Lafayette would soon grow into Detroit's newspaper row. Of the many newspapers that served the city in 1906, only two remain, The Detroit News and Detroit Free Press. Both the Free Press and News still have their main offices on Lafayette just a few blocks west of this intersection.

The Free Press operated out of the building pictured here on 131 W. Lafayette from 1913 until 1925, when they moved into their current, Albert Kahn-designed showpiece.

E.D. Stair, part-owner and guiding light of the Free Press from 1906 to 1940, rode the waves of consolidation and shutdown that characterized the newspaper business of the era. He took a controlling interest in the Free Press in 1917, but sold his interest in the Detroit Tribune to the rival Detroit News in 1922.

In the picture at right, newsmen work in the remarkably clean Detroit Tribune office of 1899.

Twelve years after the panorama photos were taken, the pie-shaped building at the corner of Michigan and Lafayette saw the birth of an another enduring Detroit landmark, the Lafayette Coney Island restaurant. Serving nothing but chili dogs, this cramped "greasy spoon" has outlasted scores of more refined eateries whose fortunes declined with the city.

The chili dogs, unique to Detroit, feature a traditional-casing hot dog served on a steamed bun topped with chili, chopped raw onions, and a stripe of mustard. The uniqueness lies in the chili, a blend of mashed beans and chopped beef heart which was concocted by the immigrant Greek family that started the business.

Detroiters cherish the place for the special character of the staff as much as for the food. Orders are not written down but shouted back to the open grill by white-apron-clad waiters (all male, always) who engage the customers with a rude familiarity. They all shout in a sort of generic Balkan accent that is bellowed without regard for the customers' comfort. "One up!" is the most common cry, indicating one chili dog on one plate. The food is delivered in less than a minute, with the drinks served up in the interval. If one orders a bottled beverage, the waiter removes the cap with the edge of a table knife and sends the cap willy-nilly into the dining area without regard for its landing spot. On a busy night, the floor is littered with caps.

Your waiter descends on the table as soon as the last morsel is in your mouth (though not yet chewed) and demands payment without explanation or visible calculation.

The restaurant is open all hours, but the menu is always the same, lunch, dinner, or breakfast, and many a Detroiter has begun his day with the artery-clogging, intestine-ripping house specialty.

Perhaps the secret of the Lafayette Coney Island's survival is its simplicity and refusal to change. The fixtures and decor are ancient, though perhaps not the original as one of the staff recently suggested. (The customary rudeness demanded that he not reply honestly when asked when the place was last refurbished.) But certainly, the white hollows burnished into the cross-hatch pattern formica counter and table tops testify to decades of damp-cloth wipe downs by the brusque and efficient staff.

The Lafayette Coney Island is a remnant of the literally hundreds of quick-service lunch counters that once served downtown's busy workers and shoppers. Lunch counters were popular in drug stores (at left), department stores, and office building basements. The flight of office workers and the rise of the company cafeteria gradually destroyed the business, and even national-chain fast-food restaurants have had a hard time making a go of it.