Residents along Ponce band together to fight crime

Next door, barber Bobby Jones and several people in his shop were robbed last year by gunmen.

Behind them, shoe repairman Chae Cho suffered a savage beating from a pipe-wielding goon four years ago. “A big guy, a drug guy,” said Cho, a 25-year veteran of that corner. “His eyes were gone.”

Crime on Ponce has subsided from absurd levels of recent years but lawlessness is still rampant, residents and business owners say. Panhandlers still hound citizens. Unstable people still wander the sidewalks at all hours. And car break ins are still endemic.

Those living and working in the area are banding together — once again — in an effort to force the city into maintaining a semblance of order along this mile-long stretch that starts just east of Peachtree Street and ends at City Hall East. They have organized and fought to clean up crime while waiting for the seemingly inevitable resurgence that has been coming for a generation. About 60 residents and business owners packed a meeting room recently at Mary Mac’s Tea Room to swap tales of misbehavior: open drug deals, public urination, aggressive day labors and persistent loitering.

“We’re getting everyone else’s rejects,” said Williams.

Part of the problem, residents like Williams say, is “living between the two Pines” — the cavernous Peachtree Pine homeless shelter to the west and the Bedford Pines apartment complex on Boulevard, which is filled with residents on government vouchers and is a center of drug dealing. “The crackheads live out of Peachtree Pine, they panhandle along Ponce all day, break into vehicles and go to Bedford Pines to buy their crack,” Williams said.

Atlanta police Maj. Khirus Williams (no relation), the local zone commander, sounded as frustrated as those giving him an earful at Mary Mac’s.

“Zone 5 arrests 200 people a week but as soon as they go to jail for city-related offenses, they’re out,” he said. Not only is the force undermanned, he said, but the panhandling law is unconstitutional.

“Currently there is no panhandling law,” later citing the city solicitor. Police now use a disorderly conduct ordinance concerning “accosting” to deal with pushy panhandlers.

Maj. Williams said he plans to move patrols as needed and will put two foot patrol officers on the beat but can’t do a whole lot more until he gets more manpower. Still, he is largely popular with residents, who say he has been game in his efforts. “Crime is like water, it is very fluid,” he said, then vowing, “We will follow it. We want to chase it out of this zone.”

“Not here”

Neighborhood volunteer Steve Gower sounds resolute as he drives the streets around Ponce after midnight. Seven years ago, he temporarily took the helm as security chief of the new Midtown Ponce Security Alliance, and still cruises the area with a video camera, portable klieg light and a can of Mace. “Someone had to do it,” he figured.

The alliance was created by residents and business owners who pay annual dues to hire an off-duty cop to patrol the area. Gower helps by letting police know what he sees.

There have been victories — the transvestite prostitutes and broken-down hookers have scattered. And crack dealers are no longer so brazen they set out couches. Gower spearheaded the effort to chase out the prostitutes, making himself as big a pain to them and their johns as they were to the neighborhood.

He’s sorry they may end up elsewhere. “But this is all the area we can handle,” he said. “All we can say is, ‘Not here.’ ”

One night recently, Gower, who by day works in alumni relations at Oglethorpe University, drove behind Grace United Methodist Church and saw a ghostly figure digging in he dumpster. He shined the light on the man, saying, “The church doesn’t want anyone here at night. Please move on.”

“Yes sir,” the man stated, holding a breakfast bar. “Just getting something to eat.”

The man seemed pathetic, not threatening. What was the harm of him feeding himself? “It’s the broken window theory,” Gower said, alluding to the belief that if a neighborhood keeps windows fixed and trash picked up, bigger problems, like criminal behavior, will subside.

Gower knows where to find the broken windows, the urban campgrounds, the crack-smoking hidey holes. He compiles a dossier of local ne’er-do-wells, complete with photos, if available. The listings are a compilation of names gleaned from arrest reports, jail logs, prison Web sites and tips from the public, including some homeless. “Street people tell me who’s really bad, ‘This guy is on drugs. This guy breaks into houses.’ ”

He has 194 names.

When creating the Midtown Ponce Security Alliance, residents debated if it should patrol just the residential areas bordering Ponce or include the commercial strip, a formidable task. Eventually, they realized they had to patrol the main drag.

“The problems all emanate from Ponce in one way or another,” Gower said. “Without addressing Ponce, you’re spinning your wheels.”

Still waiting

For years, Ponce de Leon has been shorthand for urban decay and bizarre street theater.

Revitalization efforts have been many. In 1991, the city bought the hulking, 2-million-square-foot Sears building and turned it into City Hall East, fueling hopes of spin-off developments nearby.

Atlanta’s rapid gentrification the past decade promised to make this round of Ponce improvements real. In 2000, a shopping mall with a Home Depot opened across from City Hall East. Next to that is the Beltline, a proposed green corridor of development envisioned along old rail lines.

But the resurrections haven’t gained traction. Two ambitious but stalled projects bookmark this stretch of Ponce. To the west, near Peachtree Street, is a fenced-in patch of weeds where a building was imploded in 2006 to make way for Cousins Properties’ Fox Plaza, a luxurious 30-story condo tower.

To the east, City Hall East, is envisioned as a center of business, housing and research. Developer Emory Morsberger vows it will happen. “The future of that corridor hinges on its anchor — the City Hall East building,” he said. “The Beltline will bring momentum.”

One of the victories on Ponce was the Savannah College of Art and Design’s renovation of the 126-year-old Ivy Hall mansion, which had housed vagrants. And eateries like Mary Mac’s Tea Room, Krispy Kreme, Zesto’s and Eats continue to thrive, although the latter must contend with a couple dozen day laborers hanging around outside the business each day, waiting to catch customers leaving from Home Depot.

But losses outnumber gains. There’s an empty bank, a closed gas station, two fast food restaurants with waxed windows and a shuttered camera store. Even the Old Spaghetti Factory closed this year.

Those who remain must keep up their guard at all times. Unit 2 Fitness, a martial arts gym, has a wall with murals of guys beating the tar out of other guys. They don’t deter the hooligans. “We have to tell people to be careful on the way out,” said manager Dymond Jones. “If you park at night (on the street) you will be broken into.”

But Peggy Denby, president of the alliance, remains hopeful of the changes so far.

“In spite of all our efforts — and they are many — it’s not where we want to be,” said Denby. “Ponce should be a beautiful boulevard, which it used to be. But one of these days, we’ll win.”