Perspective | 'Killing yourself'

The "officer assist" call comes in on the radio, and Philadelphia Police Officer David Boyd flips on the patrol car's lights and sirens and takes off down Woodland Avenue as fast as possible.

Shots have been fired on the scene near the corner of Conestoga Street and Woodland Avenue in Southwest Philadelphia, and all the available officers in the area rush to the intersection. Boyd jumps out of the car and follows other officers into the scene, where they recover a .45 caliber pistol and detain four suspects, one of whom is carrying crack cocaine.

Events like these are all too typical for this neighborhood, says Bonnie Blake, an elderly woman who lives near the site of the shooting. She said she was walking to her daughter's house when she came across the crime scene.

"Two young boys got killed right over there last year," she says, pointing across the street. "I think the violence here is the worst in Philadelphia and some of the worst in the state of Pennsylvania"

She may be right - the 12th Police District has the highest district control, or incident, numbers in the city, Boyd says. At 9:20 p.m. last Saturday, 19 calls were pending on Boyd's dispatch computer screen in his cruiser, a number he called "average" for the day and time.

But the problem isn't limited to Southwest Philadelphia: Homicides in the city tallied 406 last year, up from 288 in 2002.

The city's homicide rate is five times higher than the national homicide rate, according to Lawrence Sherman, the director of Penn's Jerry Lee Center of Criminology.

And this year's numbers aren't expected to be much better - 332 people have been killed in the city so far with more than two months left to go.

That number doesn't even take into account those who made it.

"If you look at the numbers . you have to extrapolate from that the number of people who actually survived their shootings," said Ralph Riviello, a professor at Center City's Jefferson Medical College.

Homicides, of course, aren't the city's only worry.

Earlier in the night, Boyd responded to a thrift store robbery at 55th and Chester streets. An unknown suspect assaulted the store owner with a blunt object so severely that his blood spattered on the sidewalk, then stole $300 from the man's store and fled. By the time Boyd arrived, the store owner was already in an ambulance.

Boyd suspected the perpetrator lived nearby and ran into a neighborhood house before the police arrived.

"We have so many problems on these two blocks," he said.

Still, there are some indications that the police's efforts are having an effect.

3,371 guns have been confiscated this year, according to Philadelphia Police Lt. Frank Vanore - 38 percent higher than the number taken at this point last year.

Shootings are also down nine percent since last year.

But in spite of the slight reduction, one criminologist says it isn't time to celebrate yet.

"Even if the homicide rate finishes 20 more or 20 less than last year, it's basically the same rate," said Sherman. "I take little comfort from what has been the 'good news' over the last several weeks."

Boyd, who has been on the force since February 2006, patrols from 60th and Woodland streets to 49th and Chester streets. During his shift from 4 p.m. to midnight last Saturday, in addition to the shooting and the robbery, he stopped two vehicles, investigated a stolen car, served a Protection from Abuse order, told a group of kids to stop throwing rocks in the street, investigated a wallet and cell phone theft and helped arrest a man wanted in connection to a robbery.

He said he takes out his gun about twice a month.

A new group of officers will graduate from the Philadelphia Police Academy in early November, and Boyd hopes department administrators will "flood" 12th District with many of those new hires.

Still, Vanore said the police can't succeed without help from people in local communities, and Boyd said there can't be a major change in the crime numbers until social attitudes change.

"You pretty much have to change the way people think," Boyd said. "I don't think they understand that when you pull that trigger, you're not only killing someone else - you're killing yourself."

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Every night, C.B. Kimmins and Greg Bucceroni - the sort of "people in local communities" that Vanore referred to - drive around the city's worst neighborhoods, stopping to talk to the citizens most at-risk of becoming criminals and victims.

On Sunday night, the pair met at a Dunkin' Donuts in Fishtown, located in the northeast section of the city.

Kimmins, 63, wears a white hard hat covered with stickers and pins from local law-enforcement agencies and activist groups.

He serves as chairman for the city's Citizens' Advisory Board for Probation and Parole and leads an organization called Mantua Against Drugs. He has been fighting gang violence for 40 years and drug violence for 22 years, and he worked as a teacher and a milkman earlier in his life.

Bucceroni became a youth advocate after abandoning his former life sleeping in abandoned cars and "making examples" of mob enemies in New York City and South Philadelphia.

"I was at the fork in the road, like I tell people," Bucceroni said. "I realized that it was going to get harder to get out, so I decided to get out when I could, and I never regretted it."

Maureen Rush, Penn's vice president for public safety, said she remembered providing police protection for Kimmins in the 1980s when she was part of the Philadephia Police Narcotics Strike Force.

"People are so busy today that there's a lack of volunteerism," Rush said. Activists like Kimmins have the ability to "send a message to . the bad guys that [they] will not tolerate this kind of action."

Kimmins and Bucceroni's first stop of the night was a home on a dimly lit North Philadelphia block near the corner of 29th and Thompson streets.

Bucceroni knocked on the door and waited a few minutes. The door opened, revealing a dark interior and multiple voices.

Gary, a teenager, came outside to talk to Bucceroni.

"He cares about me," said Gary, whose last name Bucceroni did not divulge because of his age. He said he hears a lot of gunshots in his neighborhood.

Shootings claimed the lives of his brother and two cousins, and Gary was once arrested in school for "jumping" another adolescent.

Since then, he's joined a junior basketball league. That suggestion came from Bucceroni, who started mentoring Gary after getting a call for help from his mother.

"Here's a kid who would have been another statistic of the penal system, but he's stayed in school and wants to go to college," Bucceroni said.

After about five minutes, Kimmins and Bucceroni get on their way to another section of the city.

"A lot of these kids, what Greg and I offer them is hope that there's a way out," Kimmins said.

Bucceroni said that on Thanksgiving, he will bring a turkey to Gary's family and the other 46 families whose children he mentors.

And like Kimmins, he doesn't get paid for the work he does every night.

"When that kid does well, that means that I'm doing well as a mentor," Bucceroni said. "If he fails, that means I've failed."

For Kimmins, the biggest paycheck is "the kid that turns his life around."

But their work isn't limited to adolescents.

On Kensington Avenue in Northeast Philadelphia, Bucceroni points out about five prostitutes.

He pulls his car, a Philly CarShare Toyota Prius, over to the curb and calls out to one he recognizes.

Selena remembers Bucceroni, so he gets out to talk to her and her companion.

"To me, this is a desperation," she says. "I might jerk a guy off; the worst I've ever done was give a blow job."

As a relapsed drug addict, she immediately spends what she makes on heroin, Xanax and Oxycontin.

Bucceroni and Kimmins say Selena came to a rehabiliaton center along the street to get help with the drug addictions but met fellow addicts and relapsed.

Now, Buccernoni said, "she's out here sucking dick for $20."

But until Selena and others like her ask for help, all Bucceroni and Kimmins can do is try to convince them that there is a way out of this "desperation."

At 11 p.m., the activists are done with their rounds, but they will be back out again soon, checking on people who need their help.

Even though Sherman, the criminologist, said there is no evidence that community activists can reduce the homicide rate, Bucceroni and Kimmins are convinced that they're effective.

"Somewhere along the line, this does work," Kimmins said.

"This is our passion, our crusade," Bucceroni said. "Seven days a week, we volunteer if nothing more than just to make people feel good about themselves."

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