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One neighborhood's quest to reclaim its streets

After a Baltimore family's murder, activists debate how to wrest drug-infested enclaves from dealers' reign.

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A man named Jimmy with tightly braided cornrows and a few missing front teeth agrees. He contends that this neighborhood needs far more than better police protection to heal. And he points to himself as proof. He's been an addict for more than 30 years. He's tried the outpatient programs but always ends up "dibbling and dabbling" again with drugs.

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"I've been trying to get into a long-term program, but I can't," he says. "I want to get help, but they don't want to give me no help because I don't got no insurance."

Mr. Clayborn agrees that more drug treatment is needed, but so are jobs and job training for the young men who linger on street corners with nothing better to do. Yet with the economy in a tailspin and huge city and state budget deficits, he's not optimistic those jobs will come any time soon.

Still, many others here in the Oliver neighborhood – and across Maryland – refuse such skepticism and are, instead, galvanized by Dawson's tragedy. A tent filled with hundreds of teddy bears, balloons, and bouquets now stands as a tribute in front of the burned-out house. Thousands of people, like James Gross who lives across town, have come by in the past two weeks to pay tribute and drop dollar bills in a bottle to help pay the family's funeral expenses.

"Enough is enough. People are getting tired of things like this," he says, shaking his head. "It could have been any of our sons or nieces and nephews."

Mayor Martin O'Malley has put out a 15-point "action plan" that includes a dramatically increased police presence and a crackdown on parole violators, as well as nurturing community involvement in crime watches and mentoring. The city also plans to turn the Dawson home into a memorial.

"That neighborhood is going to be a key for the mayor for the next year or so because of this tragedy," says Gerry Shields, a top aide to Mayor O'Malley. "It opened our eyes as to what was going on over there."

A turning point?

Activists who've been organizing here for the past four years say they're appalled that it took the deaths of a whole family to get City Hall's attention. But now that they've got it, they're determined to use it. A group called Baltimoreans United in Leadership Development (BUILD) has gone to police with a plan that would allow residents to report drug dealers to a neutral board that would, in turn, alert police. The goal is to allow residents like Dawson to finger the dealers without fearing retaliation. BUILD is still waiting for a response from police.

They also have faith that this neighborhood can be transformed into a haven. And they point to a neat, flourishing development of family-owned homes in West Baltimore that, 10 years ago, looked just as bedraggled as Preston Street.

It took community and church involvement, as well as low-interest loans and subsidies, to allow families to buy their own homes. "I'm optimistic that it will turn around here as well – but not because of the politicians and the city government," says Pastor Robert Burley, a member of BUILD whose church is here. "It's going to be turned around by the people who are beating the streets, getting trash taken care of, and vacant lots clean. It's going to get turned around by the people who live here and want to see it change."