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Journal Entry EssayIn the twentieth century, the diary of my Irish ancestor, researcher Robert Shorts, was found during an Estate sale. He immigrated from Ireland in the early 1850s as a teenager and spent the later part of his spirit as Detroits Detective and, later, police force Chief. The following are his words. October 24, 1872, Detroit. It was a dark time. The city had been safe since the 1830s, so safe that women could walk about without their husbands or go to work without an escort. Now. Well, now things were dark. I found myself standing alongside the latest victim, pretty, well-dressed, not a prostitute.A lady of means, murdered in bighearted daylight. I wondered what the world was coming to. Back in Ireland, this never would have happened to her. Things were different there. The main difference being that in Ireland, you knew where the bad neighborhoods were, and unless you were there for reasons unmentionable, you avoided them homogeneous the plaguefor thats wh at it would get you, and that would be the best of things. Things had changed so much if you didnt know the new buildings in town you could get easily illogical and wind up in a bad spot.Which is probably what happened to the lady, I considered. I saw nothing that would have fixd her in this dark road that used to be a small, slightly urban park. My hand rested on my pistol as the citys finest surrounded me to take pictures of the delineation and lay the tape that would seal this womans fate in history as one of the first victims of organized evil. December 26, 1880, Detroit. I was named Police Chief today, called in to work to have the torch handed down to me as the last Police Chief had been murdered by vindictive members of the mob.As of yet, we have apprehended no one in the cursed plague of murders that have been a result of their organized crime since I began as Detective on the force in the early 1870s. As the holiday passed me without celebration, I began to wonder why I ever came to this country. I came alone, without parents to support me, and with only my marbles to get me to this country of freedom and inspiration. America. Land of the free, brave, and dangerous. I dont know what most immigrants were thinking or where we got such ideas.But, in trading crime for commerce, it is true that I make more(prenominal)(prenominal) in wages in one month today than I ever made in more than two years of factory work back in Ireland. Yet, in looking out my window, I considered what there was to feel inspired about when more than six slaughterhouses surrounded the precinct. I had to endure the rancid smell of rotting meat day in and day out while I worked my cases. The mayor has promised change in the area of expansion, and a business district, which would place the markets and businesses on a different block, but that ideal seems a long way off.The cover said today that the city has seen extensive growth, moving the population from two thousand to mor e than one hundred sixteen thousand in the past times liter years (Schneider, 3). Thats more than one hundred thousand people who have moved within the city lines in the past fifty years. Its no wonder the city is floundering in crime and un-planned expansion. From what Ive seen, this dramatic increase has done more for the volume of crime and murder than it has for the achievement or development of the city, but there is hope of a revitalization from the industrial revolution sweeping the nation, even reaching a dark place like Detroit.