The Hofmann Building was designed by one of Detroit’s most prominent architects, but it was its role in the labor and civil rights movements that make it worth remembering.

Before there was the Hofmann, there was the Hofman

The building was erected on the former site of the Burnstine Apartments, one of the more fashionable apartment buildings on Woodward Avenue in the late 19th century. By 1901, it was known as the Sibley Apartments. In 1909, the building was bought by a German woman whose last name was Hofman, who added a floor to the building. At this point, it was turned into the Hotel Hofman, operated by Frank Wadham and M.A. Shaw.

Not long after, the property was acquired by Hugo Scherer, a prominent figure in Detroit’s industrial and commercial circles for four decades. In the 1870s, Scherer bought his father and his partner out of their buggy manufacturing business. With the arrival of the automobile, the H. Scherer & Co. switched to making automobile parts, which made Scherer a very wealthy man.

This led him into getting into real estate, with his holdings including the Empire, Fine Arts Building and Adams Theatre, Broadway Central, Plaza Hotel, and the Strand and Garden theaters. He also once owned what is now the 12-bedroom Governor's Summer Residence on Mackinac Island, built in 1902. In addition to high-rises, he developed residential neighborhoods across the city, and at the time of his death on Nov. 6, 1923, at age 64, his portfolio held nearly 100 properties.

The Hofman Hotel would lead a dignified but rather unspectacular history until Jan. 26, 1920, when a fire destroyed the hotel and damaged several other buildings on the block. One man was killed in the blaze.

Scherer set out to rebuild, though he would build taller and fancier than the old hotel. Work to clear the fire-ravaged ruins to make way for what would become the Hofmann Building began in April 1922.

Bigger and better things

To design the hotel’s replacement, Scherer turned to Louis Kamper, the same architect who had designed his 57-room Colonial Revival home at 195 Lake Shore Drive in Grosse Pointe Farms in 1898 (The home was demolished in the 1980s.)

Kamper came up with a 10-story, steel-framed high-rise for Scherer in a Neo Gothic style similar to the Real Estate Exchange Building he had designed five years earlier.

This new addition to the Detroit skyline would stretch 66 feet along Woodward Avenue and 140 feet on Sibley Street. It would have three storefronts on the ground floor along Woodward and four more along Sibley. The building’s second story was also divided into storefronts, with the rest of the floors going to office tenants. Each floor was about 7,000 square feet.

“The completed building, it is promised, will be the tallest and handsomest in the Woodward Avenue business district north of Grand Circus Park,” the Detroit Free Press reported April 9, 1922.

The general contractor on the building was Everitt, Winters Co., and it cost about $750,000 to build, the equivalent of about $15 million in 2026 valuation, when adjusted for inflation.

Though the project would not be named at the time of its announcement in 1922, Scherer decided to stick with the Hofman name. The new Hofman Building was completed in May 1923. Scherer would die six months later of heart failure, but his family would continue to own and manage the new skyscraper.

Hofman? Hofmann? Hoffman? Hoffmann?

For reasons that are unclear, around 1929, the building’s name was changed from the Hofman Building to the Hofmann Building. There was a wealthy attorney in the building at this time named Egbert M. Hofmann - is it possible that the spelling of the building's name was changed in exchange for a fee? Sadly, newspaper archives shed no light on the mystery. But what is clear is that the change led to constant confusion, as newspapers often misspelled the building’s name. Even postcards issued of the building had its name spelled "Hoffman" on them. Even advertisements for office space in the building varied the spelling of its name. There was also a Hoffmann's Men's Wear in the Hofmann Building in the 1940s, though it’s possible the store’s owner was a Hoffmann and it was just a crazy coincidence - but who knows? A photo of the building shows the name spelled Hofmann on its upper floors, though, so that's about as official as one can get.

Among the office tower's earlier tenants were the Central Mutual Auto Insurance Co., Detroit Academy of Art, the Cadillac Association of the Deaf, National Shingle Lock Roofers, the International Vaudeville Exchange, Kalec aerial and commercial photography, and the eighth floor was home to the Detroit Chess and Checker Club. Architect William H. Adams had offices in the building in the late 1920s, as did the architectural firm Pollmar, Ropes, Dundy in the 1940s. The Michigan Civil Rights Federation was based in the Hofmann until about 1948.

But its most notable inhabitants were unions. The Congress of Industrial Organizations (CIO) opened its offices in the building on July 12, 1937. The American Federation of Labor, the United Automobile Workers of American (UAW), a bartender's union and others would set up shop there, too. The building also was home to the Detroit branch of the International Labor Defense (ILD).

It would be the latter that would underscore the racism rampant in Detroit during the 1930s.

A policy of discrimination

In 1935, G.R. Perry of the Hugo Scherer Estate Inc. wrote the ILD a letter informing that “it has come to our attention that you have some colored people in your employ. Some of the tenants in the building are complaining about this, and as it is against the rules of our building, we must ask you to either discharge your colored help or move from the building.”

Anthony Gerlack, district secretary for the ILD, told The Tribune Independent, a Black newspaper, for a front-page article on March 9, 1935, that “under no condition will the International Labor Defense accept this open case of discrimination against the Negro people without sharply exposing it to the people of Detroit. The notice to move given us because we have Negro workers employed is a direct violation of the U.S. Constitution and the Michigan State Constitution, which give Negro citizens all civil rights.

“We will do all in our power to stop this discrimination. Not only will we not discharge our Negro officials and members, but we will take steps to protect their rights in all respects.”

ILD attorney Maurice Sugar served notice to the Hugo Scherer Estate Inc. that court action would be instituted if, the Detroit Tribune reported March 9, 1935, "they persist in their discrimination against Negro citizens in violation of the Michigan Civil Rights Act."

Unfortunately, none of the major dailies covered the discrimination story, only the Tribune Independent did - and searches through its archives hold no clues on the resolution to the case.

In 1950, the NAACP announced that legal action was being taken against the Verdi Bar inside the Hofmann Building for civil-rights violations.

Anti-union sentiment is an understatement

It is important to remember the incredible amount of violence targeted at unions during the 1930s and ‘40s.

For instance, UAW President Walter P. Reuther and his brother, UAW educational director Victor G. Reuther, were both shot at through windows of their homes within a 13-month period. Walter Reuther partly lost use of his right arm in an April 20, 1948, attack; Victor Reuther lost his right eye in the attempt on his life on May 26, 1949.

On Dec. 20, 1949, someone covered a box of 39 sticks of dynamite in Christmas wrapping paper and placed it on basement stairs at the UAW-CIO international headquarters at 411 W. Milwaukee St. at Cass Avenue. The fuses were charred, meaning those in the building only narrowly escaped disaster. An untold number of lives were thankfully spared because the friction tape used to bind the fuse to the detonator had been wound so tightly, it choked off the burning fuse within just an eighth of an inch of the explosive. This building - bought by the UAW in 1942 - was just across from the General Motors World Headquarters and had previously housed GM executive offices. The UAW maintained offices in the Hofmann after the purchase, however.

"The dynamiter knew what he was about, and he meant business," Joseph V. Krug, head of the city’s special investigation squad, told The Detroit News for a Dec. 21, 1949, article on the bombing attempt. "This was not a 'scare' attempt. So far as I can recall, it is the largest amount of dynamite ever used in a single attempt of this kind in Detroit."

These were just a sample of the dozens of attempts on union members' lives during this era. Because the Hofmann Building was a hive of organized-labor activity, it is not surprising that it found itself involved in several such attacks.

On March 10, 1937, two glass containers were smashed in the Hofmann Building’s fifth-floor corridor, filling the halls with tear gas and driving nearly 100 people out onto Woodward Avenue gasping for air.

Ray Dooe, a business agent of the CIO, had three attempts on his life in 1947 alone. On Sept. 30, 1947, Dooe found a stick of dynamite and a half-burned 2-foot fuse under the front seat of his car parked near the Hofmann Building, where he was attending a union meeting. Just a few months later, that November, Dooe's car was blown up by a dynamite blast near the Hofmann Building, but he was not in it when it exploded.

The Hofmann Building also found itself with a peculiar tenant because of its union ties. The federal government rented a suite in the Hofmann next door to the UAW’s offices, according to the book “The Turbulent Years: A History of the American Worker” by Irving Bernstein. The G-men used a fake name and cover for the business, and it was alleged that Uncle Sam’s spies listened in to UAW meetings and bugged their phones.

Just something off, man, about the Hofmann

The building's woes weren't tied to just the UAW and CIO, however.

In May 1925, Wayne County Prosecutor Robert M. Toms announced that an investigation was under way into the Connors Thrift League, an organization on the third floor of the Hofman Building. The firm was registered March 27, 1925, and in less than two months, hundreds of Detroiters would find themselves duped. The Thrift League, you see, was more of a theft league.

It was alleged that the league would have subscribers pay $2 a month with the league (about $38 in 2026 valuation, when adjusted for inflation) for a chance to be randomly selected as the winner of a piece of jewelry. If they hadn't won the sweepstakes, once they had paid a total of $50 (about $954 in 2026 money), they could select a piece of jewelry valued at that amount. Toms said by that May, 15 to 20 Detroiters were calling his office every day to complain, saying that when they showed up at the Hofmann Building to claim their jewelry, they found the offices closed and signs saying the firm was out of business. The thing was, though, that the league had not filed for bankruptcy - but it was certainly headed that way.

A Mrs. H.J. Cheyne of suburban Ferndale, Mich., explained to The Detroit News for a May 14, 1925, story how she got scammed. She said a man knocked on her door and "told me that all I had to do was to pay $2 a week to the league for 25 weeks, and at the end of that time, I could pick out any piece of jewelry valued at $50 the league had in its offices. He said that prizes were given to one of the members of the league every week, and that the number of the members would be confined to 50 persons. The prizes, he said, would be worth $50 and would be given to the (winning) member regardless of how many payments he or she had made. The man told me that I might make one payment and get a prize, or make two or three, but in any event, if a prize was not forthcoming before I had made my 25 payments, I would still get something worth $50 at the end of that time. I didn't ask him how the prizes were awarded, but he left the impression that it was some sort of a lottery. I needed a wrist watch, so I joined the league. The same man came to my home every week to collect the payment. 'You didn't get a prize this week,' he used to tell me when he came for the money, and always added, 'You might be the lucky one next week.' ... I had kept my connection with the league a secret from my husband, but when I told him, he was very angry and reported the matter to the police. I don't suppose I'll ever get the watch now."

Toms said that the hundreds of investors in the scheme would be out of luck when the affairs were finally settled. Despite having some $12,000 in liabilities (about $229,000 in 2025), investigators found only $550 in assets (about $10,500), which were to be divvied up among those who were scammed. In one parting con, the league's founders - F.J. Laughlin and E.A. Caniff - sold the racket to J.F. Madden for just $300, leaving him on the hook for all the outfit's liabilities. Quickly realizing he had made a terrible mistake, Madden executed a trust mortgage for $12,000 in an attempt to cover the liabilities and auctioned off the league's stock to try to protect himself and raise money to keep it going. Madden got just $550 - which was then seized in order to compensate Laughlin and Madden's victims. Investigators were unable to track down Laughlin or Madden, as both men had skipped town.

On Sept. 20, 1928, four armed men kidnapped Max Ruben, business agent of the Motion Picture Operators union, from his office on the eighth floor of the Hofman Building. A strike had been threatened following a wage dispute between the union members and theater owners, which was thought to be the reason for his kidnapping. Police looked into whether the notorious Purple Gang was behind the abduction, given its history of extortion schemes, but that was ruled out. Ruben was freed after three men were arrested in Toledo, Ohio, in connection with the abduction.

"They dragged me down the elevator, pushed me into an automobile and blindfolded me," Ruben recalled to The Detroit News in a Sept. 25, 1928, article. “Then they covered me with blankets, and we drove for hours. I haven't the slightest idea where we stopped or where they kept me. ... I haven't an idea of who did it. I have no private enemies. No ransom was mentioned and no conditions on which I would be freed."

Trading chaos for peace and quiet

The last three decades of the building’s life would be far quieter than the first three.

Despite the tear gas and car bombings, it wasn’t until the Michigan Telephone Co. leased the majority of the Hofmann Building in 1951 that the unions were kicked out. Michigan Bell rebranded the Hofmann as the Yellow Pages Building. After getting the boot, the Michigan CIO Council bought 5429 Second Ave. as its new state headquarters, and the Wayne County CIO Council purchased 3462 E. Jefferson.

By the early 1960s, the Michigan Employment Security Commission had moved into the building. Detroiters could seek job-placement assistance at the MESC for pretty much any non-manufacturing type of jobs you could think of, even holiday gigs dressing up as Santa Claus. "We need men who don't drink, who can read and write and use good English," an MESC spokesman told the Free Press for a Nov. 1, 1962, article about the hunt for a few good St. Nicks. "They also should be jovial, like children and own a couple of strong knees."

Though employment assistance was certainly an important service, things were awfully quiet at the building compared to its tumultuous past.

At some point over the years, the building lost its ornate Neo Gothic ornamentation.

As Detroit’s fortunes began to dwindle and office buildings downtown began to bleed tenants, the building found itself under City of Detroit ownership. With no need for the space and no money to fix the building up or market it to tenants, the City put out requests for proposals to demolish the building in the spring of 1983.

It would fall in 1984, and the site would remain a surface-level parking lot for decades until 2015, when construction began on Little Caesars Arena.