A friend of mine bought a lovely home in an older part of Las Vegas. For a long time, most of the older parts of Las Vegas had become neglected and run down. When the housing boom began here in the late eighties and early nineties, everything had to be new, new, new. People moving here were not thinking in terms of vintage homes, historical zones, and home rehab selections. Then in early 2000, there was a resurgent interest in downtown Las Vegas, which like that old neighborhoods had become rundown and neglected. Slowly new businesses began to emerge around Fremont Street. The old downtown casinos that sat in the dark shadows of the mega-resorts on the strip began rehabbing and drawing a new generation of customers. Then came the Fremont Experience, an outdoor domed structure that features state-of-the-art lighting shows, new restaurants, and vendors. Tourists and locals began revisiting downtown, and a new generation began noticing the older neighborhoods with, their mid-century modern and split-level designs, that were unique compared to the generic stucco homes that became the norm across the city. They opened up the Mob Museum to bring a spotlight to the old vestiges of the past and paint some color on the rich history that lies within the old city, and the neighborhoods around it. When the housing crash came in 2008, mostly younger people began snapping up houses very cheaply and began rehabbing them. Gentrification, as small and localized as it was, had finally shown up in Vegas. A friend of mine bought an older home in an area called mid-town, which lies right on the cusp of downtown Las Vegas. He and his wife rehabbed the place, bringing back all of its mid-century glory. They were happy there for many years until a neighbor sold his house to a slumlord/drug dealer. The person who bought the house had was recently released from federal prison after doing a long stint. He immediately began to use the property to service crackheads who would buy from him and shoot up in his backyard. They all came, the downtrodden, the homeless, anyone who could pay twenty dollars a night to sleep on the floor of the house, or in one of his many junk cars that were strewn all over the street and stuffed in his backyard. He began running a higher-end drug trade (dealing in heroin) right from his own front door without any type of trepidation. All day long cars would pull up as he ran from door to door making rapid-fire and made dope deals that looked like a magic trick. Within a few months, he drew a blight upon the neighborhood. Close neighbors became furious and got together to try and stop the madness. First zoning was called in to get the cars off the street. Zoning came and they fined him and fined him until the bill got high enough to encourage him to move the cars to his backyard, which now looks like a junkyard. He continues to use the cars as mini motels for the downtrodden. The neighbors then called Metro, their local congressman, and anyone else who would listen and try to help put an end to the madness. The case was eventually sent to narcotics and they put a surveillance truck on the corner of the block. One4 cold December night the SWAT team descended upon the house. They pulled no less than thirty indigent souls from inside and marshaled them out into the streets. The homeowner watched as the SWAT team dragged this little sawed-off Al Capone neighbor away in handcuffs. They were all doing the happy dance thinking the nightmare had reached its end, but they were wrong. A couple of days later the dealer was sprung from jail and went right back to business as usual. The neighbors put pressure on the local congressman to turn up the heat. He contacted the Attorney General’s office. About a year later SWAT came back, more aggressive this time. They set off a volley of flash bombs, as the Captain blasted on the bullhorn, ‘We have a search warrant. Everyone, come out slowly with your hands over your heads.’ Another twenty-five to thirty undesirables slowly leaked out from the doors and crevices of the property and were placed on the sidewalk by the officers. Then the SWAT guys, most of them ex-military stormed in, wearing helmets with flashlights attached to them, shields on their head, bulletproof vest across their chests. They smashed out the front windows and entered the house. Finding dope, guns, and proof of a few stolen cars that were sitting outside on the street. Again, they arrested the creep. But like a cockroach, he was seen sitting out on his porch two days later like nothing happened. The neighbors were scandalized. What to do? What would it take to put an end to the madness that was making this once quiet and safe little enclave back to its former glory? When we last spoke my friend told me the drug traffic had slowed down considerably, but the house was still being offered up as a hostile for the homeless and disenfranchised. He’s doesn’t know if he should fight on to retain his sanity and property value, or just move to another house, which he has the means to do. Eventually, he will have to make that decision. You just never know who is going to move in beside you. If I were in the same situation and felt as though I had exhausted all available resources to get rid of this person, I’m not sure what I would do. Although I hate HOA’s with a passion, I can see the virtue of them. (This will be a continuous story)
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