Books
When History Professor Andrew Pickens is asked to help solve a ninety-year-old cold case his scholarly knowledge of past violence puts him in present danger. A colleague’s long-dead grandfather has a connection to a priceless artifact and a hate group plotting a horrific crime. Clues from the past lead Pickens on a dangerous trip from Hell to Paradise and a final confrontation with a killer in Detroit. On Devil’s Night, at the world’s largest and craziest Halloween party, he confronts a legacy of evil that has come back to life and is determined to kill him.
Jack Crost is a professor of sixties literature with a painful past who teaches the ideals of peace and love. His beliefs are tested when a series of vicious attacks cost him his job and his life – and then things get worse. After a near-death experience in the emergency room that includes an encounter with a famous TV puppet, his resuscitated life takes off in a wild new direction as he tries to figure out what’s going on. From ruins to raves to the rooftops of Detroit, his pursuit of the truth leads him to a final deadly confrontation. Bummer.
Something snaps when failed rock musician and disgraced reporter Will Harkanen reads an obituary for an old friend who died in a car crash in Detroit. On the far side of middle age and the brink of divorce, Will quits his boring job to reconnect with his past and pursue the dreams of his youth. This unravels an ugly mess of blackmail and corruption that may have led to his friend’s death. As Will chases his dreams, he realizes too late that his dreams are chasing him.
If you have to write a speech and aren’t quite sure how to go about it, this is the book you need. Speech Right is intended for people who volunteered—or were drafted—to write a speech for themselves, their boss, their professor, their client, or anyone else who has been called on to stand and deliver in front of an audience. In addition to beginners, it also will be useful—or at least mildly amusing and cathartic—for seasoned professionals. Whatever your skill level, Speech Right will help you write the speech right.
Buy all four on Amazon
The Bluegrass Devils of Detroit
When a gravely injured stranger barges into his college classroom asking for help solving a ninety-year-old mystery, Professor Andrew Pickens doesn’t want to get involved. But as a former investigative reporter with detailed scholarly knowledge of Detroit’s violent past, Andrew is perfect for the job. He is gradually drawn into assisting the stranger—Murphy, a private detective with a checkered reputation—and Baxter Fineman, who is trying to prove his grandfather was murdered in 1931 by the Black Legion, a white supremacist hate group. Evidence mounts that the Black Legion is once again active in Detroit. Between teaching history classes and jamming with the elderly members of his late father’s bluegrass band, Andrew gathers clues from the past that lead them closer to the truth—and to a long-lost artifact once owned by Henry Ford that the Black Legion wants at any cost. As the violence from the Black Legion escalates, Andrew finds himself in danger of being killed. Finally, on Devil’s Night, during a huge masquerade party in the world’s largest Masonic Temple, Andrew confronts the modern-day face of a legacy of evil— a trained killer he must defeat to stay alive and right a decades-old injustice.
IndieReader calls it “Humorous and thrilling.”
Kirkus Reviews says “It’s easy to imagine an audience for this book – lovers of bluegrass and gangster movies.”
Amazon readers say: A great Detroit detective book A compelling and well written detective mystery with interesting characters, a plot that never lets off the gas, and a clear love of and appreciation for all things Detroit and Michigan. Great read! Reviewed in the United States on April 21, 2025
Sample Read — First Three Chapters
The Bluegrass Devils of Detroit
Prologue — Storming The Castle
Ann Arbor, Michigan July 4, 1933
The three white panel trucks rolled to a stop in the open fields beyond the city. Bold black letters on the outside proclaimed their mission: “Katzenberg Katering – Fine Food For Fancy Folks.”
The insides told a different story.
Instead of food and drinks the trucks were crowded with men in suits sweating in the summer heat, nervously fingering weapons and talking loudly. After they pulled to the side of the road all three drivers proceeded with the next step of the plan – the final briefing.
In the first truck the next step started with a stumble.
“Listen up,” the driver called out.
The men kept talking.
“Listen up,” the driver said again.
When the talking continued he tried a different approach.
“Shut the fuck up or I swear to God I’ll come back there and shoot one of you.”
The men listened up.
“Our lead car will be here in five minutes,” the driver explained. “While we’re waiting I’m supposed to go over things one more time so nobody screws this thing up.”
Groans and curses.
“Shut up and listen. Most of the guards are off duty, they won’t be coming back until the party starts tonight. The ones who are still there will be in the two towers. The tower crews will go up the stairs, jimmy the doors shut, come back down and wait for the lead crew to return.”
“Don’t worry, chief, the tower crews are going to kill those bastards.”
Laughter and cheers.
“Shut up, listen up,” the driver shouted. “You tower crews aren’t supposed to attack the guards, you’re supposed to contain them.”
“In a pine box.”
More laughter and cheers.
“Metzler, Fletcher, Axler, Burke – you’re with the extraction team,” the driver said. “Once you’re inside the castle you spread out and watch their backs while they make the grab. Burke, you’re in charge – your men ready to go?”
“Ready to go, boss,” Burke replied.
The driver grunted his approval and continued.
“Tower teams, remember what we told you, the stairs that go to the towers are all mixed up, some are wider and some are narrower, they’re designed to trip up guys like you that ain’t supposed to be there. Be careful, be quiet, and don’t shoot anybody unless you have to.”
“If I see a lion you can bet your ass I’ll shoot it.”
Uneasy laughter.
“There shouldn’t be any lions or tigers running around loose, he’s got guests coming tonight. The big cats will be in their pens in the garage.”
“Good to know. Maybe we feed them one of the guards as a treat when we leave.”
Uneasier laughter.
The last-minute instructions continued until a gun-metal grey Graham-Paige sedan rolled slowly by and pulled to a stop in front of them. Powered by the legendary “Blue Streak” V-8 engine, it was specially customized for jobs like this. The four men inside were all dressed in double-breasted chef’s whites. A moment after they arrived all three of the truck drivers stuck a thumbs up out their windows and the Graham-Paige led them away.
As they made their way down the road Burke turned to the man sitting next to him, who kept shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
“You look nervous as hell, Axler,” Burke said. “What’s the matter, you scared of the Ford goons?”
“Screw you, Burke. I ain’t afraid of a bunch of factory dicks.”
Axler was telling the truth, he wasn’t afraid of the private security guards they might encounter backing up the extraction team. But he was terrified of the much more dangerous task he had ahead of him.
He was about to double cross the Purple Gang.
Chapter One
The Gangs Of Detroit
Detroit, Michigan Today
“Who’s down for some Motown murder and mayhem?”
It helped to have a sense of humor if you studied history.
You had to laugh when people made the same dumb mistakes again and again. And you had to laugh to keep from crying over the never-ending hubris, hatred and horror.
A smattering of polite laughter echoed across the auditorium, but Professor Pickens’ opening joke was met mostly with vacant stares and silence. Usually that line did better, but morning classes were tougher to engage than afternoon or evening classes.
He would have to raise his game to wake them up.
“Pretty much everything about Detroit’s history fascinates me,” Pickens continued, “but today we’re going to be talking about one of my favorite subjects – organized crime in Detroit. I’ll start with a quiz…”
Groans and muttered protests rose from the sleepy crowd.
“Relax, it’s not that kind of quiz,” Pickens said. “I just want to check on where your knowledge level is at. How many of you are familiar with Judge Mathis, the guy on TV? Show of hands, how many?”
Most of the class raised a hand.
“Keep your hand up if you also knew he was a member of a notorious Detroit street gang in the 1970s.”
Most of the hands dropped.
“Judge Mathis was a member of the Errol Flynns, a gang from the lower east side named after the 1930s movie star. Errol Flynn was a flamboyant, swashbuckling action hero. He was famous for roles like the pirate Captain Blood and Robin Hood. The gang wanted to live up to the legend of their namesake, so they committed one of the boldest and most outrageous crimes in Detroit history.”
Pickens looked around and was pleased to see the class was a bit more awake and attentive.
“In 1977 the Errol Flynns, including young Greg Mathis, executed a mass robbery at a concert by the Average White Band in Cobo Hall.”
Gasps, laughter, head shakes – he definitely had their attention.
“They jumped down from the balcony to the main floor during intermission and walked through the aisles demanding purses, jewelry and wallets at gunpoint. By the time the police arrived in force the Errol Flynns had taken off with their loot.”
More laughter and chatter – he was gaining momentum, now he had to keep it going.
“Our city has a rich history of organized crime,” he said. “I’m sure most of you have heard about the Purple Gang. Hands?”
Lots of hands up.
“The Purple Gang was a predominantly Jewish criminal mob that operated during the Prohibition era of the 1920s. They teamed with Al Capone to sell Canadian Whiskey, and became famous, or infamous, as all these hands in the air would indicate. Okay, here’s a tougher one – how many of you have heard of the Black Legion?’
No hands.
“The Black Legion was a militia and white supremacist group that grew to more 135,000 members during the Great Depression. Their members included a large number of public officials, possibly even Detroit’s police chief. We’ll talk more about them in a moment. But first, let me end the quiz with an easy one – how many of you have heard of the Insane Clown Posse?”
Everyone in the auditorium raised their hand.
“As you all seem to know already, the Insane Clown Posse are a Detroit rap group. Their dedicated fans call themselves Juggalos, and most are just music lovers. But what you might not know is that the Juggalos have been classified as a criminal gang by the police and the FBI, although the Insane Clown Posse has challenged those characterizations in court.”
Murmurs, crosstalk, eyes up and alert – he had them now.
“The writer and philosopher George Santayana said, ‘Those who do not learn history are doomed to repeat it,’” Pickens said. “To that I would add that, in this class, those who do not learn history are doomed to flunk.”
Nervous laughter.
“Actually, historians can’t agree on whether or not those were Santayana’s exact words,” he continued. “Like seemingly everybody else these days, historians often don’t agree on what the facts are. But regardless of precisely what was said, you get the idea. People keep screwing up in the same way.”
Knowing laughter.
“History gives us the opportunity to change that. We can apply the lessons of the past to build a better world for the future. It gives us the opportunity to bring justice to those who were denied justice in the past.”
The momentum slowed as the class absorbed that statement, so Pickens hurried on.
“We can’t change what happened, but we can reexamine the facts to determine what was right and what was wrong, who were the villains and who were the heroes. And, in the case of today’s lesson, which gangs were the baddest mother shut-your-mouths.”
Raucous laughter brought the energy level back up.
“If you didn’t get that last reference, don’t worry – the lyrics to the ‘Theme From Shaft’ won’t be on the mid-term.”
The students were alert, engaged, ready to learn. It was time to get down to business.
“Like everything else we’ve been studying so far, if you examine the gangs of Detroit you’ll find that history often repeats itself,” he said. “It’s a fascinating topic, one that I love to talk about, so let’s get started.”
At that moment the past, present and future of crime took a seat in the back of the class.
Chapter Two
Target Practice
Highwater, Michigan Yesterday
It was with great reluctance that Stacker decided not to kill the kid.
There were plenty of reasons to do it.
As a former Marine he was a big believer in Semper Fi, and the kid had clearly violated that sacred bond. He had also put the small band of freedom fighters that Stacker led at risk. Most importantly, he may have jeopardized their chances of finding something that would finance their operations for many years to come – not to mention make Stacker incredibly rich.
Unfortunately, that was also the reason he couldn’t kill the kid, at least not now.
“Randy, you got a minute? I need to talk to you.”
“Sure, Stack. Just let me squeeze off a few more rounds.”
If Stacker was going to kill someone, this was the perfect place to do it. One of the men in his militia, Fred Milner, owned a remote farm forty miles west of Detroit. Once a week a dozen or so of them gathered in a sandy hollow at the far end of his land to shoot at paper targets and occasionally blow things up.
The time was also perfect.
They were just finishing up this week’s practice, packing up their weapons and heading back to the barn. It would be easy to pop one in Randy’s head and tell the cops that their little group of gun enthusiasts just had a horrible accident. His men would back him up, no questions asked. But they needed more information to get what they were after, and this skinny piece of tattooed shit might have it.
So for now he stayed alive.
“What’s up, Stack?”
“I heard you were hanging out at Zukey Lake Tavern the other day.”
“Not sure why it matters, but that’s right. I hang out there almost every day.”
“I heard you got drunk.”
“LOL.”
“You want to tell me what that means?”
“It means you are right again, Captain Obvious. When I go there I get drunk.”
Stacker fought off the urge to punch the kid in the throat.
“But this time you talked to a guy. Started telling him about what we were doing.”
“The fat guy? He asked about my evil clown tattoo and I told him I was a Juggalo.”
“I’m not talking about the crazy clown gang, or whatever the hell music you like is.”
“I’m a fan of the Insane Clown Posse. We’re called Juggalos.”
“You talked about more than that.”
“He was buying everybody drinks, asking about the old days.”
“What about the old days?”
“He was asking about the Black Legion. Not about us, but what happened back in my great-grandpa’s days. Some colored guy got killed in the 1930’s, this guy was trying to figure out who did it. Like anybody cares.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“I didn’t tell him shit. I strung him along for free drinks.”
“Not what I heard.”
“Well what’d you hear?”
“I heard you told him you belonged to a modern-day Black Legion. You told him we hated colored folks, but that’s not the word you used.”
“Hey, you say that word all the time. So do all the other guys.”
“Not in a public place. I told you a million times, we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves. Not yet.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. I said the N-word at Zukey Lake. I won’t do it again.”
“If that was all you did we wouldn’t be having this talk. You told him who we were. You told him what we were up to.”
Stacker’s voice got louder and angrier as he finished the sentence.
“So what? I didn’t give him any names or places, nothing like that. Besides, he was a fat old drunk. He slugged down Jack Daniels on the rocks the whole time we talked. There’s no way he could’ve remembered anything we said.”
“That fat old drunk was a private detective. One of the best. From what I hear he can drink a punk like you under the table ten times over.”
“Who’s telling you all this bullshit?”
“Joe, the afternoon bartender. He’s a friend of ours, thinking about joining up.”
“So how does a fucking bartender figure out a guy’s a detective?”
Stacker reached into his coat pocket with a decision to make – the gun or the card.
He pulled out the card.
“He handed this to Joe. It’s his card, asshole.”
As Randy read the card Stacker filled him in on what else he had learned.
“I did some checking on him. He’s an ex-cop, a Vietnam vet like me. Works out of Detroit. He’s trying to find out what happened to the grandfather of a friend of his who’s a professor at Wayne State. Colored guy, worked as bricklayer. Disappeared out here in 1933.”
“So what?”
It might have been the tone in his voice or the look on his face.
Whatever it was, this time Stacker couldn’t help himself.
In less than a blink his fist shot out and landed with a crack on Randy’s jaw. The kid went down in a heap. When he finally spoke there was a little less defiance in his voice.
“What’d you do that for?”
“Because you were being a smart-assed punk, that’s why.”
Randy sat up slowly rubbing his chin.
“Fuck. I think you broke my jaw you motherfucker.”
“You ought to be thanking me, I held back. I could have killed you with one punch.”
“Alright, I get it. I screwed up. I won’t do it again.”
“Damn right you won’t. Next time I won’t hold back.”
Randy stood up slowly.
“I’m sorry. Like I said, it won’t happen again. Is it okay if I fire off a few more rounds, give my head some time to clear up?”
“Go ahead, kid. Be my guest.”
Stacker walked away knowing that guns sometimes gave punks the courage to do stupid things, but he wasn’t concerned. If Randy tried to shoot him in the back he’d be dead before his finger found the trigger, and Stacker’s difficult decision would be made for him.
But Randy wasn’t thinking about shooting Stacker. There was someone else he had in mind. As the old man disappeared into the woods behind him he reloaded his rifle and took aim at the outline of a man on a paper target across the clearing.
Stacker thought he was an idiot, but he had the mad skills to be a secret agent, a guerilla warrior, a militia hero. He had memorized the address on the card Stacker showed him, just like a spy in a movie. This afternoon he would go to Detroit and find his target, follow him around for as long as it took, until the right opportunity presented itself.
He would show Stacker.
He would make up for his mistake.
He would kill the fat detective.
Chapter Three
A Question From the Man in the Last Row
It wasn’t until Professor Pickens had nearly finished his lecture that he saw the large, unkempt man sitting in the last row of the amphitheater.
He was not immediately alarmed.
His course about the history of Detroit was popular with students, which was why he was standing at a lectern looking at his notes in front of a hundred young people. He also posted his class schedule and the topics covered online, and a lot of older history buffs showed up for their favorite subjects – auto company retirees, over-the-hill dream cruise hot rodders, grey-haired history geeks. These old timers never registered for the class, let alone paid for it, but they often snuck in quietly and sat in the back to hear what he had to say.
This guy was different.
For starters, he was wearing a wrinkled tan raincoat on a warm, sunny autumn day. His hair was impossibly black and spread across his head in all directions. His eyes were the last straw – gleaming, intense, with an unwavering focus on the professor. You heard about these things but you never thought it would happen to you – a mad gunman loose in your classroom.
Pickens told himself to calm down and continue.
“Today’s lecture was a bit of a sidebar,” he said. “But, as I told you earlier, it’s one of my favorite topics. I hope you liked it, too.”
Loud, enthusiastic applause filled the auditorium.
“We’ll get back on our chronological track next week, talking about a really incredible time in our city,” Pickens said. “One hundred years ago Detroit was the Silicon Valley of its time. Hundreds of startups, thousands of investors. Money and people pouring in, everyone looking to get rich from the advanced technology that was revolutionizing the world, in this case the automobile.”
The mad gunman remained in his seat, so Pickens kept going.
“We’ve spent the past few weeks looking at how the city got to that point, some would say the pinnacle of its success. In our next class we’ll finish up the Roaring Twenties, and start to explore how we got to where we are. Read chapters five and six, and we’ll see you next week.”
Pickens felt some relief as the students slowly shuffled out the room – at least it wouldn’t be a mass shooting. He shook his head in disgust at his wild imagination and dark sense of humor – not that he didn’t have cause for concern – and busied himself putting his lectures notes back into his briefcase. When he looked up the last students were filing out the doors at the back and the mad gunman was coming down the center aisle toward him.
“You’re Professor Pickens, right?” the madman called out.
The man’s right hand was stuffed into his raincoat pocket, the arm tight against his side. He was wearing a white dress shirt and a red tie but it looked like he had slept in them. Pickens found himself unable to speak, but as the man reached the lectern he was able to nod.
“You look like a professor,” the man said.
The man looked strange and sinister, but when he smiled he seemed friendly enough.
Pickens managed to find his voice.
“I’m not sure exactly what you mean by that,” he said. “But since I am a professor I will take it as a compliment.”
“Overdue for a haircut, out-of-style sport coat worn with blue jeans and no tie, round glasses, walrus mustache – total professor package” the man said. “You’re the guy who wrote a book about gangs in Detroit in the old days, right?”
“Yes, I’m the guy. I’ve written several books about the history of Detroit, you can find them in the Student Bookstore. I’d be happy to sign one for you.”
“Thanks, professor, but I’m not looking to buy a book. I need information about gangs, that’s why I came to your lecture today. If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“What do you want to know, mister…?”
“No mister, just Murphy. What can you tell me about the Black Legion?”
“Well, just Murphy, as I said in my lecture, the Black Legion was a white supremacist militia group that operated in the Midwest in the 1930s. They had a big chapter in Detroit, killed more than 50 people until the law finally caught up to them. You can read all this online or buy my book if you’re interested. So why go to all the trouble of crashing my lecture?”
“Because I need an expert. I’m not writing a term paper, professor, I’m a private detective who is trying to solve a crime that happened almost ninety years ago. I need to know everything you know about the murder of Solomon Jacob.”
“A random hate crime, took place near Pinckney. They finally figured out who did it in 1936, five years after it happened. Someone on trial for another murder gave up his friends to the police to get his charges reduced. Several members of the Black Legion went to prison for it. There’s nothing to solve.”
“My client’s grandfather was with Solomon Jacob on the night he was murdered. He was never seen again. His wife was expecting their first child, so the police just dismissed it as a runaway father situation. My client is convinced that’s not true. It’s bothered him for years, he wants some closure.”
“I’d like to help, but I don’t have anything more to add. That’s all I know about Solomon Jacob’s murder. I spent years doing the research, that’s all anyone knows.”
“What if I told you I’ve discovered there’s more to the story.”
“You would have my attention.”
“I’ve been looking into this cold case for a little while now. Didn’t expect to find much at first, and I didn’t. Then I stumbled onto some information that made things a lot more interesting.”
“What kind of information?”
“The kind that might solve a ninety year old murder.”
“That’s exciting.”
“It is, but that’s not all I found out. Like I said, there’s more to the story. It’s the part I was really hoping you could help me with.”
“What more is there?”
“There’s something else connected to the murder of Solomon Jacob, an object of some sort. I can’t tell you what it is exactly, because I don’t know. What I do know is that it is very valuable and that people are still looking for it.”
“Who’s looking for it?”
“I’ll get to that in a minute.”
The detective winced and pushed his arm more tightly against his side.
“You all right?”
“I’m fine. You know a lot about the Purple Gang, right?”
“You heard my lecture. Detroit gang. Primarily Jewish. Ran whiskey from Canada during prohibition. Tough bunch. Yet another criminal group you can read about in my book.”
“Like I said, I’m not writing a term paper. I need to know any stuff that’s not in the book, things you couldn’t confirm or that didn’t fit. You may even have to go find more.”
“I know the Purple Gang aren’t the ones looking for whatever it is you are after. They were busted up by the mid-1930s, most of them dead or in jail.”
“They’re not looking for it, but they were involved with it somehow. That’s what I need you to find out.”
“So who is looking for it?”
The detective paused and looked around the empty amphitheater before he replied.
“The Black Legion.”
It was an acoustically perfect room, the professor’s laugh rang true throughout it.
“I’m sorry, but the Black Legion was also busted up by the mid-1930s. They killed an organizer for the federal Works Progress Administration – that’s the trial I mentioned. That was the beginning of the end for them.”
“Well, professor, apparently not everybody got the memo about being busted up. There’s a new generation of them out there, I talked to one of them in a bar in Pinckney a few days ago. He was a punk kid but he had the hate part down pretty good. He’s the one who told me about the Purple Gang and the missing artifact. Whatever it is they are looking for, they seem to think it will help pay for all the nasty projects they’re planning. I’d like to get it before they do, take a little wind out of their sails.”
“Why don’t you go to the police or the FBI?”
“I’ll let you in on a little secret, professor – I’m an ex-cop. I’ve told some people I know about what’s going on, but the wheels of justice grind slowly. The police and the FBI are a little fussy about a thing called evidence.”
“What about the kid in the bar?”
“They believe his story about the new Black Legion, they’ve actually been keeping an eye on them for awhile now.”
“And they’re not doing anything about them?”
“They think they’re just a bunch of harmless good old boys who like to shoot guns and talk big.”
“What about the missing treasure, or whatever it is?”
“They think the kid was pulling an old man’s leg in a bar to get free drinks.”
“So what’s next?”
“I don’t have time to wait for the cops or the FBI, they can catch up later, after we’ve solved this. Won’t be the first time that’s happened.”
“If I did say yes how could I help you?”
“I told you, I’m going need you to tell me everything you know about these old Detroit gangs, and maybe even find out more if you can.”
“I’m pretty busy these days; teaching, working on a new book. I’ve even started a new musical project with some old friends. Why don’t I give you my card, if you want to come by my office some time I’ll be happy to share everything I know. I’m not sure I can help you beyond that.”
“Thanks professor, that’s a start. But I probably ought to tell you one more thing before you get too involved in helping me.”
“What’s that?”
“This new version of the Black Legion, or whatever they are, these guys are dangerous. Helping me figure out what’s going on could put you in jeopardy.”
“Oh.”
Pickens took a moment to process what he had just heard. He had been fascinated by history his entire life, he was also a serious crime buff. But reading about and writing about Detroit’s violent past in books was one thing, dealing with it in the present was another. He wasn’t sure he was ready for that – he needed more information.
“What makes you think they are dangerous?”
The detective slowly pulled his right arm away from his side. Beneath the tan raincoat his white dress shirt was stained by fresh red blood.
“I’m pretty sure they’re the ones who shot me.”
Far Out Man
Jack Crost is a professor of sixties literature with a painful past who teaches the ideals of peace and love. His beliefs are tested when a series of vicious attacks cost him his job and his life – and then things get worse. After a near-death experience in the emergency room that includes an encounter with a famous TV puppet, his resuscitated life takes off in a wild new direction as he tries to figure out what’s going on. From ruins to raves to the rooftops of Detroit, his pursuit of the truth leads him to a final deadly confrontation. Bummer.
These Reviews Are Far Out Man!
“A highly entertaining mystery fueled by a smooth blend of irreverence and ‘60s ideology… the story is powered by exceptional character development.” Kirkus Reviews
“A brilliant piece of fiction… Vonnegut fans will immediately appreciate Snearly’s wide-eyed protagonist and the increasingly surreal narrative that unfolds. A page-turner murder mystery, 60’s references galore, lively characters and sharp dialog, what more could you ask for?” Indie Reader
“An engaging read with well-wrought characters and fast-paced dialogue… the book is well-paced and fun and will keep readers flipping pages.” BlueInk Reviews
The Guardian of Detritus
Something snaps when failed rock musician and disgraced reporter Will Harkanen reads an obituary for an old friend who died in a car crash in Detroit. On the far side of middle age and the brink of divorce, Will quits his boring job to reconnect with his past and pursue the dreams of his youth. In doing so he unravels an ugly mess of blackmail, bribery and corruption that may have led to his friend’s death. As Will chases his dreams, he realizes too late that his dreams are chasing him.
Amazon Reviews
5.0 out of 5 stars Memorable characters in fast-moving story
Reviewed in the United States on February 25, 2025
Really good story with lots of detailed description of Detroit by an author who obviously loves the Motor City. Entertaining, enjoyable read. Lively dialogue. But I especially like the occasional awesomely phrased, insightful comment from the narrator. Like this one: “It wasn’t the possibility of ending; it was the ending of possibilities. Nothing scared him more than anything.”
Reviewed in the United States on August 31, 2015
A story from a vivid imagination coupled with a fine writing style add up to a good read. If the reader has a bit of
famialarity with Detroit it is even better.
5.0 out of 5 stars I really enjoyed it.
Reviewed in the United States on November 21, 2015
Raised in Southeast Michigan the landmarks in the book are very familiar. I’m also a fan of film noir, and that’s how the book feels. I really enjoyed it.
5.0 out of 5 stars Nostalgic Detroit Page Turner
Reviewed in the United States on June 17, 2023
I grew up around Detroit and still traverse the city several times a week. I’m also a film producer, author, and story guru of sorts. Chuck’s “The Guardian of Detritus: A Motor City Mystery” is a send up of all that—Detroit, Movies, Plot, and Writing Skill. Great characters, deep mystery, complex plots, crime, action, romance, and Detroit landmarks. Like Chuck’s “Far Out Man,” “The Guardian…” was very enjoyable, hard to put down, and a great example of how to write short chapters where the very last word of each forces you to turn the page. I’m looking forward to the third installment of this great Detroit series. There’s a movie here. All Hail the POE. LOL!
5.0 out of 5 stars A Motor City Mystery
Reviewed in the United States on June 24, 2015
With his life at a crossroads, the death of an old friend gives Will Harkanen the opportunity to take the road he didn’t travel three decades earlier. A distinct sense of humor, a penchant for movie trivia, and a desire for the truth drives Will’s journey through a murky past and an uncertain future. Detroit is both the setting and a leading character along the way in this fun and surprising novel.
Reviewed in the United States on August 23, 2015
A real page turner as they say. Being from Detroit I really loved it but it’s more than just a Motor City book. There’s an interesting plot that has you guessing until the very end. I’m going to read it again.
5.0 out of 5 stars Can’t Forget the Motor City
Reviewed in the United States on June 18, 2015
If you are a baby boomer who grew up in Detroit you have to read this book. If you are not, read it and see why it is never too late to make your dreams come true in the coolest city on the planet.
If you have to write a speech and aren’t quite sure how to go about it, this is the book you need. Speech Right is intended for people who volunteered—or were drafted—to write a speech for themselves, their boss, their professor, their client, or anyone else who has been called on to stand and deliver in front of an audience. In addition to beginners, it also will be useful—or at least mildly amusing and cathartic—for seasoned professionals. Whatever your skill level, Speech Right will help you write the speech right.
Chuck Snearly is an award-winning writer whose work includes books, speeches, annual reports, web content, video scripts, press releases, brochures, ad copy and more. Prior to forming his communications consulting company, Speech Right, Inc., he worked in public relations at Ford Motor Company for 30 years, including 14 years as Chief Speechwriter, writing more than 1,000 speeches for senior executives. He also served as the speechwriter for Bill Ford, Executive Chairman, Ford Motor Company, for 28 years. He has written one non-fiction book, Speech Right, which is used as a speechwriting textbook in college classes. He has also written three novels, The Guardian of Detritus, Far Out Man, and The Bluegrass Devils of Detroit, all of which are crime mysteries that take place in Detroit.
Mr. Snearly speechwriting clients have included Ford Motor Company, Royal Dutch Shell, the Bosch Group, Dean Foods and the University of Detroit Mercy. He has written speeches for the senior executives of two of the top five biggest companies in the world, six chairmen of the board, a famous/infamous Detroit politician and a member of British Parliament. In addition to working as a freelance speechwriter, he has done communications consulting with the Detroit Economic Club and guest lectured at the University of Michigan, Albion College and Indiana University.
Mr. Snearly has won numerous awards, including Award of Excellence for Speechwriting, International Association of Business Communicators; Grand Prize Winner for Annual Report Letter, International ARC Awards; First Place for Narrative Presentation, Annual Report Competition, American Business Communicators; Award of Excellence, Video Documentary, 13th Annual Communicator Awards.