Almost forgot

Not to toot my own horn, but for several weeks I told you guys about a project I was working on that involved me staying a few nights and spending a few weeks in a historically tough neighborhood and analyzing the place from the residents' perspective, rather than the usual drive-by glance at the "spooky 'hood."

The story ran in Sunday's paper. Here is the link. Warning!!!! It's a long article. Hope you have a few minutes.

Neighborhood Associations

I am recovering tonight from having attended a 'hood association meeting last evening.

I'm serious. It's something I never would have done as a single guy - 'cause I lived in a downtown apartment building and really didn't give a crap who my neighbors were or how they behaved, as long as it wasn't criminally dangerous and didn't disturb me when I was at home.

But now, married, kid on the way, etc., I'm thinking peace and quiet and property values. And so, Mrs. B does not have to twist my arm very hard to get me to attend these meetings. Still, I hate them.

When I attend, I am Jekyll. I try to sit and listen quietly and not frown too much and keep my arms uncrossed, 'cause I know that's a gesture that suggests tension and defensiveness. But my Hyde, the reporter in me, inevitably fights his way out. And I find myself biting my lip and my tongue and anything else that will prevent me from speaking up and scoffing at some bad excuse for weak city services or booing some piss poor explanation to why police need to study speeders, before actually arresting them.

I know the association means well. I know the police and code enforcement officers who attend the meetings mean well. The fact is, in the two years since we bought a home in this neighborhood they've done a lot to keep the triflin' among us in line...except for the guy who owns the place next to me. He needs a good kick in the coin purse. And my 12.5 boots are aching to "serve the community."

But anyway, last night at the meeting, one of the police officers pissed me off so badly I was bouncing off the wall.

I live in a neighborhood in flux, a mix of single family homes occupied by middle- (me) and upper middle-class (not me) couples and families - some blue collar, some white collar, and condos and apartment buildings of various quality, most occupied by singles...of various quality. It's in a good location though. Huge condo towers are going up that even if ugly, in my opinion, will push property values up at a slightly faster pace. We walk the four blocks from our house to the heart of downtown all the time, for dinners, drinks, tunes, etc. There's a beautiful park in the heart of downtown, a couple of art galleries, and so on, and so forth. I'm told that 10 years ago, long before we moved to Florida anyone with good sense avoided downtown in my city, 'cause it was like nighttime in the movie Omega Man: only the creepies came out at night. Addicts, dealers, pimps, and hos (real hos, not college basketball players as imagined by talk radio show hosts). And it wasn't a pretty scene. Well, things have changed. Downtown is a thriving nightlife zone, w/high end restaurants, lots of traffic, nice places, nice people, etc.

The addicts and hos though? Some of 'em are still around, mostly bothering people who live on the other end of our neighborhood. There were people at the association meeting who live on the other end who said prostitutes have approached them on the sidewalk. Addicts have wandered into their yards. I see the occasional addict and ho when they stray south and are on their way somewhere (I have no idea where). But luckily I haven't had to plant my boot on the behind of anyone who didn't belong in my front yard or anyone skulking around my block. I realize this is South Florida, and hos - real, professional hos - are everywhere. But c'mom! Would some politician propose a hozone already, perhaps somewhere near all the hotels where conventions take place?

Anyway, during last night's meeting the neighborhood resource officer stands up to reassure folks, and tell them that he's sorry but there's really nothing officers can do about the hos unless officers catch the hos in the act with Johns. After all, the sidewalks are public, right? And there's due process through the law. You can't just yank a ho off the sidewalk for doing the stroll back and forth, right? This is the argument the resource officer makes. It just wouldn't be right to roust people for just "hanging out" and walking around.

If that had been my first association meeting, I might have bought that line. But it wasn't my first. And I didn't just fall off the back of the yam wagon. Neither did Mrs. B. She quickly pointed out something curious. Less than five blocks from our neighborhood, on the other side of a major thoroughfare, is an upscale neighborhood. If our 'hood is middle class, this 'hood across the street ranges from waaaay upper middle class to seriously upscale. The homes over there go for anywhere from $500,000 to several million dollars each.

But here's the curious thing: they have no hos strollin' their side of the street. I swear. We walk our dog in our 'hood and their hood. We drive through and past their 'hood on the way to the beach, a mile or so from our house. We drive through and past their 'hood on the way to nights out or to the grocery. No hos.

What gives?

The stupid side of me says there must be an invisible force field up around our 'hood that compels the hos like ghosts trapped in a haunted house to wander the streets of my neighborhood...for the rest of their lives. And if they stray even 10 feet outside the boundaries of my 'hood their 8-inch pumps and sequined skorts will burst into flames and the hos will turn to dust.

The cynical side of me says that the cop was being disingenuous. Could it be that people in the upscale 'hood who pay more property taxes a few blocks away put their collective foot down and told the cops to get rid of the hos? And could it be the police complied and chased the hos out?

C'mon, hos just stroll our neighborhood, but have no interest at all in walking much wider streets, with much brighter lights, and slightly more lush lawns just a few blocks away? Right.

And yet, the association did nothing. But what could it do - demand the same ho-control plan the folks in the upscale 'hood have? Progress is happening. But that cop - very nice guy - was full of...disillusionment.

Sidewalks are public? Fine. As a "favor" to my northern neighbors, I'm gonna spend the rest of the weekend placing directional signs on every corner in the northern part of my 'hood pointing Southeast and bearing written instructions to the hos on where to find the most comfortable, easy-on-the-bunions sidewalks to stroll in the upscale 'hood.

Now, if you'll excuse me I'm gonna take a non-ho stroll to my kitchen, where I plan to retrieve a can of James-brand champagne and toast the great tradition of suspects' rights, while working on my great American novel.

My baby's no saint

I don't have any babies...yet. But whenever I hear those words in that sequence - "my baby is no saint" - a red flag goes up.

That is the passive aggressive disclaimer of a parent in denial.

There was a girl I kicked it with in high school who was arrested, charged, and convicted for being an accessory to murder when she was in college. Her parents said she wasn't a sain't. I knew a kid in elementary who liked to hurt things, small animals. He's probably living like Hannibal Lecter somewhere right now. But I remember his parents defending him with the disclaimer that he was no saint. If I'd been wiser as a kid I would have explained to his folks that he left sainthood behind back when he was just stepping on ants. What they should have been saying about him was "Our kid was actually born human."

Last I heard the "no saint" disclaimer, a mother was speaking defiantly in a television interview about an angry letter a Cleveland, Ohio, city councilman had written to the woman's son. The councilman, Michael Polensek, lashed out at Tonya Lewis's GROWN son, Arsenio T. Winston, 18.

Winston was recently arrested and faces charges for allegedly dealing drugs at a convenience store in Polensek's neighborhood. It isn't his first run-in with the law. And according to Polensek, Winston, who doesn't even live in the neighborhood where he allegedly works as a sidewalk pharmacist, has a reputation for coming around that 'hood to hang out with gang bangers.

Polensek told Winston in the letter that he is a "thug," a "moron," a "crack-dealing piece of trash," and more. He also told him to straighten up his life or he would end up in jail or a cemetery.

So here's the deal. Polensek may have missed the class on choosing the best words to express your emotion. But his sentiment in this case is 100% right! I completely sympathize with the man and can't say I wouldn't have done the same in his position. There is nothing more infuriating than someone coming to your neighborhood to do dirt and then going back to their neighborhood to sleep.

I understand that Winston has not been convicted of anything with this latest arrest. But let's drop the pretense for a moment. Do you really need a criminal conviction to be able to ID the "thugs" in your neighborhood...if you have any thugs? I don't. The thugs are the cats who sit in front of other people's houses and bump vile music loudly and not care. They're the guys who will not-so-subtly send scantily dressed women (hmmm, prostitutes maybe?) strolling down the sidewalk next to a park where children are playing. They're the guys who will glare at you, when you give them that look for shadily skulking up and down your block, even though they don't live there.

You know what infuriates me most about this whole thing though? The alleged drug dealer's mother was more upset with the councilman than with her son. She called Polensek's letter racist and life-threatening, and said that the councilman was trying to usurp the legal system by declaring her son guilty before a trial. That "racist" accusation is bogus. Winston should be thanking Polensek for that letter as a dose of reality, because statistically the councilman is right: the average young, troubled, African American male stands a 1-in-4 chance of landing behind bars. And don't write me about how fair (or not) the justice system is. That's a different discussion. But seriously, a 25% chance of going to jail, and this kid's biggest problem is that he was called names in a letter?

And then Winston's mom said it: Her son is no saint.

Do you ever notice that no parent utters those words after their child has been accused of something small like stealing a cookie off the neighbor's window sill, or after their child is disruptive in class, or after their child failed to complete his chores? You only hear that phrase after a "child" has been accused of something really bad. That my friends, is proof of denial. At the point your "child" is accused of dealing drugs or being a gang banger or assault, or murder, etc., you are waaaaaay past "My baby's no saint."

A couple of weeks ago in Palm Beach County, Florida, a woman was gang-raped allegedly by a bunch of teenage boys wearing masks and (some) brandishing weapons. The boys allegedly also assaulted the woman's 12-year-old son and forced him at gunpoint to perform a sex act with his mother. When police captured a couple of the suspects, one of their fathers told a reporter that his son couldn't have done it because he is really "shy." Keep in mind that the boy has not been convicted of anything, but investigators supposedly have DNA and fingerprint evidence linking him to the crime.

Shy? Newsflash, dad. If your kid did this, he's not shy. Wearing a mask doesn't make him shy. And if he didn't do it, what the hell's he doing hanging out with the kind of young men who would do this sort of crime?

Instead of "My baby's no saint," or "My kid couldn't have, 'cause he's shy," how about something more realistic that doesn't make excuses, something that makes your kid take some responsibility? How about "My baby knows better.?" In fact, how about "My baby knows better. And even if he didn't do this, he needs a better set of friends, and he needs to straighten up his life. He's an adult and needs to act like it."

I'm not naive. I realize that admonishing words will just bounce off of many true thugs. They're going to do what they're going to do. But there's hope for some. And for those who still have a smidgen of decency buried deep down in their hearts it would go a long way toward their "cure" if parents would quit making excuses for them.

Forget the courts, forget nice words and mean words. Forget thin skins. If your kid is attracted to the "thug" life go upside his head. And if he resists your authority throw his punk-arse out of the house. And if he will give you the time of day after that tell him again, and again, and again to straighten his life up. And if you're soft-hearted and inclined to help, offer to help steer him to a secondary education and/or a job, provided he works hard. And if after all that he still acts up, denounce him. Speak out against his activities. Those will be the kindest words you ever say to or about him.

This is about heading off your "kid's" troubles at the pass, stopping the "infection" before it spreads.

OK, I'm all out of cliches. But you get my point.

Crime and cliches

Greetings, folks. Hope the weekend has been good for you so far.

I spent Friday running/driving through heavy rains and hanging out with the Pac-Man world record holder (first person to ever get a perfect score in the game - story coming in Tuesday's paper). I spent Saturday morning vegetating with Mrs. B and doing a little book shopping. Saturday evening I caught up on my news reading - Miami Herald naturally, the Virginian-Pilot, my home town paper, the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, my last employer, the Wall Street Journal, a couple of gossip Web sites (my guilty pleasures), and a news industry news site.

Catchin' up on my reading is what brings us to this post.

I've flip-flopped for years on whether or not "Crime does not pay" is really a true statement. I could give you dozens, maybe hundreds of examples I saw as a crime reporter of criminals making big money. Granted, in many cases the profiteering criminals eventually got locked up or killed. But for a time, their behavior did pay.

Part of it is perception. If the casual observer believes crime pays, then that notion takes on sort of a legendary quality. I once wrote an article about drug dealer profit in which former, failed dealers acknowledged that when they calculated the amount of money they made, the hours spent, and the physical effort made to sell drugs, their hourly wage came to about what they'd make flipping burgers in Mickey D's. Same article: A kid - 5-years-old, if I remember right -was hit by a car in front of his house in Milwaukee. When emergency workers went to remove his clothes to check for injuries they found a baggie of white powder in the boy's sock and got police involved. The powder turned out to be baking soda. When all the adults involved asked the boy later why he'd put a bag of white powder, baking soda, in his sock he answered that he'd seen the older boys doing it in a park near his home. So he thought it was the thing to do.

Take this guy. Crime probably paid for him here and there over the years. Unfortunately for him, the well dried up late last week.

And this guy. A city councilman in my old stomping grounds, accused of shaking down business owners in his district and conspiring with two other men to assault another guy. I understand "innocent until proven guilty," but if the charges against the alderman turn out to be true then crime once paid for him. Not anymore.

So I read about these two and I think of another cliche about crime being difficult. You know, like "pimpin' ain't easy?" Seriously, I am the biggest goof when it comes to making jokes about pimps, even though I know they're bad. But even I'm smart enough to know that the reason criminals keep going back for seconds, and thirds, and so on is 'cause crime is easy. Taking a chance on dealing drugs, robbery, burglary, or worse, is no different philosophically than gambling money. And if you place a low value on your life, maybe gambling money means more to you than risking your life and freedom committing a crime. So many criminals become repeat offenders, because even after they're caught and sometimes punished they see their prosecution/incarceration as simply a bad roll of the dice or a bad draw from the top of the deck. And they figure the odds are in their favor for the next roll.

You know what's not easy? Brain surgery. That isn't easy. Rocket science isn't easy. Tying bow ties evenly isn't easy. Keeping poison toads out of your koi pond isn't easy. Getting out of bed to go to a legit job every day isn't easy. Restraining yourself from sticking a size 12.5 boot in the behind of the idiot kid who bumps his eardrum-shattering stereo as he drives past your house isn't easy. Not choking the crime-enabling rich guy cruising a poor neighborhood looking for a weed dealer, because he doesn't want sidewalk pharmacists doing business in his nice neighborhood isn't easy. Being a good spouse or a good parent isn't easy. Being a good friend isn't easy. Breaking a sweat to help a stranger isn't easy. Just doing the right thing isn't easy.

But each of these things - except the boot-in-the-behind and the choking of the drug buyer, 'cause you could land in jail too for assault - pays way more than criminal behavior and with much greater currency than just money.

Till Sunday evening, peace and hair grease.

Gotta get political again

It's been that kind of week, folks. Sorry for the lack of posting.

But on to business. So we had an interesting article in Sunday's Miami Herald - no I did not write it - about fighting violent crime.

One of my colleagues reported on the creation of the Council on the Social Status of Black Men and Boys. It's a sort of new panel signed into law by recent-former Gov. Jeb Bush. The council, whose mission is to study the issues negatively impacting the lives of young black men and boys is located in the Florida Attorney General's office, and has an operating budget of $200,000 annually.

Among the issues the council is studying? Rising homicide rates, poverty, low income, breakdown of family structure and rising incarceration rates.

OK, so here's the deal. You know the theory of six degrees of separation? That everyone on Earth is connected to everyone else on Earth via a mere six people. In other words, someone I know knows someone who knows someone who knows someone, etc., who knows someone who knows you.

This issue of negative impact is six degrees of separation. All of these influences are interconnected.

And you can call me insensitive but they all come back to old-fashioned home training and intestinal fortitude.

It's like this. If I have a weak mind, or I am mentally ill, or depressed, or just downtrodden and lacking hope, I am going to be most susceptible to negative influences in my life.

If I have no job and no hopes of finding one soon with which I can reasonably support myself, I am going to be susceptible to negative influences in my life.

If I'm young and I lack adult guidance and leadership IN MY HOME, I am going to be susceptible to negative influences in my life.

If I'm young and the value system shown me by the adults in my life does not put a premium on education, work, and good sense, I am going to be susceptible to negative influences in my life.

Folks, the state does not need to spend $200,000 a year studying this. I would've taken $20,000 and a six pack to tell them what they needed to know to address this problem.

Even if you accept that over the years there has been some institutional racism in place that made it difficult for poor families to break the cycle, certain issues and influences don't have a government component.

If your kid isn't going to school every day or he's not bringing text books home and you don't ask him about it, that's not the government's fault. And it ain't a matter of racism. Forget what you look like. Check your kid, as in get in his face. Ask him why he doesn't have school books at home. Ask him to see his homework. And if he says he has none, call his teachers.

If your kid is, as my Grandma Rosa would say, "actin' a fool," check him. Make him act right. And if he won't act right, try again, and again. Give him alternatives for how to spend his time, anything but lounging with underachieving peers who don't aspire to anything.

If your kid appears to admire his or her friend who just had or helped make a baby, check your kid - especially if you conceived your child at a young age - and break it down for him. Explain that it costs too much in $$$ and emotional stability to try to raise a child when you're still one yourself.

If your kid thinks his favorite musician is the savviest businessman on the planet, explain to him that his top artist does NOT own the cars he drives in music videos. He does not own the houses he sings or rhymes in front of in the videos. That stuff was leased. That video probably cost him almost all of any advance money he received. And when his agents, the record labels, and all the hangers-on are paid, most of the artists are broke as a joke.

If your kid doesn't think jail is a big deal, take him on a field trip to a state prison and have him sit on the other side of the Plexiglas in the visiting room, across from an inmate who has become a designated girlfriend on the inside. If it's death that's not a big deal, don't just take him to visit the morgue. Find someone who looks like him, but is a few years older and headed for a stable life. Make him see that "living" can be quite comfortable if you work hard, don't get screwed, and find a measure of good luck along the way.

If your kid has bought the hype about "the man" reining death and destruction down on the 'hood, firmly but gently point out to him that the vast majority of young black men murdered in the U.S. are killed by other young black men. Exhort him and his friends to stand up and not become a part of those statistics.

If your kid blames "lack of respect" on violence in his neighborhood, explain to him that shooting the person who accidentally stepped on your Nikes won't get you respect. It will get you feared, and scorned, and either locked up or killed in revenge.

I can go on. I won't. Seriously, the state of Florida does not need to spend $200,000 a year studying this. And if they do they can just forward that check to me. This isn't about race. It's about hope, hopelessness, prospects, and expectations. The cycle of depression just has to be broken. I know that's easier said than done. But we're talking about identifying the problem not declaring a solution. The latter is another conversation altogether.