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By D'Vera Cohn When Gregory Bridges looks out his front door, he sees the trash that passing drivers toss from their cars, the noisy neighbors police won't shut up, the fence around his yard that took four frustrating months to obtain a city permit to build. "The service in this city is atrocious," says Bridges, 42, a lawyer who also is an advisory neighborhood commissioner. "You almost have to go in on bended knee to get someone to do their job."
"We can change it," says Kelly, 40, a consultant to nonprofit groups, "but government has nothing to do with that. The Congress can pass all kinds of laws, but it's the look we give kids when they litter that tells them that won't be tolerated." Bridges and Kelly have lived in the neighborhood since 1994 -- they are married to each other, in fact. Their divergent attitudes -- one hopeful, the other not; one demanding more from city government, the other expecting more from her neighbors -- echo the opinions found throughout the neighborhoods of Ward 4. Their attitudes also underscore the central issue in Ward 4, whose 3,700 acres include a higher share of residential property than any other ward. Residents are passionately concerned about how to keep the stable, pleasant neighborhoods they love from falling prey to drugs and crime, or to the smaller, corrosive nuisances of discarded beer cans, dumped mattresses and missing street signs. Ward 4 extends north to Montgomery County, east to Prince George's County, west to Rock Creek Park and south to Michigan Avenue. Its northern and western neighborhoods include the lushly landscaped mansions of the Gold Coast elite, the funky Victorians of Takoma Park, the brick colonials and bungalows of Brightwood, Crestwood and Shepherd Park, and the tree-lined campus of the Walter Reed Army Medical Center. These areas are home to many in the city's black middle class; at Shepherd Park Elementary School, only one child in six comes from a poor family. The ward's south and east encompasses the tidy row houses, apartment buildings and homes of Petworth, Manor Park and Fort Totten, as well as a complex of institutions including the Washington Hospital Center, Soldiers and Airmen's Home and the VA Medical Center. In the seven elementary schools closest to the ward's southern boundary, 80 percent or more of the students come from low-income families. The commercial spine of Ward 4 is upper Georgia Avenue, a mix of the bustling and the bleak, perennially destined for a comeback. Ward 4 has an estimated 69,000 residents, including a larger share of longtime homeowners than the city overall and the largest number of registered voters in the city. The ward is 78 percent African American, more so than the city as a whole. But its racial and ethnic composition is changing, as more whites move in, as well as immigrants of all races. Bridges is thinking of joining the thousands of other middle class black families who have snubbed the city for the suburbs. He is looking at houses in Maryland's Takoma Park. "I want the same things my parents had," he says. "My parents didn't have to go through kids hanging on the corner and using profanity." But Kelly is not so sure she wants to leave. There are days when she hates the neighborhood and its crust of problems, but she also believes city life entails a commitment to fight to make things better. "I always have in the back of my head this dream neighborhood, where people wave at each other and tend their flowers," she says. "I know it can exist. It's a long process of changing the way people think." There are parts of Ward 4 that come close to Kelly's dream; neighborhoods where the community groups are well-organized at fending off fast-food restaurants, shelters for the homeless and other threats to their peace of mind. In the well-off northern part of Ward 4, where many of the city's political upper strata live, neighborhood gatherings tend to be potluck socials, not anxious conferences about crime and litter.
But residents keep a wary eye on nearby Georgia Avenue, where the drug trade flares up and dies down in response to police crackdowns. And although Shepherd Park Elementary has a good reputation, many parents in the neighborhoods send their children to city schools west of Rock Creek Park or private school. Among them are Paul and Trish McKenzie, who moved to Shepherd Park from Capitol Hill four years ago, to the disbelief of their suburbanite friends. They love their big house, the energetic community groups, Shepherd Park's strong commitment to maintaining an integrated neighborhood where whites like them feel welcome. But the McKenzies -- he works for the Defense Department, she for the Peace Corps -- are not willing to trust their 6- and 10-year-old children to the D.C. schools, yet. Trish McKenzie, 41, says their judgment was validated when the schools opened three weeks late in the fall. "It outraged us so much," she says, "that they would care so little about the students." Still, Paul McKenzie, 44, adds: "I notice a difference in what the control board has done. Things have gotten better."
© Copyright 1998 The Washington Post Company |
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