Photo: 2655 Mercer Street, Fishtown-Port Richmond


While walking around the neighborhood recently a group of kids sitting on a stoop asked me if I wrote for Philadelphia's Star newspaper. I said yes and then asked them why they wanted to know. One of them mentioned all the abandoned houses in the neighborhood, especially the rotted, falling down, boarded up house on my own street (2655 Mercer Street), which has been a home to feral cats, possums, assorted crack gangs for as long as I can remember.



“Why does the city let one house stay like this and ruin the whole street?” the kid wanted to know. He was talking about an abandoned house in the middle of my block that every neighbor here has complained about at one time or another. The house, it seems, is as permanent as death and taxes. Chances are it will be here when the kids on this street grow up and have children of their own. Maybe three generations down the line the city will wake up and decide that they’ve had enough of this eyesore.



Maybe, but don’t bet on it.



Last year vandals managed to pry open the boarded up basement windows, which led to an interior infestation of feral cats and possums. I was rather happy when this happened because at least the house was serving a purpose-- providing a home to Nature’s strays-- rather than vegetating as an eyesore. The basement windows were re-boarded, thanks to a rule by Philadelphia Licenses and Inspections which states that abandoned houses must be boarded up.
The problem is, once houses like this are boarded up, they are allowed to sit for years, even decades, provided they don’t crumble onto the sidewalk or impair public safety in any way.



Everyone in the neighborhood knows that the boarded house is affecting property values here, and it’s a fire trap as well, but they’ve given up trying to do anything about it
In my quest to find answers, I dug up info on the city of Detroit.



In Detroit, there are groups that go around and paint abandoned homes orange. The end result is so glaring—orange, after all, is a high alert color—that the city takes notice. It’s hard to ignore a huge orange blob, so once an abandoned house is painted orange, it catches the eye of apathetic city officials and something gets done. The Detroit orange painters like to refer to themselves a Good Intervention force, and that’s just what they are.



I decided to talk to my neighbor Arnold, who knows the history of my street like he knows the back of his hand.



Arnold told me that the building was a rooming house in the 1970s, then something happened to bring in L & I and the place was boarded up. “The boards have been ripped off and put back on at least 20 times in the last 30 years. L & I tried to knock it down once but they discovered that it was connected to my house. If that house falls, mine goes with it. I wouldn’t mind that happening because I’d make some money,” he laughed, “so if you can get them to tare it down, I’ll buy you lunch for a month.”



Lunch or no lunch, it seems fairly simple to me that if you own a house and cannot afford to keep it up, pay the taxes, tear it down, or even sell it, then the city has every right to take the property from you, especially if the property in question is a smoldering, medieval ruin. The city should not be shy about moving in and padlocking the place foreclosure style, and then selling it off at a sheriff’s sale.



But why “enshrine” a boarded up abandoned house for decades, even if the whole thing is legal? Boards or no boards, an abandoned house is an abandoned house. Demolition or sheriff’s sale are the only answers.



When I lived in Germantown in the 1970s an abandoned house next to mine caught fire. The house, an old Victorian structure, was also boarded up and had an absent owner/landlord who wasn’t doing anything to look after it. Years passed and the old house just got seedier and seedier looking until one cold day in January a blazing fire blew out the windows on the second and third floors. The flames of this fire consumed much of the old house in minutes, and came very close to engulfing my own home.



Perhaps a coat of nice orange coat of paint, Detroit-style, could have prevented this disaster.

Third World Penn Station in New York

Albany, New York is a clean and precise city. I was last there years ago as a guest of Keith Block, a friend I met on the Penn campus. Keith showed me all the sites, especially the Nelson A. Rockefeller Empire State Plaza. I revisited the Plaza this time around. It is just as futuristic looking as it was in 1982. Albany somehow reminds me of Ottawa, Canada. It must be the government buildings. Since Keith is no longer alive, I couldn't visit him or his family.

I attempted to contact Keith years ago but kept running into dead ends until frustration led me to call his mother in Albany. When his mother pucked up the phone, I introduced myself and said that I was once a guest in her house, and that I had met her son when he was a graduate student at the University of Pennsylvania. There was a brief silence, and then she hung up. It was disconcerting, because Mrs. Block, as far as I know, always liked me. I held onto this mystery for a couple of years, assuming that something bad had happened to Keith. I was tempted to call Mrs. Block again but refrained from doing so since I could not bear a repeat of the hang up experience.

A rather talented psychic informed me recently that Keith had committed suicide some years ago. That made sense. After the psychic told me this I remembered conversations I had with him in which he told me that he believed in suicide, and wouldn't hesitate to "take a number of pills" if he felt he had to. Keith had unspeakable health problems and he must have been in pain for most of his life. His mother probably couldn't bear talking to me about him.

So, Albany reminded me of Keith.

I toured a number of churches and the state capitol building. In the capitol building we walked through the Hall of Governors, an area not usually open to tourists. We got a glimpse of FDR's famous elevator (behind a moghany sliding partition), in which he'd arrive for press conferences
and then be placed behind his desk before the media arrived. Imagine the media waiting patiently for something like that today. Our tour guide had a number of state capitol ghost stories. One ghost: a man who threw himself off the central winding staircase balcony (economic troubles); another, a watchman, who was killed in a fire.

I toured the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception, a Catholic church that a zealous modernist pastor had ripped up shortly after Vatican II. This guy threw out the altar rail, hammered down the high altar and put in a thrust stage, removed the sanctuary lamp, etc. You know the story. Father Pape took me around and explained that he was helping to restore the cathedral's dignity by building a new high altar to replace the simple kitchen table placed in the church after the Council.

I will be writing a more detailed account of my Albany trip elsewhere, and I will post it on this blog.

THIRD WORLD PENN STATION: A NIGHTMARE

I must mention the trip home via Amtrak, and the horrible condition of New York's Penn Station. Amtrak travelers waiting for trains must huddle in a small area so there is a profound sense of confinement. Although there is a special area where one can sit, many travelers opt to stand by the train bulletin board, while many others sit on the floor in groups, eating sandwiches and drinking soda so that the impression is of a Third World country. Everyone, it seemed, was sitting on the floor as police officers and military with German Sheppards made their sniffing rounds. The large numbers of people confined in that small space made the place very warm, and as trains were late or delayed I really felt as if I had slipped into Satre's NO EXIT. How I wanted to get out of New York. The whole city seemed doomed somehow, like a city perched on the edge of a dangerous precipice. I really felt afraid for New York. The train, of course, was very crowded, and those getting on in New York had to search for seats. Since Amtrak loves to economize, there were only a certain number of passenger cars available, hence more crowds in the train. I am surprised that some passengers didn't have to stand all the way to Philadelphia. This was quite a shock, considering that Amtrak tickets are in the $65-75 range.

Compared to Penn Station, Philadelphia's 30th Street was a marvel: open, high ceilings, plenty of benches, the direct opposite of a confined, warm space.

Letters: The Angry Tea Party

Dear Mr. Nickels,

Sorry if this is a bit long, but these people really piss me off!
I’ve been reading your columns in both the Weekly Press and Fishtown Star for a while now and I just had to respond to your May 6th column in the Star, “Tea Party needs a bit of a quick history lesson.”

Don’t worry: I’m not going to jump on your back. FAR from it! If you picked up this week’s City Paper you would have seen my rather lovely worded Letter about those losers, so I’ve proven I’m definitely no fan of theirs.

I’d like to address two main points from the aforementioned column: First, about the reaction from Fishtown locals if the Tea Party were to set up a stand on Aramingo Avenue and, second, about the organizer of the Center City Tea Party who was featured in the City Paper a few weeks back.

I think you put way too much stock in those people from Fishtown, Thom. No, they’re not all bad, but I was unfortunate to have grown up in the neighborhood right next to Fishtown (begins with a “K”), so I know how incredibly right-wing those folks can be – and they certainly are not the ones to benefit from such a mindset! If the Tea Party came to the neighborhood, they’d join – enthusiastically!

The locals are majority blue-collar families (translation: They work nothing jobs for little pay and no benefits) – and they’re happy to have nothing.

In fact, these are the same people who take to the streets (when they’re not busy with “American Idol,” Fox Noise, or other mindless crap oozing from the boob tube) and fight to continue to have nothing. As a matter of fact, I just had it out on Facebook recently with one of them over health care and she stated that true reform will never happen until health care companies regulate themselves. I immediately shock back with, “Don’t hold your breath, because no one is giving up THAT kind of money!” She pays over a grand a month for health insurance for her and her family (she must have a good enough job to be able to do that in the first place) and I asked whether or not that was right for people like her to do that, given that this is supposedly, allegedly, the greatest country on the planet (in Reagan-speak). No answer.
BTW: Many immigrant groups went through the same crap that the Irish did (the Italians suffered a lot, too, with the added bonus of being discriminated against by people of their own religion), blacks have always been treated like nothing in this country, and the Indians (natives!) got the worst deal of anyone, I think. (But Texas school children will never hear of all that with the change in history that’s going to happen in their classrooms shortly. Hey, even the people who do know about all that don’t care, asking such deep questions as, “Why do I need to know this?” “How does this affect me?” “Will it make me money?”)

One last thing: I don’t have health insurance, either, so I’m with you in that boat. As a matter of fact, I owe two hospitals over $3,000 and every time I bring this up to a Tea Party loser, they never have an answer as to why anyone’s life and credit have to be destroyed because this country just can’t get it together and take care of the basic needs of its citizens. The “I’ve got mine, f**k you” mentality really caught on during the Reagan years and too many Americans let that motto become part of who they are. It’s sad.

And thanks for pointing out the difference between socialism and communism. Problem is, it’s going to go right over those Tea Bag morons’ heads because they’re going to believe what they want – the facts be damned. Fox Noise’s will be done in their trailer parks!

To end on a positive note: I’m glad to see people are finally speaking up about these losers. The rest of the world is right to treat them as the jokes that they truly are. Too bad this country can’t follow that lead.

Sincerely,

Donna Di Giacomo
Germantown

PHILLY SPORE WEEKEND, July 23-24, 2010

Photo: Calm before The Spore

SPORE 1


July 23, 2010 6:00 PM
Philadelphia - Avenue of Arts - Borders1 S. BroadPhiladelphia, PA 19107



MEGA SPORE: LOADSTAR READING AND PARTY





A Reading with Thom Nickels --SPORE
Start: Sat, 07/24/2010 - 5:30pm
End: Sat, 07/24/2010 - 7:30pm



LOCATION: A x D Gallery 265 South 10th Street, Philadelphia 19107
(in partnership with Giovanni's Room)

Thom Nickels is theauthor of SPORE (StarBooks, $16.95 pb).
This Philadelphia author has set his new novel in Philadelphia's neighborhoods: Germantown, East Falls,Vally Green (Fairmount Park), Roxborough and Center City.

After his wife leaves him on their honeymoon, Dennis, a misunderstood and out of work Philadelphia architect, begins a quest to find out who he is, why he does what he does, and how to understand it all. Thus, he begins his journey, while taking things to the limit in all kinds of strange situations.

Dennis's mission is to offer proof to the world that homosexuality and bisexuality are every bit a part of "The Big Plan" as is heterosexuality. He begins his activist campaign as a "street preacher," but in so doing, he stirs up reactionary forces that want him dead. Dennis's dire warnings shake up the status quo. One warning is that people who do not act on their latent bisexual or gay desires will develop diseases cause by a spore and that religions that condemn same-sex love will not inherit the new kingdom.

Will his predictions prove right? Will he be condemned? And, what about the spores? SPORE will leave you wondering about the world you think you know.
SPORE is truly a thought-provoking novel that will leave you wondering!


Spore (Paperback)
By Thom Nickels
$16.95ISBN-13: 9781934187715Availability: Coming Soon - Available for Pre-Order NowPublished: StarBooks Press, 07/01/2010


Philadelphia Architecture (Paperback)
By Thom Nickels
$26.99ISBN-13: 9780738537986Availability: Usually Ships in 1-5 daysPublished: Arcadia Publishing (SC), 10/01/2005


Gay and Lesbian Philadelphia (Paperback)
By Thom Nickels
$19.99ISBN-13: 9780738510002Availability: Special Order - Subject to AvailabilityPublished: Arcadia Publishing (SC), 04/01/2002


Out in History (Paperback)
By Thom Nickels
$16.95ISBN-13: 9781891855580Availability: Special Order - Subject to AvailabilityPublished: Starbooks, 09/01/2005

Location:
A x D Gallery 265 South 10th StreetPhiladelphia, Pennsylvania 19107
Appetizing refreshments and more! Don't miss it!

TEA PARTY EXCLUSIVE: THE ANGRY UPPER MIDDLE CLASS

Photo: It's highly unlikely that you'd see the parents of these kids at a Philadelphia Tea Party Meeting.



I have a reoccurring dream in which members of the Tea Party try to throw a party at Penn Treaty Park, but wind up walking away because nobody shows up. Then I imagine the Tea Party trying to orchestrate an event in Port Richmond near Pulaski Park after sending out advance emails and flyers accusing President Obama of trying to rename the country, The United Socialist States of America.



The word ‘socialist,’ you see, is supposed to be one of those buzz words that makes people think of Communism. But if socialism always equaled communism, why isn’t (mostly) socialist Europe—include England in that mix—Marxist? These non-Communist (and only mildly) socialist countries have free elections, freedom of speech, and in some of them, like the Scandinavian countries, there is very little poverty.



Tea Baggers apparently know nothing of Democratic Socialism, which is about as far from Communism as you can get. Franklin D. Roosevelt was a sort of New Deal Democratic Socialist when he started the Works Progress Administration and Social Security. Tea Baggers, if they could go back in time, would want Social Security dismantled because it involves a government check for retirees every month.



“Fend for yourselves,” Tea Baggers say, “Don’t depend on the government to give you money.”



Tea Baggers seem to forget that the United States has already tried the limited government approach. In the mid to late 1800s, during the so called Gilded Age, Irish immigrants in Philadelphia, their wives and children as young as 10 years old, were forced to worked 14 hours a day in stevedore, textile or weaving jobs. President Roosevelt later instituted the Fair Labor Standards Act of 1938 which put limits on child labor and how many hours an employer could force employees to work. Tea Baggers, in theory anyway, would seem to support the government staying out of this issue. “Let the corporations decide what’s good for the workers, not the government!” is a refrain we hear today.



Do I think Tea Bagger meetings will make progress in the neighborhoods? No, not even if they set up tents along Aramingo Avenue and hold up signs that read, “We’re mad a hell and we’re not gonna take it anymore!”



Tea Baggers are angry because government has involved itself in the business of health insurance. The irony is that most if not all Tea Baggers already have very good health insurance.
The New York Times says that 88% of Tea Baggers don’t like Obama. Big surprise, huh? I think I know the reason for their dislike, and it has nothing to do with government interference in the lives of average Americans. Nineteen percent of Tea Baggers don’t know why they don’t like Obama. Gee, imagine that.



When I first heard of the Tea Party, I knew instantly, without even delving into their philosophy, that they would have the same drippy (albeit unsteady) properties as a wet tea bag.



Recently, Center City Philadelphia held its first Tea Party meeting, an event that was covered in City Paper. One of the organizers is a friend of mine. This friend is a unique individual, even if I don’t agree with her politics.



Her meeting attracted a fairly upscale group, which seems to jive with the profile of Tea Baggers in The New York Times as earning more money than the average American. I was invited but opted not to go, since I don’t have health insurance. How could I sit idly by and be polite as people with top shelf health insurance castigated a president who has taken the first steps to make sure that people like me get it?



Long before the event, my friend sent me copies of her Tea Bagger email mass mailings. These messages pulled no punches. They talked about the immorality of President Obama’s health care reform, and how the government should exercise no responsibility for poor citizens.
If you cannot afford health insurance, tough luck: work a second or third job—how about a fourth? -- And make it work for you.



That’s what they said in the Gilded Age to the poor Irish in Philadelphia, although they added a caveat: If you can’t make it work, head to a soup kitchen.

LETTERS:

Dear Mr. Nickels,

Sorry if this is a bit long, but these people really piss me off!I’ve been reading your columns in both the Weekly Press and Fishtown Star for a while now and I just had to respond to your May 6th column in the Star, “Tea Party needs a bit of a quick history lesson.”Don’t worry: I’m not going to jump on your back. FAR from it! If you picked up this week’s City Paper you would have seen my rather lovely worded Letter about those losers, so I’ve proven I’m definitely no fan of theirs.

I’d like to address two main points from the aforementioned column: First, about the reaction from Fishtown locals if the Tea Party were to set up a stand on Aramingo Avenue and, second, about the organizer of the Center City Tea Party who was featured in the City Paper a few weeks back.I think you put way too much stock in those people from Fishtown, Thom. No, they’re not all bad, but I was unfortunate to have grown up in the neighborhood right next to Fishtown (begins with a “K”), so I know how incredibly right-wing those folks can be – and they certainly are not the ones to benefit from such a mindset! If the Tea Party came to the neighborhood, they’d join – enthusiastically!

The locals are majority blue-collar families (translation: They work nothing jobs for little pay and no benefits) – and they’re happy to have nothing. In fact, these are the same people who take to the streets (when they’re not busy with “American Idol,” Fox Noise, or other mindless crap oozing from the boob tube) and fight to continue to have nothing. As a matter of fact, I just had it out on Facebook recently with one of them over health care and she stated that true reform will never happen until health care companies regulate themselves. I immediately shock back with, “Don’t hold your breath, because no one is giving up THAT kind of money!” She pays over a grand a month for health insurance for her and her family (she must have a good enough job to be able to do that in the first place) and I asked whether or not that was right for people like her to do that, given that this is supposedly, allegedly, the greatest country on the planet (in Reagan-speak). No answer.

BTW: Many immigrant groups went through the same crap that the Irish did (the Italians suffered a lot, too, with the added bonus of being discriminated against by people of their own religion), blacks have always been treated like nothing in this country, and the Indians (natives!) got the worst deal of anyone, I think. (But Texas school children will never hear of all that with the change in history that’s going to happen in their classrooms shortly. Hey, even the people who do know about all that don’t care, asking such deep questions as, “Why do I need to know this?” “How does this affect me?” “Will it make me money?”)

One last thing: I don’t have health insurance, either, so I’m with you in that boat. As a matter of fact, I owe two hospitals over $3,000 and every time I bring this up to a Tea Party loser, they never have an answer as to why anyone’s life and credit have to be destroyed because this country just can’t get it together and take care of the basic needs of its citizens. The “I’ve got mine, f**k you” mentality really caught on during the Reagan years and too many Americans let that motto become part of who they are. It’s sad.And thanks for pointing out the difference between socialism and communism. Problem is, it’s going to go right over those Tea Bag morons’ heads because they’re going to believe what they want – the facts be damned. Fox Noise’s will be done in their trailer parks!

To end on a positive note: I’m glad to see people are finally speaking up about these losers. The rest of the world is right to treat them as the jokes that they truly are. Too bad this country can’t follow that lead.

Sincerely,

Donna Di Giacomo
Germantown

Standing beside 'The Third Man' tour in Vienna, 2009

In Vienna, eye contact is easy, people are friendly, and a majority of people speak English, even the few who happen to be homeless. One day while making my way to the Museum of Fine Arts, I was approached by a youth (who looked as unkempt as Hitler must have looked in 1905) who told me he needed money for food. In broken English he mentioned that he had just been released from prison. I gave him a handful of Austrian coins I knew I’d never use, but he scowled at them contemptuously, demanded two Euros, and called me “Stupid.” I was afraid he would follow me, so I ducked into the lobby of a fancy hotel.

A Neighborhood of Parking Garages

When I first moved to my neighborhood about seven years ago, parking on my street was not the problem it was when I lived at 21st and Pine Streets in Center City. In Center City, parking was a nightmare, with friends and family telling me how they had to circle the block ten or twenty times for a full 30 minutes before finally finding a space. Often they’d be forced to park six or seven blocks from my apartment, causing them to complain—when they finally did show up late for whatever occasion had been planned—with frayed nerves.

“I hate Center City!” they’d declare. “This is the last time I’m coming into the city!”

Moving to the neighborhood, I was certain, would put an end to the parking problem. Visitors would just be able to zip in and zip out of parking spaces with their cars of various sizes.

That’s the way it was for a few years: plenty of available spaces and little traffic. My street, which is a kind of cul de sac, had the advantage of being cut off from the more congested traffic patterns of straight through streets that aren’t cut off by rows of houses. People who were not from the neighborhood would not know that my street even existed unless they stumbled upon it by accident.
“It’ll be easy parking from now on!” I told friends.

Then there was a change.

A negative byproduct of gentrification, more cars and fewer parking spaces, seemed to kick in overnight. One time, while waiting for visitors to arrive for an event, I heard a familiar refrain: “We circled the block six times and had to park 3 blocks away! Why do you live here?”

So how did the “no parking” problem follow me here from Center City?
The next day, I went looking for answers. I checked out the relatively new townhouses at Edgemont and Lehigh Avenue, a project that initially pleased me no end. When the project was first proposed I remembered listening to the concerns of neighbors who wondered if the new houses would create parking problems. The developers were adamant: “That won’t happen. Each house has its own garage.” Like Moses’ Red Sea closing upon the Egyptians, the neighbors buried their fears.

But homeowners, apparently, don’t always use private garages for cars. Many use them to store junk or Flea market items. Private garages are converted to makeshift dens, gyms, you name it, but the car remains on the street.

Take my once “lots of free space” neighborhood, for instance. Within the last couple of years, two parking garages have been added here, a change that has cancelled out once available parking spaces. “No parking, violators towed,” signs now loom over long stretches of the street that once offered plenty of available space.

The current parking problem has caused some people in the neighborhood to become prisoners in their own homes. Some are even afraid to move their cars after 5 p.m. for fear they will not find a space when they return. After all, nobody wants to park five, six or seven blocks away or find a spot in another neighborhood.

Part of the problem, I think, is that too many people own three or four cars. This is excessive, especially when the cars in question are big pick up trucks or military-style SUV’s. Hybrid cars, unfortunately, may be popular in other areas of the city but they don’t seem to be winning many converts here. As a result, we not only lose parking spaces but we have huge vehicles racing up and down streets that are almost too small to contain them. Processions of traffic like this somehow remind me of a bad Arnold Scharzenegger action movie from the 1980s.

So, I’m sorry to say, there has been a big change in the neighborhood since the days of easy parking.

The situation has even affected Lehigh Avenue, at one time refuge for people desperately searching for someplace to park. Today people think nothing of parking in the middle of the Avenue South Philly-style because there’s nowhere else to go.

What to do?

The best solution, in my book, may be for the city to follow up on who builds parking garages. If people are using them to store old family sleds, they should be politely advised to remove the “No parking, violators will be towed” signs.

More importantly, people who own three cars or more should be made to pay a higher property tax. This would be much better than taxing soda, or tacking on a fee for trash collection,

Neighborhood Drug Frenzy Suicide

Visitors to the (always crowded) WAWA on Aramingo Avenue near the Richmond Shopping Center are familiar with the groups of beggars and homeless there who ask strangers for spare change. In many cases, the faces of these people change with the season, but for the last two years now there have been two regulars, Ron (not his real name) and his girlfriend, both young twenty something kids without a place to live and who struggle daily with a severe drug problem.

Whatever the weather—rain, cold, sleet or blazing spring sunshine —these two work the familiar “spare change” rounds, hobbling from parking lot to parking lot, sometimes settling near Applebee’s (where they wind up talking to people in cars), or migrating to Thriftway where the (very mannerly) Ron will approach passersby with his sad Barry Manilow eyes and ask, “I don’t mean to disturb you, sir, but can you help a guy out by letting me carry your shopping bags?”

Ron’s girlfriend often adopts a different approach. Since they don’t beg together (couple teams rarely illicit the same sympathy and “opportunities” that going it alone seems to generate), I often see Ron’s girl sitting curbside with her head in her arms, half hidden under a hoodie, or staring benignly into space ready to catch the eyes of strangers.

People look at her, especially men, and probably think of a lost waif in a Charles Dickens story.

Since the homeless cannot work the “spare change” circuit without attracting the attention of store managers, this couple is often “watched.” When I stop to say hello to Ron, I find I’m sometimes eyed by “managerial” types as “a friend of the fuzzy haired homeless guy who may also be a serious drug addict.” So yes, I definitely get the vibe that I’m not supposed to get too familiar with “these people.”

Ron and his girl, as nice as they are, represent the worst example of what happens when drugs take over a person’s life. They live on the street, and often look like they need a bath. But in the larger drug picture, the couple represents only the tip of the iceberg.

Not seen in the public square, are the other types of addicts.
Whether it’s a student selling prescription Percocet, a father of four dispensing Klonopin while working as a roofer, or a neighborhood bartender trading Valium and Oxycontin for Cloud Nine (crack cocaine), drugs have become an all too accepted part of neighborhood life. They seem to be everywhere.

Today’s dealers include students, kids on bicycles and assorted professionals.

Serious dealing (heroin), once the province of men, has given way to a kind of equal opportunity “feminism”: women dealers—with full time jobs and kids enrolled in day care-- are not uncommon.

The city, sadly, is not winning the war on drugs, although it has made a few noble efforts. Years ago it was “Operation Sunrise,” Mayor Street’s attempt to get drug dealers off street corners. At that time, 20,000 people were arrested on drug related charges, mostly in Kensington and North Philadelphia. But “Operation Sunrise” was perceived as inhumane, so the city initiated “Operation Safe Streets, where instead of arresting people, hordes of uniformed cops infiltrated Kensington and North Philadelphia to deter people from dealing drugs.

I don’t have the answer to the problem other than to mouth Nancy Reagan’s famous words, “Just say no,” a mantra that kids determined to experiment are going to flag as thoroughly uncool.

Let me tell you what’s uncool:

Some years ago I witnessed a neighbor’s fall from grace. I used to see this man sprucing up his property or washing and polishing his car on weekends. His life, in fact, seemed so regimented I assumed he was a police officer or had some administrative job with the city, but then one night, in a change as drastic as an earthquake, I encountered him walking the streets selling his DVD and VHS movie collection from a paper bag.

He’d gotten so hooked on crack cocaine he eventually wound up selling his house and his car.

When he first approached me that night with his bag of films, talking in a frenzied “crack” manner---imagine what the Acela High Speed Rail System would sound like if it could talk-- I knew right away that he had joined the land of the lost.
His story is the reason why you should just say No.