C ritics might complain that I'm a lazy reporter because I write about my backyard, but jeez, what else should I explore when I open the door on my way to work one Tuesday December morning and three feet away from me, a tall Latino man is climbing on my back porch searching for stashed guns or drugs in my gutter?

I think I surprised him as much as he me.

"Holy (*&)8*#!" we exclaimed. That we said the same thing was darkly comical.

I dropped my briefcase, pulled the door shut and threw the deadbolt as quickly as possible.

I hesitated a minute before calling my neighbor and 911. I poked my head out the window to watched the men root around my backyard. They were in their early 20s, with jeans sliding down their butts revealing plaid boxers. The taller one appeared Puerto Rican. He wore a blue stain sheen kind of jacket with a dark blue hoodie. The shorter one was black. He wore a similar jacket and hoodie, but his was dark green.

I didn't open the back door because I wasn't sure if they were armed. I watched them from my kitchen window for a few minutes waiting for the police to arrive. They opened garbage cans, looked under cars, popped their heads under the picnic table, crawled under porches, even dumped out the neighbor's recycling bin.

The astute observer might say, "Krayeske, get a fence and shut up. Good fences make good neighbors." If our condo association was wealthy, we might get a fence. But I think they're kind of useless, especially after I witnessed my two perps hop the fence in our backyard into the neighboring apartment building.

This entire episode angered me. What if my girlfriend opened the door that morning and not me? I would never forgive myself if harm became her in this neighborhood. But since my entire life savings is invested in 800-square foot condo, and I don't have the financial resources to move tomorrow, we are here and must deal.

I decided that someone in the Mayor's office would share my pain while I waited for the cops. Susan McMullen wasn't in, so I asked for communications director Sarah Barr. Her initial reluctance to talk with me frustrated me moreso.

"How much longer must I deal with this type of crime in my backyard?" I asked. She had no answer. I later apologized to her for my eight-minute rant. But still no police.

While raging to Barr, I saw the two perps emerge onto the sidewalk from behind the apartment complex. My neighbor opened the front door and hollered at them to mind the "No Trespassing" signs posted all over the backyard, and one yelled back that "My boy stashed something. *(#^!@&% off."

When the two officers arrived a full 15 minutes after the first 911 call, the hoods were long gone. They took descriptions, and found a suspect a block away. I jumped into one of the police cars, and they had me ID the suspect from 100 yards away. It wasn't him, and I was bummed, because I wanted an arrest for trespassing.

The officer drove me around Asylum Hill for another five minutes, scanning the sidewalks for our wanted men, to no avail. But my conversation with the cop made me feel better.

I bitched that basically as long as drugs are illegal, the market that supplies substances to junkies will run unregulated, and that causes the need for guns. It's not like CVS and Walgreen's battle for turf with .09mms or sawed-off shotguns.

And as long as we treat junkies as criminals and not sick addicts, we encourage petty property crime. Every day a junkie wakes up, they need a costly fix, and they will smash a car window, prostitute themselves or break into a house to finance their habit. While it guarantees the cops a job, it makes my neighborhood less than savory.

The officer agreed. But what about his superiors and Mayor Eddie Perez? Perez's only drug policy statement I know of comes from Councilman Bob Painter's drug policy conference in October. Perez said that drugs were a problem, but didn't outline his solution. One might infer that his city's sponsorship of the conference indicates support for dialogue, but what else?

I asked Barr for a description of the Mayor's policy on the War on Drugs, but I have not heard back. I also requested an interview with Perez. Barr said it will take six weeks to set up a 30-minute sit down session. I will be patient, but when I worked for Ralph Nader's presidential campaign, our office could set up 10-minute phoners with Ralph and a reporter in less than a day.

That Tuesday morning though, my girlfriend and I, apart from each other, both took walks to restake our claim and independence in the neighborhood. We will not walk around feeling scared and sorry for ourselves. Life is too short for fear.

1/3/06

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"We will not walk around feeling scared and sorry for ourselves. Life is too short for fear."

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Backyard Adventures, Part XIV

"We will not walk around feeling scared and sorry for ourselves. Life is too short for fear."