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all the animals.
    â€œHere are the animals you wanted to see, Rachel,” the professor said with a smile.
    Rachel held her nose in disgust. “It smells terrible here. And, these aren’t the kinds of animals I wanted to see.”
    Owen and I put our hands over our mouths so we wouldn’t laugh. Mister Adams laughed out loud, like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.
    Professor Tuesday stopped in front of a row of buildings. Some looked to be houses. Most of them were made of wood. A few of them were built with bricks or stone. Laundry was hung over ropes on the porches. Besides houses, some of the other buildings looked like stores. People went in and often came out with baskets full of goods or bundles tied with brown string.
    Rachel and I were interested in seeing the different clothing people wore in this frontier town. Everywhere you looked there was something different. Even though it was a warm day, most women wore long dresses. None of them wore shorts or pants. Many of the women had bonnets on their heads. Some of the men wore white shirts with ties and a jacket. Boys ran in the street wearing short pants. We thought everybody dressed funny.
    Still, there was much more to see in Detroit.

The Pothole
Detroit—July 1837
    A s we walked by a narrow alley, we saw children playing with a ball. They were batting it around with sticks in the dirt, chasing back and forth.
    â€œLooks like they’re playing hockey,” Owen said. “I play on a travel team.”
    â€œI don’t think they are playing hockey,” Rachel said. “Get real, Owen.”
    The professor stopped and pointed toward the far end of the main street. “Over 150 years from now, the Joe Louis Arena will be built right there.”
    â€œThat’s where the Red Wings play, isn’t it?” Owen asked.
    â€œYes, it is,” answered the professor.
    Suddenly a big ruckus broke out down the street. We ran to see what was going on. A man with a bandanna on his head was having a problem. The cart he was pushing down the street was stuck in a deep rut. He was blocking traffic in the road, and people were yelling at him. No matter how hard the man pushed, the cart wouldn’t budge.
    Rachel and I watched Mister Adams as Owen and Professor Tuesday went over to help. They put their backs to the cart as the man pulled from the front. After some pushing and shoving, the cart was out of the rut.
    â€œDanke,” said the man.
    â€œGern geschehen,” said Professor Tuesday.
    â€œWhat was that?” I asked.
    â€œHe said ‘thank you’ and I said ‘you are welcome’ in German,” answered the professor.
    â€œCool,” Owen said. “AH-H-H-CHOOO!”
    â€œGesundheit,” Professor Tuesday said with a big smile. “That means ‘good health’ in German.”
    As we walked off, a man came out of a house and started yelling at the professor. He was really, really mad about something. The professor tried his best to calm him down. Though we couldn’t understand what Professor Tuesday was saying, it appeared as though he was telling the man he was sorry. Before long, the man stomped off back into his house.
    â€œOops,” said the professor, “I forgot.”
    Mister Adams ran up to him and hugged the professor’s knees.
    The professor patted his nephew on the head. “Its okay, Mister Adams.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong, Professor?” Owen asked.
    Professor Tuesday rubbed the back of his neck as he explained. “You see, in the 1800s the streets in Detroit had a lot of potholes. The people who lived near big ruts, like the one back there, claimed the right to help pull wagons out of the mud for a price. So, when we helped that German fellow get his wagon out of the mud, the property owner got angry because he lost a chance to make some extra money.”
    â€œCrazy,” said Owen. “You’re telling me that people