CITY DIARY: NEW ALLY IN OTTERBEIN DRUG FIGHT BRINGS HOPE OF VICTORY

MY NEIGHBOR, an Otterbein Community Association leader, and I were on our
way to a rally and march protesting the nearby open-air drug markets.

We walked through the park that serves the low-income housing developments
on Leadenhall Street.

I was dismayed at the trash-strewn walkway and the filthy remains of what
had been a wading pool.

My neighbor said the Department of Recreation and Parks was in charge;
they'd also been in charge of the Solo Gibbs Recreation Center where the
rally was taking place.

After the roof fell in, the Police Athletic League (PAL) took over and
rehabbed it.

It's been common knowledge that drugs were sold at Hamburg and Leadenhall
streets, but only in the last few months has the traffic grown so brazen
it's easy to spot the lookouts on the Hamburg Street bridge. I've watched
boys wave the SUVs from the suburbs into the alleys and side streets for
the sales.

A large group had gathered in front of the center. Two women in shorts
knelt beside a helium cartridge, blowing up red, green, purple and orange
balloons and attaching them to children's wrists. Balloons kept popping. At
first I flinched, thinking I heard gunshots.

I shook hands with polititicans and several ministers from area churches.
Three policemen were looking at the gathering. One stood out, standing more
stiffly than the others, with gold on his hat and shirt.

"He must be the new major," my neighbor said.

A woman in a purple T-shirt from the Senior Action Committee asked us to
join hands. I clutched the large fist of a man who nodded his head and said
"A-men" each time she paused.

Several children carried a homemade banner with "SAY NO TO DRUGS" painted
in gold letters. We shouted "More hugs, less drugs" and "Enough is enough."
We walked Leadenhall to Hamburg, into Sharp- Leadenhall Court.

Families sat on the steps clapping and waving their hands, though a few
people were looking at their shoes.

No one applauded, though, when we walked Creek Street or Peach Street,
where the streets are often full of used needles. We returned by way of
Bevan Street, another bad place, to the center, where the march officially
disbanded.

My neighbor told the police major that she was looking forward to seeing
him at our association meeting.

"So," she asked him, "what are you going to do for us? I understand your
former assignments had to do with drug abuse and control."

"Oh," he told her, "we can make a big improvement. More police, that's all
it takes. We can keep people off these corners and alleys. Foot patrolmen,
that's what it takes. Constant presence."

She remembers the calls she has made to district headquarters for more
policemen, assistance in stopping the car break-ins, the muggings and the
drug traffic. "I've been here 20 years," she said. "When I first came, we
had a foot patrolman. He handed out lollypops."

"We're going to bring them back," said the major, standing straight.

"More policemen?" she asked. "Your department's already pretty strapped
budget-wise."

I felt my sense of powerlessness creeping back in, my knowledge that the
odds are stacked so unevenly in this sad city of addiction. A city so poor
that it closes libraries in the poorest sections, that can't provide people
to clean up neighborhood parks and wading pools.

The major said, "You're going to see a big change for the better." He told
her, "It's going to work, because I don't fail."