DOPE FIENDS SEIZING THE DAY IN MADISONVILLE

We were standing on the sidewalk, talking about what it's like to live next
door to a crack house.

"The drugs are pretty blatant," said Kathy Garrison, vice president of the
local community council.

"Broad-daylight blatant," corrected Pat Markley, a neighbor.

"They used to hide," added Anne Sheckles, who says her house is like a
prison surrounded by walls of fear. "Now they stick their heads in my car
window and ask what I want, and if I say no, they say "Get out of here, then.'"

Crack-Head Neighbors

This is not Over-the-Rhine or the lawless zone in Avondale. It's happening
on a shady, tree-lined street with neat lawns and modest, carefully
preserved older homes in Madisonville.

Mrs. Sheckles described the filth and threats she sees every day outside
her remodeled 1928 home on Erie. "I've had rocks thrown at me. I've been
told they are going to poison my dog if I call the police."

She has picked up buckets of used drug syringes. She has raked discarded
condoms from her bushes, then threw away the rake because some of her
neighbors have AIDS and hepatitis.

"I'm tired of watching people get shot in my front yard. I'm tired of the
murders within a block or two of my front door," she says. "I won't let my
boys play in the front yard. I hear gunshots every single night. They call
me "white b----' every time I step outside."

"We hear the same thing," Mrs. Markley and Mrs. Garrison said. And
everything Mrs. Sheckles said is true, they added.

In videos and photographs taken by Mrs. Sheckles, the yard next door looks
like an appliance graveyard. Rats have been spotted running from a
dilapidated garage behind a red-painted brick house with dirty bedspreads
for curtains.

These women put the "mad" in Madisonville. They have complained to the
police until the cops know them by their angry voices. The police are
trying, Mrs. Markley says, "but there are just not enough cops. We've been
told that there are often no more than six for all of District 2."

Which Way To "Baywatch"?

The women have counted 40 cars in a half-hour driving up a dead-end street
off Erie. All those "lost" drivers were not looking for directions. They
were looking for drugs.

And in the home videos, it's plain to see that drugs are easy to find. The
"drug store" is open 24/7. Dope boys stand on the corner, pants pulled down
below their butts, waving and whistling down passing cars.

"We see cab drivers, plumbers, business trucks and construction workers,"
Mrs. Sheckles said. "Half of the problem is the white people from out of
our neighborhood. Fancy cars from Clermont County, Adams County, Indian Hill."

As if on cue, a HumVee -- the ultimate SUV -- pulled over to the curb. The
window snaked down, and a bouncer at the wheel stared straight ahead as two
Baywatch blondes asked the way to I-71. They looked like show girls -- and
I don't mean Rockettes.

If Cincinnati could be X-rayed, this is where we would find a deadly
malignant tumor that will spread unless it is removed.

If nothing is done, Mrs. Sheckles could be the courageous voice of
Cincinnati's dark future. "I don't like my children seeing the things
they're seeing," she said, "but who would buy my house? Who would want to
live here?"