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When I was first discovering Detroit and all it had to offer, urban exploring being one such thing, I used to sit on the parking deck of Cobo Hall and dream about what it would be like to live in the old Fort Shelby Hotel. For years I wanted so badly to know what it was like on the inside. I would spend hours thinking of what lie inside awaiting my exploration. There was something different about this graceful dinosaur that caught my attention when I was very young. I imagined ghostly hallways, decaying ballrooms, and artifacts of Detroit’s past. For about ten years now trees growing right out from the rooftop have been visible against its white terra cotta and marble venire. Its inviting presence over Detroit’s skyline was like an invitation from a friend to come on in. The awaiting 360-degree view from its rooftop was all I needed as my motivation to get inside. I imagined the tower like a vault, sealing in the look and feel of the late 1970s and its last desperate days before closing. I made it my personal goal to reach the roof and see the history locked away inside this mystifying building.

 
     

  The turn of the century hotel is made of two adjoined but distinct halves; the original smaller half, and the much taller, grandiose addition. Architects Schmidt, Garden & Martin built the original 450-room hotel in 1915 for just over $1.2 million. It was one of the finest hotels in Detroit competing with other upscale hotels like the Statler and the Book-Cadillac. Its French Beaux architecture and attention to detail made it revered quarters among Detroit visitors. Its close proximity to the river and the two train stations; the Michigan Central and Detroit’s Union Station, made it easily accessible to visitors coming into town. Its early success was the catalyst for bigger and better plans. Not one, but two separate 450 room wings would flank each side of the original structure. Designed by Albert Khan, the first new wing opewned in 1927 just a few years before the depression. Because of this unfortunate timing, it would not be one of Kahn’s great architectural achievements. In fact the plans for a third addition that would Gemini the second were scrapped when the hotel started loosing market share due to the lack of a robust economy.
     
The addition’s $2.7 million price tag was a major reason the expansion did not meet expectations. The brand new, and elegant Empire restaurant and Crystal Ballrooms were not enough to get the hotel through the depression unscathed. The Fort Shelby was sold in the mid 1930s to developer J.E. Frawley, who managed the Hotel through its next big boom, WWII. During the war the hotel found itself operating at capacity, but it was a brief resurgence. Years after the war ended the Shelby was sold again to a chain, then later to a group of 20-something heirs and heiresses. During this period in the mid 1970s, it was known more for its wild party atmosphere and even wilder décor. The basement restaurant was converted to the “Subway Disco-Tech”. Yet all this new energy was also very short lived as the young owners found themselves mired in debt, forcing them to close the hotel for good.  

 
     
 

From the years of 2003 until just last summer (August 2007) the Fort Shelby was as open as they come around here. The parking lot; adjacent to the building that faces the Detroit News and Free Press offices offered the best hope for easy access. Sticking straight out of the cracking, beat up cement parking lot sat a skylight. Perplexingly, it sat on the ground level, behind it was a hole, no bigger than a refrigerator, and about eight feet straight down. My first time entering through this hole was in the summer of 2001. I dropped into the basement on top of a pile of wood already stacked neatly under the hole. Before I could get in and explore the building I had to overcome the hotels massive basement. That was my first task upon deciding to scale this urban mountain. The basement was the buildings’ only opening, and it was flooded. It was filled with a toxic brown soup of P.C.B. oil and other hazardous liquid run off witch made it nearly impossible for exploring. Years of rain mixing with decaying materials and chemicals left behind in the old hotel seeped into the lower basement. There wasn’t anyway around it…nodda, nothing, It was a lost cause. Being as ambitious as I am, I almost contemplated making the short swim. I mean it was only 15 feet or so across to the stairway.

 
     

Two years later during a prolonged heat wave I noticed the sludge in the basement was slowly evaporating. By this time I had moved downtown, so I checked almost weekly for my chance. To all my credit, if I didn’t get in it wasn’t going to be for a lack of trying. Just when it seemed like it was never going to happen, a drunken stumble through downtown would change everything. After a Red Wings home game, a friend and I stopped by for a look. The basement was still flooded so I decided to, like always, check the front door. Whallla!!! It was wide open. I jumped back, almost slamming the door shut. I must have checked this door handle over a hundred times and it was always locked up solid. I quickly shut it, but not completely. Leaving it partly open, I talked it over with my friend. We concluded our obvious state of inebriation and lack of supplies warranted leaving and returning the very next night. We made the decision and shut the door, double-checking the handle to be sure it was not locked, then we left. It was extremely hard to leave and have faith that we would not get locked out.

  

 
 
“One of the justifications that allows me, us…and other urban explorers in general to do what we do, without fear or guilt is one in the same; If I don’t explore, then the history, the stories, and the ideals of these buildings would be lost on future generations. Seeing the insides of Detroit’s most derelict buildings, documenting, and publishing the stories for everyone to see may help…in some small way, figure out our past.”
     

Anxiously, my friend and I gathered our nerve, waiting on a misty autumn evening downtown. We stood in front of the remains of the late Statler Hotel. It was in the middle of being torn down. Brick by brick workers picked away at the structure of the old classic hotel. I think seeing the Statler being demolished that afternoon affirmed the idea that I had to do this, it wasn’t a choice.

 

We headed down Washington Avenue and set out to conquer the Shelby. As I opened the door the smell of decaying matter and mold wafted into the air rushing out of the small cracked doorway. I took one last look around and made my entry. I shut the door and locked it. We were in. At night, with the door locked and no other way inside, we had free reign to do and go where we pleased. It was dark and there were no lights in the lobby. The intense smell of asbestoses made it hard to breath, the air was so thick it sometimes choked you. First thing to do was to make mental notes of the floor plan. We walked around the bottom for quite some time admiring the old bar and lobby. The tacky 70s décor mixed with the French architecture was enough to make you grab you throat. A large marble staircase that led us to the ballroom on the second floor was in surprisingly good condition. The ballrooms displayed ornate moldings done by hand, they are one of the highlights of the Fort Shelby Hotel. A small stage on the south end of the room was severely deteriorated and partially collapsing. Its curved ceiling and decorative moldings were all in states of disrepair.

     
Adjacent to the ballroom was a set of elevators completely covered by chipping lead paint. The area glowed a nuclear shade of yellow due to the large work light hanging in the corner. It cast an eerie light across the second floor to the courtyard just out side the adjacent windows. We found the shorter, older section of the hotel was actually hollowed out in the middle, something I had not been aware of before that night. I climbed out to the courtyard through a broken window. The white terra cotta tile of the interior was glistening in a mix of blue and yellow light. The landing was moist and covered in moss and broken glass. Birds had made nests along the windowsills and fire escape running through the center courtyard. Our voices echoed off the slender opening booming towards the sky, scaring many of the pigeons out of their secluded hiding spots. Trees could be seen hanging just over the edge of the landing just above.  

 

 
     

 

Off in one of the attached rooms was an old wood encased telephone patch bay switchboard. This relic was the treasure among all treasures in this building and is featured in the hotels new redevelopment effort. Thick dust, cobwebs and chords lie draped over its council as if it was simply forgotten. More modern automated systems replaced this old antique within the hotels original lifespan, but because it is so massive it was never removed. That was until recently when it was disassembled and painstakingly refurbished to spec. Once it was finished it was moved again and reassembled on site. We continued and moved upstairs in the smaller, older tower we came across endless rooms with missing walls, doorways, and flooring. The sounds of drywall and glass crunched under my foot as I walked slowly through green mossy hallways…taking it all in carefully.

     

Once we made it to the twelfth floor the two adjoined buildings part ways from each other, that’s were we found a place I like to call “hobo’s landing”. This section of rooftop has the feel of a tree house on a skyscraper. Three separate entrances take to you to this one spot. A very healthy tree was growing out from under a steel grated floor, witch kept the area dry and level. The grated, rusting floor was the bottom section of a mangled fire escape that creaked and teetered overhead. I have to say, if I were homeless and out living on the street, this would be my castle. The view of the city, the skyline, and the tower hovering above is enough to make you tingle. This spot traditionally became the halfway point when making the climb to the roof. It was a perfect place to remove your respirator to get fresh air.

 

  
     
 

As I moved from the smaller (older) tower to the, taller (newer) tower I noticed a stark difference; the second edition was more opulent, and obviously newer in its construction method. This part of the Hotel offered guests a luxury that was brand new for its time, running bath water and modernized radiant heating via Detroit’s steam loop. The same familiar signs of decay and neglect remained. The scrappers that had made it inside did a decent job of removing all the copper from the building, along with the other plumbing and electrical piping. Despite that, the worst of the damage to this particular building came from natural erosion. As we made our way to the roof the walls slowly disappeared and the only thing left was the steel frame of the building. What was just a layer of thick dust on the stairs below soon turned into a river of sand, mud, and brick flowing down the stairway. When it rained the water from the roof would flow downward picking up particles from the walls and carrying it to the bottom of the building. It was a challenge just to move upward, having to climb dunes of sand and piles of loose bricks. Heavy steel pipes dangled from overhead. This made every hallway extremely treacherous to walk through. As carefully as possible we explored these top floors, doing our best not to touch anything hanging from the ceiling. But honestly you could not tell where ceiling ended and the floor above began. The very top floor was a mess with wires, pipes, and debris. Everything that wasn’t metal had been slowly weathered away, eroding down to a sediment layer of sand.

     
Reaching the doorway to the roof was always a great feeling. The fresh air and the amazing view always made it worth the climb. The roof was a perfect summit to this metal and brick mountain. Decorative terra cotta pillars crowned the roofs edge. On the west face of the building, between the two lower tiers of rooftop was a notable piece of graffiti. Someone had climbed out on the 8-inch ledge, twenty stories over the ground, to write the name “Zero” in black letters across the very top of the building. This has to be the bravest or the stupidest graffiti writer to ever walk the streets of Detroit. Views of the Ambassador Bridge and river were simply breathtaking, and over the years I have to admit I became very found of this particular building. I often broke my own rules and hiked up to the top alone to think, write, and photograph. Despite being in the middle of a large city this was an unbelievably calming and relaxing place to be. On my second to last trip up to the roof in 2007, I witnessed a double rainbow that had come out after a brief shower stretching across Downtown and over the Detroit River into Canada. It was absolutely a perfect moment in time. I sat there contemplating if this would be my last visit to the dilapidated hotel, if it were, it would be the best possible finally to this chapter in my life.  
     

 

The Fort Shelby is currently re-opening under a new name, “The Double Tree Fort Shelby Hotel”. Its long awaited and overdue restoration was painstakingly carried out by the L.S. Brinker construction firm. Contractors and artisans worked to restore this magnificent hotel to its original glory. Detailed decorative moldings were cast and finished by hand for the ballrooms and lobbies to recreate that French luster the Fort Shelby was so known for. Opening on December 15, 2008, it will be the second of the original “Big Twelve” to be reopened in the past two months. At a cost of $90 million, the mixed-use venture will feature 56 apartments and 203 hotel suites. Also opening are the new ground floor establishments: Finn & Porter’s restaurant, the Bearclaw coffee shop, and my favorite, a new sushi bar.

The opening of this new renovation will also set the precedent for other restorations to begin to take shape. Giving buildings like the David Whitney, the Metropolitan, and the United Artist Building hopes for a new lease on life. Detroit is still a ways away from being the urban metropolis it should be, but every little bit brings a new chapter in the transformation of this area and its comeback story. Once I had made it inside the old hotel, I literally stopped counting the times I made the trek from bottom to top and back again. The Fort Shelby will always be the ghost lingering over the Detroit skyline begging me to come on in. For myself personally, a piece of me still longs for adventures in the old, discarded hotel I came to know so well. To me the Fort Shelby will always be mine. I hope to return soon to my castle made of sand, maybe even actually owning a little piece of it for myself one day.