Built By, Driven By,nPaid For BynAn AmericannBut that’s in keeping with Ann Arbor’snrise in the era of the Rust Belt.nThe city was never betrothed to thenstate’s auto industry. It has long refusednsuitors, and now it has health andnwealth to show for its independence.nLots of imaginative people and smallnenergetic companies, most of whichnyou’ve never heard of, have a stake innthe new prosperity, as do special researchndivisions of large corporations,nsuch as Schlumberger and Chrysler.nEntwine all these in the scientificnand professional tentacles of the Universitynof Michigan, and you get stability.nYet, for all this, Ann Arbor seemsnreluctant to acknowledge, let alone benproud of, its recently elevated station.nIt is as if the city and citizens wouldnrather suppress their birth pangs thanncelebrate new life. Living here for twonyears, I’ve come to wonder why.nIt’s easy to admire Ann Arbor’snmodesty about its business life and thensentiment that says, “Well, if you’renlooking for name recognition, you’dnbetter go elsewhere.” But you have tontake exception the minute you turnninto a big corporate complex just offnPlymouth Road.nThere stands the world headquartersnof Domino’s Pizza. Tom Monahan,nthe founder of this fast-food empire,nhas faithfully projected the architecturalnstyle of Frank Lloyd Wright onto anbuilding the size of several airplanenhangars. In the remote theology ofnAmerican architecture, Monahan hasnno doubt committed heresy. But to usnregular blokes, the thin, deeply rednbrick,, the long slices of windows, andnthe corrugated copper roof are freshnand pleasing.nAgain, overall, Ann Arborites don’tnseem much taken with the local boy’snmaking good. Tom Monahan seems antrifle obsessed, not only with Wrightnbut with sports, public life, and antiquenautomobiles. Monahan’s passion fornsports extends from his ownership ofnthe Detroit Tigers to an insistence onnregular athletic events — and clean living—nfor all his employees. AndnMonahan could hardly be more activenin mainstream civic life, especially duringnthe Christmas holiday season.nIt is true that the pizza magnaten42/CHRONICLESnspent over $8 million at auction onnEttore Bugatti’s personal limousine, anyellow and black, hand-built, 16-cylindernroad locomotive. But the Dominoncar collection, open to the public atnlow cost, is otherwise marked not bynostentation but a decidedly catholicntaste. Alongside a vintage Packardntown car sits a World War II Willys, an1920’s delivery truck, and a tiny rednBMW Isetta—like a rounded iceboxnwith its front-opening door. (Monahannis now making bold to restore an AMCnPacer, one of the few distinctive cars ofnthe 1970’s.)nBut, as I say, all this doesn’t sit wellnwith certain Ann Arborites. As a pointnof pride they will even order pizzasnfrom rival firms — local small fry whosenpies aren’t as varied, dependable, orngood as Monahan’s fare. For the localnelite that prides itself on being abovenprofit and spectacle, Tom Monahan’snorange and blue dominos will remain ansymbol of A2’s unwelcome new phase,nwhile for the rest of us, Ann Arbornseems like a city for the 1980’s, bignenough for Monahan and everyonenelse.nThe Ann Arbor contingent that is sonreluctant to celebrate the city’s boomnwould be familiar on sight to anyonenwho has recently lived in a universityntown. A vast number—easily thousands—nof Ann Arborites emphaticallyndo not live in the 1980’s, but in then1960’s. In a nonacademic town theynwould have molted and kept the faithnin harmless ways like listening to Byrdsnalbums, but here their colony is sonlarge and noisy that they need not shedna thing.nAnn Arbor’s unsteady balance of then1960’s and 1980’s—let us say, of thenlife-rejecting and life-affirming —nprobably explains why this healthy spotnin a declining industrial region remainsnbashful and uncertain of its identity. Atnthis writing it is hard to imagine anreconciliation between the city’s NewnLeft hangers-on and the ambitiousnnewcomers. But the two flocks donmingle, mainly at the Farmer’s Marketnin antique Kerrytown, the city’s onlyncertified yuppie district. There thenNicaragua activists rub shoulders withnthe BMW set, and to complete thenirony who should be watching but thenmost original Ann Arborites of all, thenones lately being displaced by thencondos and tech centers — the Mid­nnnwestern farmers and their wives andnchildren. One may wonder what thenfarmers think as they pocket dollar billsnfrom the boomers and the doomersnalike. Probably they don’t care a pea, asnlong as land taxes stay low.nThe special qualities of the AnnnArbor’s Farmer’s Market suggests ancure for the clumsiness of the growingncity. For starters, this farmer’s market isnthe real thing. It happens only twice anweek, only local farmers are allowed tonrent stalls, and they can sell only whatnthey themselves grow. No docking atnthe Detroit food warehouses and loadingnflats of California tomatoes. Thentomatoes, therefore, and the broccoli,nthe strawberries, and the cider, actuallynhave flavor, and the local grower alonentakes home local money.nThis, of course, is in almost everynparticular the food-sector opposite ofnthe Domino’s pizza empire. But acceptancenof the inconsistency is centralnto Ann Arbor’s — even America’s —ncoming of age. For beneath the agrariannmodel of the marketplace and thencorporate model of Domino’s deliveryntruck is the foundation of individualneffort and commitment to superiornquality. Once effort and quality arenassured, materials themselves must dictatenthe ideal means of distribution.nGood strawberries don’t ship well;ngood pizzas do.nThis lesson, which could delivernAnn Arbor from its cultural schizophrenia,nwill be lost on the socialists atnthe Nicaragua table at the Farmer’snMarket. They will go on hectoringnpassersby, giving money and puttingnon street theater to support Juigalpa,nwhich was once Ann Arbor’s sister citynin Nicaragua. But in this — particularlynin the “was” — one finds cause fornhope. Last year, the citizenry woke upnand elected a Republican mayor whonpromptly terminated the A2-Sandinistanconnection.nAt first I thought the vote was anfluke. But I see now that it was of anpiece in a city that simultaneouslynhouses new research centers, thenFarmer’s Market, socialist collective livingncooperatives, fresh-clipped newcomers,nand the enormous and diversenUniversity of Michigan. The morenthese forces respond to each other, thenmore mature the city will become, andnthe less it will seem to command thatnone pick between 1960’s gloomtownn