By you, I mean me. Because it takes someone special to cry over Census data.
And by special, I mean weird.
Hear me out, even though I’m sure you already agree.
There’s this city on a river, across which lies another country.
Census data tells the burg’s story, if you’re willing to listen.
In 1820, there were four figures—1,422 to be exact.
A century later, there were six—993,678.
And thirty years after that, in 1950, there were seven—1,849,568. Only four American cities were more peopled.
That’s when, in the parlance of the medical profession, began the taper.
Every ten years, the dose was decreased by varying proportions.
- 9.7% to start
- Then another 9.5%
- Then a generous 20.4%
- Next a drop of 14.6%
- And finally, a more gentle 7.5%
It was the year 2000, and the figures were back down to six—951,270.
Some yearned for a maintenance dose, a stop-the-bleeding moment if you will.
But the taper continued.
- 25%
- 10.5%
That landed the river city in a year better known for a viral pandemic—by then, the blight was old news, fodder for comedians, bloggers, and bankruptcy lawyers.
The number, at that point, was down to 639,111.
Mercifully, another decade would have to pass to officially know the next dose reduction.
But the hints were screaming—the US Census Bureau calls them population estimates.
2021: 635,046
2022: 634,219
2023: 637,452
Eyebrows were raised.
2024: 644,035
Heads were turned.
2025: 649, 095
Tears were shed.
The city on the river, the one gazing upon another nation, is celebrating Easter.
Because just like Jesus, Detroit is rising once again.
