The Power of a Dream

Beyond empty billboards, lonely highway overpasses, and overgrown vacant lots is Ferry Street, a block of renovated historic brick Victorians in the heart of Detroit. Well-kept lawns and shade trees adorn this neighborhood two miles north of the Detroit River, mostly because of the work and dedication of one builder.

Born in Haiti and educated in New York, Julio Bateau came to Detroit in 1978 after grad school. He intended to earn corporate experience but instead turned his attention to transforming part of the broken-down inner city into a dreamscape of gorgeous homes and soaring property values.

“This place was almost like you see Beirut on TV,” says Bateau. “The whole city was absolutely beautiful in terms of architecture, but it was reminiscent of the 1960s riots” that decimated Detroit: burned-out shells of once-beautiful three-story structures, streets so empty they echoed.

BLOCK AMBASSADOR: Julio Bateau, a Haitian-born Detroit-based builder, stands in front of some of the homes he has renovated on the street he single-handedly rebuilt and can honestly call his own.

After seeing restoration efforts beautify East Coast cities, Bateau sought to do the same for Detroit. He settled on the area known as the Cultural Center, home to the Detroit Institute of Arts, Wayne State University, and Detroit Medical Center buildings. “It begged to be built,” he says.

Developed first in the 1880s as an upper-class residential area, Ferry Street became a fashionable place to live for such esteemed residents as Charles Lang Freer, part-owner of the Peninsular Car Co.; William A. Pungs, vice president of the Michigan Railroad Supply Co.; and architect John Scott, among others. Between 1910 and 1925, the neighborhood became predominantly Jewish, then African American, eventually becoming the residence of Fairview Sanitorium, owned by Dr. Robert Greenidge, Detroit's first black radiologist.

By the time Bateau arrived, the Queen Anne–style dwellings, with French Renaissance and Colonial Revival detailing, were in ruins. No one saw the stonework, tall-hipped roofs, or classical pilasters, nor the turrets or bowed windows. What they saw were dark, vacant holes, abandoned buildings. No one dared develop the area. They were too afraid of fires, vandals, and thieves and didn't want to take a chance on building housing so close to where drug dealers and prostitutes plied their trades.

These details hit home for Bateau, who was all too familiar with the plight of under-served populations in his native Haiti. He'd witnessed the plight of refugees first-hand and had seen what it takes to rebuild broken-down neighborhoods, so he began slowly.

First, Bateau bought 421, now his company's headquarters. The original residence of J.L. Hudson, the head of Detroit's illustrious former department store, this late-1800s 4,000-square-foot Victorian was boarded up and vandalized. But Bateau saw through the damage to its four fireplaces and other details. He knew it could be “absolutely gorgeous.”

Banks, however, were not as optimistic. Though it only cost $400 to buy the dilapidated property, renovation would cost more and Bateau had no money. (All the remodeled units on this block now go for at least $300,000). “One bank said, ‘The only way we'll touch it is if you buy the whole neighborhood,'” Bateau laughs. He finally secured a loan when he consented to do the whole block. He agreed to pay less than $150,000 for five houses on big lots on one side of Ferry between Beaubien and Brush streets. Two years later, he bought the other side of the street as well. Acknowledging now that the banks were right, he says, “It was the only way to stabilize the neighborhood.”

Developing an entire street in a major city usually can only be accomplished by mega-developers. But in a city of ruins it's a risky proposition even for those companies with very deep pockets. Indeed, during the renovation of three corner brownstones, Bateau endured two major fires, back to back. It was enough, he says, “to break anybody's will.”

In 1991, he finished the corner unit and found tenants. He started the second building just in time for another arson. He cleaned it up, finished the job, and started on the third—another fire. Finally, the three units were done, beautiful, and lived-in. The fires stopped. The neighborhood was starting to come to life.

Bateau's finished buildings use locally reclaimed brick. He tries to keep the original façade where possible and often turns 5,000-square-foot mansions into multiple units. To date, he's renovated or constructed anew 11 units plus the townhouse project, Centurion Place, which opened in April 2006. He's currently working on two more houses.

Along the way, Susan T. Mosey, president of the University Cultural Center Association, became Bateau's biggest cheerleader.

“Julio is unique in his appreciation of how small-scale, high-quality historic rehabilitation, when concentrated in a small area, can transform a neighborhood,” says Mosey. “He also understands the value of infill housing and has managed to create a block where the old blends with the new.”

NEW LIFE: These three attached historic homes were Bateau's first rebuild projects on Ferry Street. Burnt-out vacant dwellings before, they now command six figures.

“Thirty years ago, this neighborhood was a combination of vacant land and vacant buildings,” recalls Mosey. “Since he began investing in the neighborhood, over 200 additional units of housing have been built. His projects have been a great catalyst and have proven that a market exists for these types of small-scale residential projects.”

Bateau's work inspired a neighborhood effort, almost as sincere as an old-fashioned barn raising. Everywhere you look, developers are working on projects close to Ferry Street.

“You have to believe in this dream. The city is definitely on its way back,” says Bateau.

Now Ferry Street is home to doctors, professors, businesspeople. The population, once the upper-crust of white Detroit, then the chi-chi upper-edge of black Detroit, is now 60 percent white, 40 percent black, all hard-working, successful folks; people such as Kristine Kidorf, a historical preservationist who lives on Ferry Street. Kidorf rented from Bateau for six years before buying her unit.

“In preservation, we have seen time and time again that one small project tends to instigate other small projects and before you know it, an entire neighborhood is rehabilitated,” Kidorf says. “He is one of a small number of developers who believes in reusing existing building stock instead of tearing down and building new. Where he does new construction on vacant land, he is sensitive to the surrounding buildings and wants new buildings to fit in.”

Indeed, walking along rebuilt Ferry Street, you have to look close to see which houses are new versus renovated homes. That blend, of new and old, of artisan architecture and historic style, is what makes this effort special.

Looking ahead, Bateau has more dreams to fulfill. He wants to add economic diversity to the neighborhood, so he's teamed up with the county and the city on a condominium project.

“It gives me a sense of satisfaction to have made a contribution,” says Bateau. “In a city like this, if everybody who can does their share, it will come a long way from where it is today. If someday people say, ‘This guy from Haiti rebuilt the Cultural Center,' it'll be good enough for me.”