RECLAIMING DANIA

Residents' Fight To Root Out Crime Finally Paying Off

All over Dania Beach, in neighborhoods held hostage just three years
ago by corner drug dealers, prostitutes and barroom brawlers, signs
of progress in the fight against crime sprout like budding flowers --
small yet unmistakable signposts of hope.

On a street where drug dealers clustered brazenly in front yards, the
sidewalks are swept clean and the houses freshly painted. Inside the
marred mustard yellow walls of the Royal Palms Apartments, where a
notorious crack den operated freely, a new police substation will
soon be opening.

In Charlie Will Thomas Park, at one time beset by crime and drive-by
shootings, neighborhood children now clamber on playground equipment
painted in bright primary colors.

``It's working,'' says Sophia Steele, owner of a Dania Beach beauty
salon and one of the leaders of Turn Around Dania Beach, the grass-
roots group that many residents credit with mobilizing the city's
cleanup efforts.

``When we started, this was infested with drugs,'' said Steele, as
she drove through Dania Beach last week, pointing out corners where
drug transactions were once routine. ``Children were afraid to come
to the park. Now people come outside and sit on the porches. That's a
big accomplishment.''

Since Turn Around's cleanup efforts began three years ago, thefts in
Dania Beach have dropped by nearly half, from 240 in 1995 to 144 in
2000, drug arrests rose from 165 in 1995 to 277 in 2000, and the
Broward Sheriff's Office has started conducting regular raids on drug
houses and mid-level traffickers.

Statistics for 2001 are not yet available, but one ongoing BSO
investigation, known as Operation START, has netted 648 drug- and
prostitute-related arrests, including 95 during a one-week sweep in
December alone. In addition, a permanent five-member BSO task force
targets drugs in the city.

But Dania Beach's success is more than just the story of one
community's rebirth. It also holds lessons for other cities and
neighborhoods faced with stubborn pockets of crime.

``What they can do is the same thing we did,'' said Merita Mitchell,
another Turn Around Dania Beach member. ``It's all about making a
positive change, making this more like a neighborhood should be.''

One of the first lessons, say Dania Beach activists and city
officials, is that law enforcement can't do it alone.

``You can't fix any problem without community involvement,'' said
Ivan Pato, Dania Beach's city manager and a former Broward sheriff's
deputy. ``Turn Around didn't just talk about it. They went out and
did it. They got out in the streets and stood on street corners.''

Turn Around Dania Beach, which uses a confrontational approach to
combat street crime, was formed in 1999 with the arrival of Herman
Wrice, the late Philadelphia activist who first developed the method
when he helped clear drug sellers off some of that city's toughest
corners. In Dania Beach, where he lived part of the year, Wrice began
marching on drug corners with a small handful of supporters. Now,
Turn Around marches routinely draw as many as 100 participants.

Over the past three years, Turn Around Dania Beach members have
worked to reclaim their community by taking to their city's most
embattled streets and street corners with regular marches, rallies
and vigils.

Their first target was the area around Modello Park, on Eighth Avenue
between Northwest First and Second streets. In the mid-1990s, the
park was a vortex for the city's drug and crime problems. No children
played there. No families ventured out after dark. The trouble peaked
in 1995, when two people were killed in drive-by shootings.

``It was as bad an area as I've ever worked in law enforcement,''
said Pato, who spent 12 years with BSO, primarily in community
policing and crime prevention units. ``Five years ago, this was a
neighborhood living in a great state of fear.''

Not to mention frustration, Steele said.

For years, Steele had been involved in Crime Watch and other
community groups but says they did little to stem the tide of crime
creeping through her hometown.

Turn Around's approach seemed to make a difference right away. The
weekly marches disrupted the illegal activities of drug dealers and
prostitutes by drawing dozens of community residents, unwanted
attention, and police escorts.

The marches also brought community members together, Mitchell said.
Until then, residents of the mostly African-American west side and
the predominantly white east side rarely mingled.

``That wasn't happening before. But Dr. Wrice brought people
together. He said it didn't matter if we were black or white, we were
all concerned about the same thing. We wanted to clean up our city.''

Still, Steele and Mitchell both say, real change takes time,
persistence and perseverance.

It took a year and a half of weekly marches before Turn Around
succeeded in getting city officials to shut down Chubb's Place, a
troubled bar two blocks from Modello Park. Last September, a barroom
brawl escalated into a car crash that left two people dead. Three
weeks later, the city nuisance abatement board voted to close the bar
down.

According to City Manager Pato, it takes about six months for
officials to shut down problem businesses or to condemn houses
suspected of being used for illegal activities.

But when those hard-fought victories finally come, they can set off a
domino effect of positive changes.

More than 60 known crack houses, magnets for criminals, drug addicts
and prostitutes, have been razed. On many of those lots, new housing
has gone up in the place of the troubled buildings. The city is
planting palms and resodding grass strips along the sidewalks of
streets once barren of landscaping.

And last year, a cadre of community volunteers built a playground on
a former vacant field in front of Saratoga Arms, a public housing
development in the city's northwest section. The playground was named
for Addie Mae Chunn, Mitchell's mother and a well-known community
volunteer.

Soon, the city will have another tangible symbol of progress, when
the long-awaited BSO substation and community center opens in the
now- shuttered Royal Palms Apartments -- once a notorious crack house
and drug market at 803 NW First St. The building, across the street
from Modello Park, will house 40 BSO officers.

``I cannot think of a more poetic finish to this book. It's like
raising the flag at Iwo Jima,'' Pato said. ``It'll be there for years
to come, and it will help the good people here take their
neighborhoods back.''

Still, no one is ready to declare total victory.

``This is a work in progress. You can't let your guard down and think
the problem won't come back because it will,'' Pato said.
``Complacency breeds more complacency. The community needs to remain
involved and vigilant.''

And that might be the most important lesson Dania Beach can teach
other communities.

``We can never stop,'' Steele said. ``The drug dealers don't stop. So
we can't either.''