dr. philebrity,

perhaps you can help ease our concerns.

my wife and i have been awakened 4 times in as many months by the sound of gunshots outside our apartment. sometimes they appear to be small caliber weapons (pop! pop! pop!); other times, like last night - BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

we realize that we’re not the intended target for these individuals. and our heads lie just below our windows, so barring any crazy-ass JFK trajectories, the contents within them should remain intact.

but all the same, it’s a bit disconcerting. i mean, we thought that YOUR neighborhood is the one that’s supposed to be “up-and-coming.”

signed,
28th and pop(!)lar

The good doctor lays it out for these urban newbies after the jump.

Dear 28th and Pop,
I think I understand where you’re coming from, even though you didn’t really ask a question; indeed, your situation invokes so many that it would be understandable to have difficulties just settling on one. Are people really getting shot out there? Should we call the police? If we do call the police, will we have to worry about retribution for being snitches? What can the cops even do, anyway? Isn’t this the kind of ghetto-bred violence that has been plaguing the city for years? Should we move?
It’s a lot to think about. And I’m inferring from your letter that you’re new residents of this neighborhood, no? And that you’ve probably never lived anywhere where your immediate neighbors relished gunplay with quite the same gusto as they do at 28th and Poplar. OK, then, you’re right: I can ease your concerns.
Here’s the deal: There are places in the city that are, in the most classic, epic, sense, outside the law. This means that crime is part of the fabric of life there, and frequently, even if the police wanted to do something about it, they probably couldn’t. It’s all the cops can do to just keep a lid on it and try to get it so that few people die as possible.
Example: The good doctor used to live next door to a crack house. And you know what no crack house is complete without? That’s right, my friend: Crack whores. Now, if you’ve got a wild streak like mine, you might be saying, “Damn! That’s convenient!” But the reality is that people on crack are actually kind of a mess. And the whole crack house scene was a breeding ground for every ridiculous kind of trouble you could think of, not least, the beating of and subsequent screaming by said crack whores. When I first took residence there, anxities much like yours were my nightly reality. Thuds were heard, screams issued and often, a high-pitched “HELP ME! CALL THE POLICE!”
So in these early days, that is what I did. After all, someone was asking for help. So a pattern soon developed: Loud/vaguely life-threatening noises are issued. Dr. Philebrity calls the cops. Cops arrive, and empty human contents of the house. Everyone’s got a story. The cops listen to them all. Surmising that this is essentially crackhead freakout bullshit, cops decide it’s a waste of time: Nobody’s even got enough crack that would make them worth arresting, and there isn’t a reliable witness anywhere around because, hey now! These people are on crack. And so the cops retreat back into the night, and sleeping dogs lie. Until the next night.
I suspect that this is something like the situation you’re dealing with, Mr. and Mrs. 28th & Poplar, and I offer you ó and this is all I can offer you, really ó cold comfort. Gangstas, like their ancient swarthy gang-ster urban antecendents, like violence. They wouldn’t be gangstas if they didn’t, and no matter what they say (there’s always a Ghost Dog in the bunch), this is their thing. The upshot of all this (bad pun, but are you paying for this advice?) is that gangstas generally only shoot those impudent enough to fuck with them. The downside is that they often miss and hit someone else, but let’s see the silver lining for now and just disregard that.
Put simply: That’s their shit. I want you to read that phrase out loud, because it may be useful to you as a mantra for living in the city: That’s their shit. That’s their jail time, that’s their ridiculously low life expectancy, that’s their gaping bullet wound. People are smart and adaptable creatures. They know, almost instinctively, what is bad for them and what is good. Anyone who wants to get away from the game surely can. It’s as easy as going straight home and reading a book. So perhaps this will bring you ease: Those people outside poppin’ caps? They’re doing it because they want to. It will catch up with them. After all, that’s their shit. It’s not yours to mess with.

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This entry was posted on Friday, November 18th, 2005 at 3:38 pm.