The House That (Almost) Made Me Barf And Much More

Photo by John Hoff

(This is not the house in the title...this one is just beyond my southern perimeter, and signs can be deceiving. The company on the sign has NO RECORD of the house being in their system. So why did somebody put the sign in the yard, hmmmmm?)
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After dealing with the (pathetic and stupid) disorder on the U of M campus (see previous entry) I did my night patrol of "the block" and the surrounding perimeters, plus assorted nearby side streets and found...

...no prostitutes. No drug dealers. That's two nights in a row of relative security on the dark streets surrounding my block after my repeated 911 calls. Amazing. Is that ALL IT TAKES? Pressing 911 over and over?

The Scary Little "Gang Garage"

I drove up an alley on my "northern perimeter" and checked out "Jeff's garage," the unattached little stucco building behind 3112 6th Ave. N., which has been broken into repeatedly and bears obvious gang graffiti. I call it "Jeff's garage" because Jeff Skrenes of the Hawthorne Neighborhood Association (who simply radiates coolness) not only directed me to the problem, but told me he had nailed boards on it before in his own personal capacity on his own time and not by the authority of the Hawthorne Neighborhood Association.

Ah, another "vigilante boarder" out of the closet, folks. And a prominent one, at that. It's becoming a social movement.

The boards I had nailed up--including a large, thick cabinet door scrounged from the vacant lot on the opposite side of 6th Street N.--were once again torn down.

So they were getting in AGAIN. Why, I wondered? What was the intense attraction about that crappy and isolated little garage--the inside walls scorched to unadulterated blackness--besides its location behind the "problem tenants" who mock their elderly neighbor for her constant cleaning efforts? (See the story in Minn Post)

I would have to call it in tomorrow, I thought. I drove around, but I found no reason to call 911. The crappy weather helped, I figured. Or maybe I'd already used up my favors with the 911 deities on my own campus, over those trashed cement ashtrays. I went home and slept. I had wanted to see a good movie--"310 To Yuma"--but there weren't enough hours in the day, not with being a "911 nanny" to my block and the North Side.

In the morning, I drove up to 3112 6th Ave. N. and called it in. It's fine to make a list of properties and from another location, sure, but often there is something which needs to be checked. A few days ago 311 asked, "Does it have more than three boards on it?" I walked around and counted, obediently.

(What was that all about?)

So I called 311, and they were particularly interested in the gang graffiti. I was told recognizable gang graffiti got priority in the system. So I asked the operator, "How do I recognize it? Is there a website which helps me distinguish actual gang graffiti from tagging?"

Recognition Versus...Well, Recognition

The 311 operator looked into it. It took a moment. When she came back on the line (and the whole time, I'm sitting in my car, watching 6th Street North in the rear view mirror so somebody doesn't come up on me unexpectedly) she said there used to be a website about how to recognize gang graffiti in Minneapolis, but the problem was the gangs were seeking recognition and the website was feeding into it. So no more website.

I silently rolled my eyes. The problem, I thought, was not the website but the lack of political will to follow up vigorously and snuff out the gangs, to the point a website about their graffiti would become an interesting remnant of an extinct subculture.

THAT WAS THE PROBLEM.

"Well," I said, agreeably, "I notice when I call in graffiti you always ask what the letters say. So clearly it's being distinguished within the system."

That it was, the operator agreed. But she herself didn't know what happened after she took the reports. She thought the graffiti reports wer reviewed by the Gang Task Force. I filed all this for future reference and--well, of course!--blogging.

So gang graffiti gets priority in the system...but there is no website to tell you how to recognize it. You just have to (ha ha) learn it on the street.

However, in deference to the city's administrative decision to not publicize and glorify gang graffiti on a website, I will generally avoid describing or photographing the graffiti unless there is some overriding or pressing reason.

Hey, Johnny North Side plays ball with public officials. You bet.

The operator asked my name and said, "Oh, we've got a whole BUNCH of John Hoffs." I said, "They're probably all me. Really, I should get frequent flier miles."

She confirmed my phone number and asked if I'd provide a mailing address.

I've heard rumors of Minnesota Twins tickets being mailed to good citizens. I gave her my rural "permanent address." I hoped for the baseball tickets and not a scolding on official letterhead for, I don't know, getting happy with the boards and nails...going inside houses that don't belong to me in the name of "adopting houses."

But I am beginning to think I have no worries at all in that regard. Especially after what happened with "the house that (almost) made me barf."

Charred Boards Are Notable...Somehow.

The operator was interested in my description of the charred boards inside the garage building, which I had seen during the "tour of progress" with the Minn Post reporter and the neighborhood officials. She checked to see if 3112 6th Street North had ever been called in to the fire department.

Interestingly, it hadn't. She made a note about it. And, well, so did I.

So evidence of a fire is notable. Maybe there could be structural issues? Hmmmm. I should have made more inquiries about the significance of charred boards, but the conclusion seems fairly obvious.

Well, if I see charred boards, now I'll report that, too, instead of assuming it's just another gritty spectacle of rampant abandonment, not as notable as AN UNSECURED DOOR. (Click here for "Dragnet" trailer)

Epic Realty Will Get Right On It

After 311, I called Epic Realty and explained the situation. I said some of us were "just replacing city boards instead of waiting around for days or weeks" but the problem was this garage was too scary, too isolated.

The person from Epic was cheered that people were just taking stuff into their own hands...and this from the company in charge of that particular property! She said Epic would get the "property preservation" people out there quickly. I told her 311 had been informed, so if something was done quickly, best to call 311.

"I'm out here in Anoka," she said. "I can't call 311."

OK, this is something I need to find out...what is the "regular number" for 311, so I can give it to real estate agents outside of Minneapolis to "belay" a 311 report and keep some overworked city official from needing to run out to the property after the problem has been solved?

I inquired about the price of the property with the "scary gang garage."

Hmmmm. Not bad.

I said, "Well, I just got one near here for $8,500 plus $500 in taxes." She asked about the address.

She said, "Yeah, we sold that one. I remember that one."

"OH!" I laughed. "Yeah, you're EPIC. I dealt with you."

She asked me about my plans for the property, and I told her how I was trying to sell it to "some good people" who were trying to improve the neighborhood, but it was a long and bureaucratic process, but things were generally going well.

Squatters At Lowry and 4th

Bored with my "area of operations," but in a good way, I crossed Lowry Ave. N. and found a house open to trespass right across from a Minneapolis Water Works facility. The house was brick, more than 100 years old, but I noticed its deck was made out of new treated wood. It was a pleasure to walk on that fine deck, I thought, doing honest (but uncompensated) security work.

The house must be good inside, I thought, despite the ancient painted brick exterior, if somebody would go to the trouble of such an improvement. Almost right away, I found an unsecured first story window, with a sliding screen that could be easily pushed upward.

Pay dirt, I thought. That's a legitimate 311 call right there.

I checked the rear doors, discovering the house was a duplex. The door to the first story was boarded, but the door upstairs was unsecured and open to trespass. I looked inside.

Shoes. Shoes put out to dry on the wooden stairwell, and a stash of television and stereo equipment (none of it looking very valuable) on the landing.

"Security!" I shouted, at the top of my lungs.

I held still and listened. A yell like that will usually startle a trespasser and they will make some kind of noise, they will move. I learned this in some of my security training, ages ago.

There was no noise. I walked inside. All I had was my cheap Craft hammer and my cell phone, which I'd made darn sure was turned on, duh.

I continued inside, announcing myself loudly. There was evidence of squatting...blankets, a cushion from a couch used as a pillow, containers from alcoholic beverages, clothing. No need to see much more or hang around very long. I called it in to 311, emphasizing the obviousness of the squatting activity and the complete accessibility of the building. The operator gave me a reference number. I jotted it in Sharpie on an exterior door board, in case a week went by and I had to call it in again, or so some other citizen checking buildings could reference it.

I didn't have paper. I didn't want to write on my hand. I was tired.

Remnants Of Another Era

I checked two more vacant houses on 4th, but all seemed secure. I was delighted to find what appeared to be an old carriage house in one of the back yards, converted to a utility building. I stood a moment and gazed upon that little building, picturing a happy and innocent era in North Minneapolis...though I suppose the area may have been another town at that time?

I will have to look into this.

Tossed in the back yard of one house was a small antique "steamer chest," metal clad, the old iron severely rusted to the point of being dark brown, not red. It probably wasn't worth ten bucks, not even to an antique dealer. There wasn't enough metal for the scrap value. It meant nothing to crack heads.

I amused myself with a pirate imitation. Yeah, I'm a clown. Even when the camera isn't around, I'm practicing.

The House That (Almost) Made Me Barf

I had just called in some gang graffiti on Lyndale Ave. N. near Merwyn's Liquor, the meaning of which "Scuffie" my maintenance guy had explained to me, so I could recognize it. I took a random turn and went...that-a-way, ending up near Aldrich and 26th.

It was drizzling. There were a load of cops and a fire truck a few blocks away. I got out with my hammer and started checking a boarded house. It looked OK on the side facing Aldrich. Then I noticed the extensive damage to the screens of the large porch. And then I noticed the back door was ajar about two inches.

Pay dirt. Time to call 311.

One of the 311 operators is beginning to recognize my voice and phone number, and I know her calm and competent voice as well. I stood in front of the "Notice Of Condemnation" (which is always an informative document to reference, especially to make sure you've got the address exactly right) and called this one in.

"Is anybody inside right now?" the operator asked, carefully.

"Just one moment, I'll check," I said.

"Be careful," she said.

"Whatever," I laughed. "Just a moment ma'am, I need to bullshit, here..."

I stuck my head in the door and bellowed, "SECURITY!!!!"

I listened. No "startled noises."

"Let's see here," I said, entering the house with my favorite operator on the line. "There is a shirt hung up to dry right here by the door...somebody has written the word DEATH on the Sheetrock, there. Nice. Let me check the first floor...OK, we've got blankets, booze bottle remnants...OK, yeah, this place is definitely being squatted. Let me check upstairs."

"Just be careful," she said, but notably she is not telling me to stop. This, I thought, is a person who cares about the fate of North Minneapolis more than bureaucratic niceties.

Upstairs there were more blankets...loads of empty beer cases. What is it about the beer in the silver can advertising its use of "steel cut" wheat? Is that what the chronic inebriates and the crack heads really prefer? I've seen this trend in abandoned houses all over the North Side.

"Ha!" I laughed. "A half gallon bottle of gin, half full! That is going to be fun to dump out."

I grabbed what I assumed was a bottle of gin. I should have realized gin isn't dark brownish yellow and, furthermore, nobody leaves hard liquor uncapped, due to its tendency to evaporate rather quickly, but what can I say? I'm not much of a boozer.

I had all the information 311 needed, and so I headed downstairs and out of the house. Casually, I sniffed what I assumed to be a bottle of gin.

It was full of crack head urine. I wretched, violently, but didn't vomit. The 311 operator heard the whole thing. I wonder if it was all "recorded for quality assurance purposes"?

"Oooooh!" I exclaimed. "That's not gin, that's urine! I just smelled it. Well, I'm still dumping it out, it just won't be as much fun. Look, ma'am, that's FRESH urine. It doesn't even small like ammonia. They're probably in there every night."

I dumped the urine on the lawn and, well, left the bottle there. I don't think it can count as littering when the very thought of touching the object in question will make you violently ill. Just thinking about this episode over the course of the next hour or so made the gorge rise in my throat.

My sacrifice was not in vain. The operator said she'd get some priority on this one. She would try to "get housing out there." I didn't bother with the reference number. I told her I was "definitely going to blog about this."

Me And 311 Getting The Job Done

I felt really good about the last house, despite the way it made me gag. The 311 operator and I had been acting as a team. Though I hadn't entered under the explicit direction of the City of Minneapolis, I had done so with their awareness and complete acquiescence.

I wasn't "trespassing." I was being a good citizen. I was doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing to secure valuable property wide open to trespass from crack heads.

And readers of this blog can do likewise, and feel free to submit the stories of your adventures.

I am not alone when I check these buildings. The City of Minneapolis looks over my shoulder like an officious guardian angel, and the tales will be told right here, in the public eye.