How we fought the war against drugs

The house on the corner sold to a young black couple. The house opposite sold to a retired white couple. The suspected drug dealer moved out of the lonely house and another family-type moved in. The man had a beautiful name: Darius Jefferson. Martha went with Ronald and I to meet him and invite him to a block club meeting.

“We’ve got a block club going,” said Ron.

“We’ve had some problems with kids and guns,” said I.

“I moved here from the projects so my kids can climb trees,” said Martha. “I want a real safe block for my kids.”

The man looked at Martha, he looked at me and Ronald, he looked back at Martha. He didn’t smile. He had a shaved head like a rock. His girlfriend was named Bonnie and stood behind him. I felt like I was in Pulp Fiction without the jokes. We forgot to give him our phone numbers or addresses before we beat ass out of there.

“I don’t want that man talking to my kids, I don’t want him even looking at my kids, I want nothing to do with him,” said Martha when we were safely in the street. “I knows a drug dealer when I see them. Seen enough already.”

A call to the Community Crime Prevention program reporting Darius Jefferson’s name and address supported our suspicion: Darius Jefferson had eight prior arrests related to selling narcotics at his last address. Darius Jefferson moved into our neighborhood one month after his eighth narcotic-related arrest at his former address. If eight prior arrest had not resulted in any jail time, it was easy to understand why Darius Jefferson felt safe enough to begin selling drugs as soon as he relocated.

We did everything we’d been told to do in our block club training. We kept a log of what cars stopped at his house, for how long, and at what time of day and night. When the music he played could be heard across the street, we called 911. When he did not pick up trash in his yard and when his lawn wasn’t mowed, we called the city inspector. We’d had to resort to these measures because the police said they couldn’t arrest him without more evidence and we wanted him to get the message that we were watching him. He accused us of harassment. I agreed with him. I felt silly calling the city inspector for three foot high weeds on the alley side of his garage when I was really thinking he was selling drugs and packing guns. If this was the war against drugs, no wonder we were losing.