The Far Side of Rebirth

Swenson became familiar with the neighborhood by frequenting now-demolished clubs on nearby O Street. Now he has returned as a property owner, spending $400,000 for a two-bedroom at the recently opened Capitol Hill Tower, which boasts of a "sky-lit indoor pool" and "mahogany-finish entry doors."

For the moment, he does not mind that when he walks outside he faces the grime-encrusted facade of a Department of Public Works facility. That, too, will go, he said. Meanwhile, he is witnessing a rebirth, brick by brick. "You see the future," he said. "We're just waiting for it to come up around us."

Others wonder whether they'll be welcome in the new world. Sarah Davies is the owner of the Charley Horse Co., which offers carriage rides around the Mall. For 15 years, she has kept her horses -- Bartholomew, Michelangelo, Zoe and Pooh Bear -- beneath the freeway, in a stable she rents from the District government.

Until recent years, a printing press and a warehouse were across the street. Most people didn't know she was there, she said, and the rest, including those who parked outside for a smoke or a catnap, didn't much care. But she doubts that a stable will fit in with a neighborhood brimming with comfort.

"It's not like this is a hospital -- it's not essential," she said, standing outside the stable, the Capitol visible in the distance through a thicket of bare trees. Still, she said, her stable, partly by virtue of its odd location, "makes a contribution to the flavor of D.C. I don't want to be part of a sterile world."

Others worry about more practical matters. The Rev. Thomas Moon once could count on 75 congregants showing up for Sunday services at St. Paul's AUMP Church at Fourth and I streets. But with Capper/Carrollsburg demolished, including the buildings that adjoined the church, the pastor typically finds himself facing just 30 worshipers, and often fewer.

"The weirdest thing is driving in on the freeway and looking over here, and where you once saw a whole community, all you see is one little church," he said. "We're shrinking."

The pastor talks of opening a day-care center for families moving to the nearly 300 rowhouses planned for the area. But the church's 83-year-old bricks will need a cleaning; otherwise, it's "going to be like a sore thumb." And, Moon asked, how will St. Paul's pay for all that? "You wonder what the future will bring," he said.

Five blocks away, Andy Lee, the owner of Market Deli at First and L streets, counted on the public housing residents, as well as the cabbies and mechanics, to buy his drip coffee ($1.38 for a large). Now he relies on the hard hats putting up the condominium high-rises. When the buildings are complete, he asked, when the neighborhood is remade and the construction workers are gone, what then?

Will the lawyers and lobbyists buying the new granite-laden apartments drink drip coffee from foam cups?

"I'm dealing with blue collar, and I'm going to be surrounded by white collar," Lee said from behind his metal counter, his sandwich board offering a menu of cheap fare, including a $2.95 BLT and $3.30 Salisbury steak. "People like that don't come to the Market Deli."

Around the corner, Sok Reed, who opened a wig and beauty supply shop last year, nurses a more optimistic view. Her clientele, assembled over two decades in her previous shop on the Southwest waterfront, is mostly black. Now, she said, she's ready to draw white women moving into her new neighborhood by adding blond wigs to the stock adorning the mannequin heads cramming her shelves.

"Eva Gabors," she said, pointing to the brand.

Across the street, several businesses have moved out, leaving banners and signs advertising their new addresses in Northeast. Soon, Bennie Meeks, 70, still selling firewood from an empty lot on I Street, will be joining the exodus.

When Meeks started leasing his spot a decade ago, a recycling warehouse and a strip club commanded the opposite corners. Both are gone. Meeks never got to know his neighbors all that well, but the sight of the dancers coming and going provided its own kind of amenity. "I didn't have much to say, but I still liked to look at them," he said, seated in his white pickup, his denim shirt buttoned to the top, his smile framed by a white beard.

Meeks is pleased he found a new place to lease on Kenilworth Avenue, behind a pizzeria just over the Maryland border, but he will miss his spot, with its clear view of the halls of power. No matter what, Meeks said, the sight of the Capitol dome made him feel as though he was somewhere that mattered, not only to himself, but to the world.