Turf War: The Battle of Jefferson Ave.

Someone suggested recently that I share some stories of our experience transforming Ogden's neighborhoods.  Some of our best stories come from our move to our current home on the 22nd block of Jefferson Ave.

In May of 2005, Kim and I purchased 2227 Jefferson Ave.  We had fallen in love with the Arts and Crafts architecture of the home and it was just the right size for our growing family.

The home had been abandoned and was inhabited by transients. So, prior to purchase it required that we secure the property (see plywood on the windows) and patrol the home to keep unwelcome folks out.  After we purchased the home I placed a sign on the door and windows that read:

WARNING!

DO NOT ENTER

TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT!

I thought I would speak in a language that people could understand.  It seemed to work.  I only had one problem with someone stealing the old water heater from our basement once we cut out the old plumbing.  The joke was on them.  

In September 2005, after fixing up the home we moved in.  At that time, about 50% of the neighborhood was abandoned or in some state of foreclosure.  The folks inhabiting the homes surrounding us were nefarious at best.  Our "suburban family" appearance clearly shocked some of our neighbors who were not accustomed to the presence of upstanding law abiding folks.  I could almost hear one of them exclaim: "Oh man! The Peterson's moved in. There goes the neighborhood!"

In a way, that exclamation would be prophetic.  Kim and I were determined to overturn the lawlessness of the block. 

The spring after we moved in, I was planting flowers along our front sidewalk.  That afternoon a man driving a truck pulled in across the street with two ladies in the cab and a pair of mattresses in the back.  He unloaded the mattresses into the apartment and the ladies took up roost on the front porch.  About 30 minutes later, very nice cars with single gentlemen began to troll slowly up and down our block.  The girls would whistle, the car would pull over and a "transaction" would be negotiated through the window.  When a deal was made, the lady would hop in the car, they would leave, and she would be returned about 30 minutes later.  I was shocked at how open this "business" operated.  

I decided I wasn't going to tolerate that going on across the street from us.  I dressed up in my white shirt and tie, grabbed my clipboard and digital camera and took up a position on my front porch.  Then came the next unsuspecting "John".  The girl whistled and a negotiation commenced.  That is when I waltzed out into the street and walked up behind the car.  I took a picture of the license plate and wrote it on my clipboard.  Then I waltzed back to my front porch with a big grin on my face. 

The guy and the girl both were shocked.  He slowly drove away while she backed up onto her porch and went in the house.  No more "Johns" showed up that day.  The next day we repeated the choreograph, and again later that week.  Clearly, this routine was bad for their business.  

Finally, one Saturday, the ladies were sitting on their front porch ready for work as I sat on my front porch dressed in my Sunday best with my handy clipboard and camera.  The girls whispered to each other and finally one of them started to walk across the street toward my home.  I met her half way in the middle of the street.  Our conversation went like this:      

Hoochie Mama: "Hey, why you bein' so nosey!" Fingers pointing at me.

Me: "Hi, I'm Jeremy.  I am the neighborhood watch captain.  It's so nice to meet you!  What is your name?" I was smiling and extended a handshake. (I boiled my hand later.)

Hoochie Mama: "Uh....Melinda...." At this point she became really disengaged from our conversation.

Me: "Well, I have been noticing lots of folks coming into the neighborhood I don't recognize and I am writing down the plates just to make sure everything is on the up and up...."

At that point, "Melinda" just nodded her head, went back to her friends and that was the end.  The girls moved out about a week later. 

Our next play was to purchase the home next to us.  

 

This home had been in the foreclosure cycle for over 7 years.  It was abandoned and bank owned when we purchased it.  We proceeded to fix it up and rent it out.  The change in curb appeal put further pressure on the neighborhood to clean up.  

Our next challenge was probably our scariest.  In 2007, the fourplex two doors down was a den of iniquity.  It was poorly managed.  I begged the owners to sell it to me and finally they capitulated after being stiffed on rent too many times.

The property was a mammoth 4700 SQFT project.  I had multiple restoration projects going on at the time and I had a problem:  My insurance company would not insure the property unless it was occupied.  At the same time, my contractor's painter said he needed a place to stay.  I struck a deal, I told him I would exchange paint for two month's rent.  If he painted two units, I would let him live there for free.  I would pay him to paint the other two.

Unfortunately, as soon as my painter moved in, strange traffic started to frequent his place.  It appears that he was part of the  same crowd that I had just eliminated from the building.  I complained to him to no avail.  Of course, the two units that needed painting were not done well either.  I ended up doing a lot of the painting myself. 

About two weeks before our two month agreement ended, my painter moved in a roomate.  "Steve" as he called himself was a 40-something hispanic guy with a shaved head and who had spent half of his life in prison.  The only shirts he owned were red and the only socks he owned were of the knee high variety.  Steve was friendly enough and liked to talk.  He would chat with me while I was doing the work that my painter was supposed to have done.  Our conversations were captivating because Steve explained the entire street racket to me.  He talked about how a dealer could make $3,000 a week pimping and selling drugs.  He explained how to cut drugs for higher profit, hook the ladies on crack, turn them into slaves, put them to work on the street, and make a great living doing it all.  He had quite the entrepreneurial mind.

In fact, he was so ambitious, he set up the same operation he described to me with it's home base in my painters apartment.  D'oh!  I approached Steve and we had this conversation:

Me: "Hey Steve, I noticed your lady friends seem to be doing a lot of business right here.  Can I ask you to ask them to move their business down the block?  We are really trying hard to clean up this part of the street if you haven't noticed."

Steve: "Oh, you know I can't do that.  You gotta pay me some protection money to tell these ladies to move."

Me: "Steve, I am not going to pay you to ask the ladies to move.  I will just go and talk to them myself and see what we can work out."

At that point, I went about my business with the intent to negotiate some kind of "change of venue" for the folks within next couple of days.  Steve beat me to the punch though right after our conversation.  Basically he went to his minions and said: "See that guy over there? (Pointing at me.) He lives in that house. (Pointing at my house.) He drives that car. (Pointing at my car.) He says this is HIS neighborhood, not yours.  He says you can't be here.  That is what HE thinks."

What a wonderful way lighten up the day.  This exchange led to a "turf war" so to speak.  The pimping and dealing continued.  At the same time some truly scary dudes started loitering around the properties.  These were the type of guys that would have no problem knifing you, dumping you in a trash bin, and grabbing a beer afterwards.

Things came to a head when my painter overstayed his lease and I had to threaten to evict him.  During that exchange he says: "Hey you better watch your back!  Me and my buddies (Steve and the scary dudes) have been figuring out a way to shut you up PERMANENTLY."  At this point, not having dealt with the underworld before in such a confrontational manner, I was honestly terrified.  I went to the store to get some milk.  That didn't help calm my nerves.  Ultimately, I ended up at my Bishop's home asking for a blessing.  That was a wonderful personal experience which I won't share here.  I went home and talked to the wife and we felt it was best to move her and the kids to her sister's house for a few nights.  I stayed home waiting for a Molotov cocktail to fly through my front window.

The next day the neighborhood was completely different.  The street was eerily quiet.  No hookers.  No pimps.  No junkies looking for a fix.  My painter had a "midnight move out" and took his jolley entourage of ne'er-do-wells with him.  No retribution ever occurred.  We finished the renovations and have rented the building out to excellent tenants ever since.

 
I learned some priceless life lessons during this experience.  Here is a recap:

1.  Evil will prevail if good men (and women) do nothing.

2.  Street thugs are impulsive and only act out violently on impulse as opposed to thoughtfully and carefully planned violence (i.e. the mofia).  Hence, the lack of retribution.

3.  Street thugs honor their own code of justice which is different from the law you and I live by.  Upstanding citizens trump street code thuggery by creating the threat of law enforcement.

4.  Street thugs need to maintain street credibility.  Posturing, insults, and threats help maintain that credibility even if they are not acted upon.  Violence occurs during an escalation of insults and threats between thugs to maintain street credibility. (See item 2)  Upstanding citizens don't need street credibility and thus have dominance over those that do.   

Since the time years ago when these lessons were learned, many more homes in our neighborhood have been purchased and rehabilitated.  We have excellent neighbors and tenants that are thoughtful and community oriented.  The push for restoration continues and we have just a few remaining homes to complete the work.  You can check out some of the cool before and after videos representing the work that has been accomplished in Ogden.

Tenacity and perseverance are rewarded.