You’ve probably seen the clips. A man in a sharp suit, leaning into a microphone with a look of utter disbelief, shouting “Point of order!” or maybe getting escorted out of a room by police while he keeps right on talking. To the TikTok and Instagram world, Eric Mays was a viral sensation—the unfiltered king of city council chaos. But if you actually live in Flint, Michigan, or you’ve followed the city’s rough timeline over the last decade, you know he was a whole lot more than a meme.
Eric Mays was complicated. That’s the simplest way to put it. He was a 1st Ward councilman who fought like a dog for his constituents, yet he spent a significant chunk of his career suspended or in legal trouble. He died in February 2024 at the age of 65, leaving behind a legacy that people in Flint are still arguing about today. Some saw him as a hero of the people; others saw him as a professional disruptor who made it impossible for the city to move forward.
Honestly, both things might be true.
The Water Crisis: When Mays Was Right
Long before the national media showed up with their cameras, Eric Mays was ringing the alarm. People forget that part. When the city switched its water source to the Flint River in 2014, residents in the 1st Ward started complaining almost immediately. Their water was brown. It smelled like a swamp. Their kids were getting rashes.
While other officials were busy reciting talking points about how the water met all safety standards, Mays was the one standing up in meetings, demanding real answers. He didn’t care if he looked "unprofessional." In 2015, he even hosted his own public meeting because he felt the city wasn't listening. Hundreds of people showed up. They were desperate.
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Mays pushed for a state of emergency long before it actually happened. He knew the system was failing his people. If you want to understand why his ward kept re-electing him—even when he was getting arrested or caught in weird scandals—it’s because of this. He was there when nobody else was. He spoke for the "little guy" in a city that felt abandoned by everyone from the Governor on down.
A Career Built on Conflict
Mays didn't just stumble into politics. He was a Flint guy through and through. Born in '58, he went to Flint Northern High and eventually Michigan State. He worked at GM, was active in the UAW, and basically spent his whole life around the grit of the city.
But his path was never smooth.
- The 2013 Incident: Right after he got elected to the council for the first time, he was arrested for impaired driving. He was found on the expressway, facing the wrong way, with four flat tires. He ended up serving 28 days in jail for it in 2016.
- The Laptop Saga: There was that weird time in 2017 when he pawned his city-issued laptop for $100. He claimed he didn't realize it was a big deal, but it became a huge talking point for his critics.
- The Nazi Salute: In 2020, during a particularly heated meeting, he compared the council president to Adolf Hitler and gave a Nazi salute. He got stripped of his leadership roles for that one.
He was constantly at war with his colleagues. He sued the mayor, the police chief, and the city itself multiple times. He felt there was a conspiracy to silence him. His fellow council members, meanwhile, just wanted to get through a meeting without a three-hour argument over a "point of order."
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Why Eric Mays Went Viral
It’s kinda fascinating how a local councilman from a mid-sized Michigan city became a global internet star. His "don't give a damn" attitude was perfect for the social media era. Clips of him saying "You're out of order!" or getting removed from his seat while yelling "I'm coming back!" resonated with people who are tired of polished, fake politicians.
To the internet, he was "Uncle Eric."
But back in Flint, those viral moments had real-world consequences. When Mays was suspended, the 1st Ward didn't have a voice on the council. During his final months in late 2023 and early 2024, he was serving a 90-day suspension for "conduct unbecoming a council member." He was fighting that suspension in court right up until the day he passed away at his home.
The tragedy of Eric Mays is that his greatest strength—his refusal to back down—was also his greatest weakness. It made him a fearless advocate during the water crisis, but it also made him a pariah in the very room where he needed to pass laws and get things done for his neighbors.
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The Aftermath and the Legend
When he died, the city was torn. Mayor Sheldon Neeley, who had been Mays' primary political rival for years, called it a "tremendous loss." The flag at City Hall was lowered to half-staff. Thousands of people watched his funeral.
There was a real sense that an era had ended. Whether you loved him or hated him, you couldn't ignore him. He forced people to pay attention to the North Side of Flint.
What We Can Learn From the Mays Era
If you’re looking at the story of Eric Mays Flint Michigan and wondering what the takeaway is, it’s about the raw, messy nature of local democracy. Flint is a city that has been through hell. It’s a place where trust in government is basically zero. In that environment, a loud, confrontational figure like Mays makes sense.
He showed that:
- Persistence matters. He lost several times before he finally won his seat, and he never stopped fighting once he got it.
- Style vs. Substance is a tricky balance. His viral fame brought attention to Flint, but his behavior often stalled the actual work of the city.
- Representation is personal. His constituents didn't care about his "outbursts" because they felt he was the only one who truly understood their struggle.
Next Steps for Following the Legacy:
To really understand the impact he left, you should look into the current 1st Ward representation in Flint and see how they are handling the same issues of blight and infrastructure that Mays championed. You can also watch the full, unedited Flint City Council archives—not just the TikTok clips—to see the actual legislative battles he engaged in regarding the city's budget and American Rescue Plan Act (ARPA) funds.