Can millennials revive Oakland County's poorest city?

Perry Earl Jr., a trim 26-year-old with a friendly smile and a wispy goatee, is among a generation of Pontiac residents who are working to revive a once-thriving city, which has become an island of poverty in one of Michigan’s wealthiest counties.

"I just want it to come back how I remember it," Earl said. "It takes conscientious people and leaders gravitating toward each other and coming together to make Pontiac better."

Residents and officials say the city is recovering from where it was nearly a decade ago when former factory workers were pawning their gold GM loyalty rings for gas money and do-gooders at the public library handed out sandwiches to hungry people.

But, Pontiac still faces challenges.

Thousands of auto jobs — and even the Pontiac nameplate — are gone. The Silverdome, the home of the Lions and international sports events, was blown up.

What's left is a city that has been steadily losing population since the 1970s, falling from more than 85,000 to less than 60,000. Of those residents, 35.7% live in poverty, according to census data. More than half of the city's children are in poverty. The median household income is $28,505.

"Pontiac is the forgotten city in Michigan," said Rick David, the CEO of Lighthouse of Oakland County, a social service nonprofit organization based in Pontiac, and a resident. "We're like Detroit, but we don't have the investment that's going on and we don't have the businesses and grant-making organizations."

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In many ways, Earl, a millennial, represents a generation of young residents that research has found thinks differently about activism, business, and government.

They want to make a difference by helping others, they seek to start their own enterprises instead of working for a big company, and they are asserting their desire to make change by pressing the government, running for office, and forming their own groups to do it. They also are vital to Pontiac's success.

"There is a group of young people who are active in Pontiac — business owners and community activists," said Pontiac Library Director Devan Green. "They are a driving force in changing things on the grassroots level."

To support himself, Earl, who was homeless as a child, has created his own clothing business.

To help others, he feeds the hungry with a monthly free meal, mentors the next generation at a downtown Pontiac gym owned by a friend, and represents residents on the Pontiac Public Library board, a position he was elected to last fall.

Sean Kammer, who moved to Pontiac with his wife in 2011, said he wanted to live in an urban community, and three years ago, co-founded a small nonprofit group, Better Pontiac, to help develop and improve the city.

"For all of the negative things people say about millennials, I think we have a different sense of ownership over our community," said Kammer, 33. "There's a larger sense of shared ownership in the sense of do-it-yourself, revitalize-your-community attitude."

Rich in potential

In many ways Pontiac is part of a narrative that has played out across Michigan and the Midwest, where residents left in once-thriving cities because of the auto industry are now suffering, said Timothy Hodge, an economics professor at Oakland University.

Named after a chief of the Ottawa tribe, Pontiac was the state's first inland settlement. A plaque on a granite marker notes that the first house was built in 1818 — 200 years ago.

Another marker downtown commemorates the city's history as an automaking center. For decades, Pontiac built cars and trucks. It built the now-famous bus that civil rights figure Rosa Parks made history on.

With the opening of the Silverdome in 1975, the city became a sports center. It was home of the Detroit Lions, Detroit Pistons, and the short-lived Detroit Express soccer team. It was the first Northern city to hold a Super Bowl. It hosted the World Cup. But, by 2002, the Express was defunct, the Pistons had moved to Auburn Hills and the Lions relocated to Detroit.

Faced with a national recession in 2009 and the bankruptcy of GM and Chrysler, the city was in dire straits. Unemployment soared. Tax revenues declined so much that the local government cut essential services.

But, Hodge said, what's different about Pontiac from other cities facing similar financial woes in Michigan is it is surrounded by affluence:

Lake Angelus, to the north, has a poverty rate of just 1.5% and median household income of $127,083; West Bloomfield, to the southwest, a rate of 3.7% and income of $148,750; Bloomfield Hills, to the south, a rate of 3.1% rate and income of $172,768; and Rochester Hills, to the east, a rate of 4.1% and income of $95,975.

Hodge, who studies urban development, said that's a blessing — and a curse.

"Pontiac has the potential to bring business, but it's also starting off on unequal footing," said Hodge, 33. "And, much like Detroit in the past, is trying to overcome a stigma of being poverty- and crime-ridden."

It is an image the city leaders are fighting.

"The city has many layers of complexity," Pontiac Mayor Deirdre Waterman said. "We are an urban city with the problems and challenges of an urban city, and it's more of a stark contrast because Pontiac is in the middle of a very affluent county."

To address poverty, she said, the city is trying to face its economic and educational challenges; it also is trying to groom and develop the next generation of leaders, who, like Earl, have deep resolve and commitment to their community.

"We are not poverty stricken in terms of the will and aptitude of our population," she said, "And we are not poverty stricken in terms of the goodwill from people and organizations and entities that see the Pontiac story as something they want to help with."

Pontiac, she added, is a city rich in history, perseverance — and potential.

Inspiration of adversity

Growing up on the east side, Earl and his three siblings were raised by their mother, Teresa Scruggs.

When Earl was in elementary school, his mom struggled to pay the bills and they moved into a homeless shelter. After three months, they moved out, and into to a hotel. In the hotel, they paid by the month, then, as money got tight, by the week, until finally, they found a rental house.

Then, in middle school, Earl said, he got into fights with other boys.

His mom, a decades-long hairstylist, went to the school to figure out why. She said she realized her son was being bullied. One of the bullies, she said, was really just acting out because he had even less than her son did. So, she invited him to live with them.

Earl didn't understand why.

He complained to his mother: How could she be so nice to the boy who was beating him up? She said she told him about love and helping others, and Earl clearly recalled her telling him this: "Whatever doesn't kill you, makes you stronger."

Earl said he and the other boy gradually became as close as brothers.

Through that experience, Earl said, he realized that thoughtful gestures — even small ones, like offering someone hot food — can make a tremendous difference in someone's life.

He added: "Watching that, growing up with that, it became my nature to help people."

Earl said he was first inspired to set up free meals for hungry residents six years ago.

A 7-year-old girl, who lived in his neighborhood and wanted to do something to help others, asked him to help her serve meals. After that, Earl said, he started offering meals every holiday. He also incorporated a nonprofit organization, Nation of Kings, so he could do it on a larger scale.

The name of the group, he said, comes in part from the idea that everyone could be a king. It also is a nod to his 5-year-old son, Peyton King James Earl.

"I want people to feel that someone cares about them," Earl said. "But you can't do it forever, so hopefully, you can inspire a young king, a young queen, to gravitate toward what you are doing and keep it going."

Signs of a rebound

Five years ago, national media looked at Pontiac as a harbinger of what might happen to Detroit — just 30 miles away at the other end of Woodward Avenue — if it didn't fix its financial woes.

Now, Pontiac residents hope to get the same kind of attention Detroit has for its recovery.

Pontiac, which regained financial control in 2016, has new enterprises, including new restaurants, the M1 Concourse, a private playground for car enthusiasts, and MadDog, a tech company. The historic Flagstar Strand Theatre of Performing Arts underwent a $20-million renovation.

And United Shore mortgage company announced its headquarters — and more than 2,400 workers — are moving from Troy to Pontiac in July.

Eventually, company spokesman Brad Pettiford said, it plans to employ more than 4,000 people in Pontiac. He added that "there are so many cool things happening in downtown Pontiac," and that the city is "on the rise."

Earl hopes that his own future, as an entrepreneur, can contribute to a Pontiac comeback, too. He has started his own business, Native, a line of screen-printed T-shirts, hoodies, and hats. So far, he said, his annual sales have ranged from $24,000 to $35,000.

But, his ambition is to turn his enterprise into a $1-million company — which, for him is a substantial sum — so he can hire others, who can then make a living, perhaps even support a family, and follow their own dreams.

"I see a Pontiac where parents are working in the city, where kids are proud of the school they go to, and where we can go to dinner by walking down the street and not have to go outside our city," he said. "That's what — when I was growing up — was here. That's what I see coming back."

Contact Frank Witsil: 313-222-5022 or fwitsil@freepress.com.