Detroit Mayor's Race Is in Home Stretch

A $2 billion riverfront development is underway, and the city is sponsoring an expensive spruce-up in anticipation of Super Bowl XL, scheduled for Feb. 5 at Detroit's Ford Field.

"There are things happening, but the progress is slow," said Richard E. Blouse Jr., president and chief executive of the Detroit Regional Chamber of Commerce, which did not endorse a candidate this year after supporting Kilpatrick in 2001. He said the business community is "split down the middle."

"The first task of the mayor is to deal with the finances. Public safety has got to be the most important thing you protect, but there's a lot of waste at city hall," Blouse said. He called the city council "totally dysfunctional" and warned that working with the council will be a challenge in itself.

"Every day, I think we lose more people," said Blouse, noting that Detroit's middle class is the group most able to escape crime, poor schools and high taxes. "What you're left with is a city of poor people."

Former Democratic activist Dan Mulhern said Detroit's future remains uncertain.

"It's a city going both ways at the same time. It is on the rise and declining," said Mulhern, who is married to Michigan Gov. Jennifer M. Granholm (D). "The question is how do you get to a tipping point on the positive forces and level off the declining forces."

Hendrix, former chief of staff to two-term mayor Dennis W. Archer, painted a dark picture in an interview last week at his campaign headquarters. He said the city "is going in all the wrong directions." His own political jujitsu is a promise to deliver more efficient public services and stronger growth while bringing the city's budget under control and lowering taxes to make Detroit more attractive to workers and entrepreneurs.

He attacked the Kilpatrick administration for incompetence, inexperience and misplaced priorities symbolized by the mayor's own spending.

Kilpatrick, who declined to be interviewed, is a charismatic speaker who was elected Democratic leader of the Michigan House at age 30, one year before he became the nation's youngest big-city mayor. His mother, Carolyn Cheeks Kilpatrick, is a member of Congress. He wore a diamond stud in his ear and rode a wave of enthusiasm only to suffer a series of wounds, often self-inflicted.

Nicknamed the "playah mayah" in the hip-hop magazine the Source, Kilpatrick reportedly rang up $210,000 on his city MasterCard during his first three years -- including $946 at the Washington nightclub Dream and a Las Vegas spa -- and maintained an 18-member security force during a time of layoffs.

He and aides spent $144,000 from the city's petty cash account for such expenses as Detroit Lions tickets and a skybox to see the Rolling Stones, as well as catered meals for the weekly cabinet meeting, the Detroit Free Press found. After first denying it, he owned up to leasing a cherry red Lincoln Navigator for his wife and three children at a two-year cost of $24,995.

"He allowed some of the hype to go to his head. He started some things and didn't finish them. We're almost in receivership now," said airlines ramp supervisor Kelvin Atwater, 35, who voted for him. "People are starting to see through things. People want change."

Hendrix beat Kilpatrick soundly in the 10-candidate August primary, garnering 44 percent of the vote to the incumbent's 34 percent.

Yet when Kilpatrick rose to speak at Wednesday's funeral for Rosa Parks, he drew one of the loudest cheers of the day from the crowd of 4,000. He followed speakers, preachers and some of the Democratic Party's glitterati, including former president Bill Clinton.

Kilpatrick, who recently shed the earring and the moniker of "hip-hop mayor" to appear more serious, joked about the Republican leadership in Washington and talked of inspiration and humility. He then made a comment about Parks's courage and steadfastness that the largely black crowd reacted to slowly, then with louder applause, cheers and finally a standing ovation.

"Thank you, Mrs. Parks," Kilpatrick said, "for showing us in your womanhood what a man's supposed to do."

The night before, as she waited to view Parks's body, bank employee Debora Vann, 48, said she believes Kilpatrick understands.

"I think he deserves a chance. It takes more than four years to straighten things out," said Vann, who believes Detroit is slowly coming back. "It doesn't seem like a big wasteland anymore."

Staff writer Eric Pianin in Washington contributed to this report.