The Watchmen of Rogers Park
Rick Jones and his band of self-appointed community patrolmen keep a close eye on their North Side neighbors, keeping their streets safe of everything from drug dealers to parking violators.
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In order to get results, Jones and crew need hard evidence, which they say is all about their network. The group spends much of their time spreading information. Kenny sweeps the gutters and cleans the parkways on his block every Tuesday, to keep tabs on the block and so that the neighbors can get used to seeing him and not think anything of it. He also welcomes neighbors to stop and swap information. If the person didn't come to the latest CAPS meeting, he'll fill that person in. He's also working to create his own block directory, with everyone's names, numbers, and exact location should he need them.
"You have to train them," Jones says about his neighbors on Wallen. "You can call 911 and say, 'I want to be anonymous, and this is what I'm seeing.' And then you have to train 'em -- you have to give a lot of detail. You have to give 'em an exact address, and a lot of them want to know what they look like, and exactly what is going down, that can be responded to by the police."
Working closely together, the group has created a whole subculture, with nicknames and code words. "We had a guy that lived over here and one of the people that he always hung out with looked like his head was a bowling ball set on a huge pile of bricks. So we called him No Neck," says Jones.
"And we have names on our block," Kenny says. "Until you get to know the names, you gotta give 'em something so you can say, oh this is happening. You could say, oh, Mrs. Kraut—we knew who we were talking about, the woman on the block with the heavy German accent. Mrs. Kraut. And then, Mr. & Mrs. Corona. All those empty beer bottles every day. You had your little nicknames."
"On Wallen, we have the Mohammeds," Jones chimes in.
The camaraderie helps, but a lot of the CAPS work results in bureaucratic headaches and significant delays. Gene retired from the position of facilitator from his beat a few years ago, and while Kenny has taken his spot at the District Advocacy Council, no one has taken the job of running the meetings. CAPS neophytes tend to come to the meeting, see their problem resolved, and aren't seen again. Jones and Kenny agree, though, that they’ve seen good results, and they want to see more. No use quitting now.
"We've gotten so good at it, we might as well keep plugging away," Jones says.
"And it's so much fun!" Kenny adds, and the two chuckle.
****
After a night reminiscing about CAPS victories on the Rehmerts' porch, the wine bottles and chip bowl empty are empty and everyone stretches to disperse. Kenny offers Jones and me a ride. With all the talk about the problem buildings next door, I'm happy for the escort.
When we pull up to my three-flat, just a few blocks away, I fumble in my purse for my keys, mumbling about how I like to have them in hand before I get to the door. Jones opens the passenger-side door and gets out, standing in the open door and looking across the street. The lighting's not so good, he says, and I agree. They waiting to see me inside safely, then drive off into the Rogers Park night, back to watching over their own blocks.
