremendously humbling and hopeful experience. That day reinforced the biblical truth that “With God, all things are possible.”
Me and Bishop J. Drew Sheard. One of the greatest men alive. I thank him so much for Pastoring me through incredibly difficult times.
Christine, me and Derrick…the original Three Amigos! We worked, prayed and created a movement. But, unfortunately in the end, none of us could spiritually handle the enormous and tenacious assault that came against it.
(Opposite page, bottom) Force Commander, Major General Cru Ihekire: African Union Mission in Darfur, Sudan. One of the most profoundly painful, gut-wrenching and spiritually draining experiences of my life was the day that I spent at a refugee camp in Darfur. The sadness, confusion and fear in the faces of so many women and children will haunt me forever. And the feeling of absolute powerlessness was even worse.
Me and Bobby Ferguson. My Main Man! One of the hardest working men that I have ever met. Completely unafraid and unabashed to be who he is. If he wasn’t so successful, that might have been a very positive thing.
The Kilpatrick Crew! The family on one of our many vacations. These were truly the best of times. I love being with the four of them more than anything. We have a hilariously knee slapping, fun and wonderful time together. You have to have thick skin in our crew. Nobody is off limits to be slammed. Not even Mama!
Me and Wifey stepping out. The Big Fella in the picture, always stayed clean.
Dyson, Reverend Al Sharpton, me and Jesse in my suite at Superbowl XL. There were some great conversations in the suite that day.
Tommy “Hitman” Hearns, me, and Barry Sanders. Two of Detroit’s Greatest Sports legends. I played basketball, back in the day, with Tommy. He thought that he had game. It’s a good thing he had boxing to fall back on.
My first mug shot. Taken after the very first arrest of my life, April 2008.
Coleman A. Young, Mom and me. From the day I met him as a youngster, I knew I wanted to be Mayor. He was a true warrior for the citizens of Detroit.
Me speaking in a judge’s chambers in the United States District Court of the Eastern District. That same system has indicted me and forced me into the fight of my life.
Me and Former US Vice President Al Gore share a comedic moment.
Mom, Dad and me at my mother’s first swearing in at the Michigan House of Representatives. The day that started it all! As I sat in awe, I knew that I wanted to be a member of that body.
Generation to Generation. My Grandfathers holding my twin sons, Jelani and Jalil. To this day, this remains one of the most poignant visuals that have stirred my soul.
Standing in my office in 2008.
Me, Carlita and our newborns. We bought our first home and started on our journey.
A Redevelopment Plan. My administration redeveloped more old dilapidated structures than any Mayor in Detroit’s history, ushering in unprecedented new development.
chapter 21
Storm Warning
WE WENT to church on a Sunday morning in early 2008. An elder approached me as we entered. I don’t remember her name, but she looked me in the eye and said, “Son, you don’t know me, but God put it on my heart that something big is about to happen to you. You be careful, young man.”
I was caught off-guard, but I nodded and told her I would. The moment passed quickly, and we moved into the sanctuary for the service. But I had a hard time shaking the elder’s words. I regained my focus just as Bishop Sheard rose from his seat to introduce Prophet Jeremy J. Gatlin, a guest pastor from out of state. God forgive me, I don’t remember any part of Prophet Gatlin’s message, but he did something at the end that shook me to my core. He ended his sermon and began the altar call, descended from the pulpit and stood directly in front of me. Touching me on the shoulder, he said to the congregation, “There is something very powerful about this man. I don’t know you, my brother, but you are about to enter a very rough season in your life.”
Some people smiled at first, amused that he didn’t know I was the mayor. But their smiles disappeared when he said “rough season.” Now, people were praying.
“You are going to have to endure a fight unlike any you’ve ever had,” Prophet Gatlin said, “but God will never leave you.” He told me to go to my office the next day and gather five people in whom I had absolute trust, and pray to strengthen each other for the fight. I heeded his instruction and called Anthony Adams, Triette Reeves, Kandia Milton, Jonathan Quarles and Christine to my office for prayer the next morning. I told them about what happened at church, and the six of us prayed. Triette, an ordained minister and member of my staff, led us. She’d been like the Bible’s Nathan to my David, always telling me the clear truth when I needed to hear it. After the prayer, she turned, hugged me, and asked if I’d remembered my promise to God.
“What promise?” I said. She said that she didn’t know, but I sure should. After a moment, I did! I just hadn’t lived up to it. At day’s end, I called Carlita, asking if she and the boys would like to go out to eat. We went to a Chili’s restaurant. Our meal was pleasant, but I was troubled. I couldn’t stop thinking about the past two days.
Carlita noticed my restlessness. “What’s wrong?” she asked. I was pained, looking at her. “Let’s talk when we get home,” she said.
“Okay,” I said.
Why didn’t I have my wife in my office for that prayer? Why wasn’t she the very first person that I told? I grew more nervous as we drove home. It was time for me to take responsibility for my actions. I had to tell Carlita the truth.
The boys went to shower and get ready for bed when we got home, and Carlita and I went straight to the bedroom. She took a seat in a silver reading chair that sat in front of our bed, and I kneeled beside her. She looked at me with fear and confusion in her eyes, and said, “Baby, what is it?”
After a long pause, I told her about the text messages. I also told her I’d learned earlier that The Detroit Free Press would soon publish a story revealing them to the public.
She paused for what seemed like an eternity, and then said, “I hate you.”
She didn’t shout her words. She sharpened them. It would have been better had she attacked me. And then, she crumbled. And the world stopped. The house felt big, empty and cold. Carlita was hurt beyond articulation. Humiliated. Betrayed. By me. God, I wish she would have kept talking, but she was visibly shattered. I felt worthless. The woman I’d sworn to honor and cherish sat before me, insulted. Her pain dazed me. Nothing was worth this. Not the affair, not the job, not Detroit. I wanted to scoop her up and run away, but that wasn’t possible.
The story broke on January 24, 2008, and even though I’d known it was coming and had made my staff aware, I still couldn’t believe that two million people were reading the same headline:
“MAYOR KILPATRICK, CHIEF OF STAFF LIED
UNDER OATH, TEXT MESSAGES SHOW”
It was the leading story, a detailed, sordid expose’ that described the nature of my texts with Christine. It cursorily mentioned exchanges about City business, but dove deep about my lying on the witness stand, and the texts’ proof of that fact.
I stared at the headline, aghast. Mortified. The story read as if I’d simply incriminated myself, with no explanation of Stefani’s actions. But worse, Carlita was going to see it all. I’d told her about the affair, but she didn’t have to read any quotes. She cried even more when I did, and would not stop for two days. I saw more anguish, more soul-stirring hurt in her than I’d ever seen. I wouldn’t wish that kind of pain on my worst enemy.
I released a statement explaining that th
e affair occurred during a difficult time in our marriage, and asked for the public’s understanding. Then I went into seclusion for a week. Not to hide, but to gather myself, and be alone with my wife. I also chose to sit down during that week and explain to Jelani and Jalil, who were twelve by then, what I’d done. I hope no father ever has to go through something like that. It was agonizing.
I asked them to take a ride with me in the car. We pulled away from the Manoogian Mansion and drove slowly up Jefferson Avenue toward the serenity of Belle Isle, the unique island park that connects to the city’s mainland by bridge. The silence was awkward. I asked how they were doing, and, like typical twelve-year-olds, said, “Alright,” before returning to silence and peering out the window. The Detroit River seemed as still and deep as that moment.
I found a quiet place to park, turned to my boys, and asked if they knew what was going on. They said they didn’t understand the whole thing, but they’d heard some terrible things about me. I asked what they’d heard, and both turned away with looks of sadness and confusion. I took a deep breath and began to speak. I apologized to my sons for the pain and embarrassment they had to endure because of me. I then got out of the car and moved to the back seat, putting my arms around each of them.
Surrendered: The Rise, Fall & Revolution of Kwame Kilpatrick Page 19