Mount Pleasant's Growing Pain

A series of long, leafy blocks lined with turn-of-the-century rowhouses clustered around a short commercial strip of storefronts and apartment buildings, the neighborhood emerged as the city's Latino hub in the 1980s, when Salvadorans and Guatemalans fleeing civil wars flocked to its affordable housing. According to the 2000 census, about a third of Mount Pleasant's 12,000 inhabitants were Hispanic; a third, non-Hispanic white; and a fifth, non-Hispanic black.

But since 1999, the real estate boom has pushed the price of top-end homes above $900,000 and fueled the conversion of apartment buildings to condos. The resulting exodus of blue-collar residents can be tracked through the increasing number of sport-utility vehicles and BMW sedans popping up in driveways of houses that once rented as group homes.

Ironically, many Anglo professionals say the racial and economic diversity was what attracted them to Mount Pleasant in the first place. "It reminded me of so much that I had left behind in Texas," said Eugene Stevanus, 42, who moved to Mount Pleasant in 1987. "You could walk down the street and see guys in mariachi outfits singing these incredibly sentimental ballads."

Still, the neighborhood had a seedy side. Many new arrivals were young, single men who had difficulty finding jobs and no solace beyond a bottle of beer. "The public drunkenness was constant," said Ken Goldstein, a retired teacher and supporter of Don Juan who has lived across the street since 1980.

More than 20 establishments served alcohol well past midnight, said Collins, the Alliance president, and when residents called police to complain about rowdy customers, the response was unreliable.

In 1991, after a police officer shot a Salvadoran man just across from Don Juan, Mount Pleasant erupted in three days of fire, looting and fighting. In the aftermath, a host of government-sponsored and nonprofit organizations formed to provide local Hispanics with services ranging from alcohol counseling to employment and business development assistance.

About this time, residents created the Alliance to improve the quality of life. Collins, who also has served on an Advisory Neighborhood Commission and the Alcohol Beverage Control Board, said no restaurant was pressured into giving up live music.

But several owners remember the process differently.

"They said I couldn't say no, because otherwise they would protest my liquor license," recalled Jaime Carillo, the Bolivian-born owner of Don Jaime's, a restaurant and bar across the street from Don Juan. Under city rules, protests might have delayed Carillo's license by more than a year. Carillo said he couldn't afford to wait.

Haydee Vanegas, 38, owner of the nearby Haydee's restaurant, said Alliance members made frequent calls to fire, health and alcohol inspectors until she gave in and signed a voluntary agreement.

Between the declining Latino population and the inability to offer customers live music on weekend nights or for parties, restaurant owners say business has declined by as much as 50 percent.

Most galling, three of the newer restaurant/bars on the block -- Marx Cafe, Tonic and Radius -- recently negotiated agreements that permit them to host live entertainment during Sunday brunch and 12 evenings a year.

"It's clearly a question of racism," Ferrufino said. "They give us a much harder time than the gringos."

Market forces might have the last word: Ever more of Ferrufino's weeknight customers are Anglo. Carillo has replaced the Spanish-language menu at Don Jaime's with one in English and modified it for Anglo tastes.

If he wins the right to host live music, Carillo mused, "I don't know that it should be mariachis anymore. I was thinking I want to put some jazz in my restaurant, a piano and maybe a guitar player so people can come by and enjoy a bottle of wine."