Today, they're afraid to even go outside — for good reason.

It's now a noisy place with police sirens wailing a half-dozen times a day as prostitutes gab on their cell phones about where cops might be lurking, scanning nearby Kensington Avenue for the johns that they direct here to complete their illicit deeds.

"Sometimes, they have sex right in the car," says one local. "I go out and bang on the window and tell them, 'I got your license plate. There's kids playing out here, for Pete's sake!' They don't care."

A block away, gunfire rings out as two Latino gangs battle for drug-dealing turf. Instead of friendly greetings, hardworking, longtime locals hear the foulmouthed rants of addicts and the menacing threats of petty criminals and who-gives-a-shit renters.

And, if what longtime resident Beth says is true, city government doesn't seem to care much about this declining pocket of Juniata. Police and city agencies seem overwhelmed and weary. Frustrated by crime and poverty, residents claim local political leaders have grown deaf to the complaints. They say the city has given up on this block.

SCENE OF MANY CRIMES: Though things can seem peaceful on East Sedgley at times, locals say they live in an area that officials couldn't care less about. : Michael T. Regan

"You call City Hall, City Council, L&I, they're annoyed at you for complaining," she says. "They don't want to be bothered."

Beth doesn't want to use her real name. She's already been threatened by the hookers, pimps, addicts and dealers. A month ago, someone slashed her tires and, she says, "someone smashed my car last week with a chunk of concrete."

Despite the intimidation, neighbors constantly call 911 to report on drug dealing they say is happening inside five row homes on the block. "Some of the addicts buy their drugs and then sit on your front steps," says Betty, another local. "I tell them to leave my property and they threaten me. I'm 100 percent Polack and it makes me stubborn. I don't back down from nothing. I stand my ground."

Betty says there are a few police who do care and, when they're on duty, they chase the hookers and addicts away. But that's the exception.

"We're alone out here," she says. "I have a gun and I know how to use it. Last week, I called 911 because a guy was trying to break into a neighbor's house, and the cops never came. I went outside and tried to flag down two cop cars, but they looked at me and just kept going. I sent a list of license plate numbers to the 24th District. They were the plate numbers of cars that stop at the drug houses on the block. Drug customers and drug dealers. I never heard back from the police. They never did anything."

All one needs to do to confirm Betty or Beth's story is visit the block. They'll quickly notice that most houses are covered in pigeon shit. That's because dozens of birds have taken up full-time residence on rooftops and telephone wires since, over the last decade, an elderly resident known as "The Birdman" has made sure they're well fed.

But the pigeons have ruined roofs, ripped screen windows and fouled the windshields of almost every car parked on the block. Birdman has been cited by the city several times and ordered to stop by the Health Department — to little avail.

Last spring, Maria, a city employee who struggles to send her children to Catholic school, invited local TV news cameramen to videotape the damage to her home. Screens were ripped and the roof, covered with excrement, had been pecked through, allowing rainwater to pour in. It took one year for the repairs she'd paid for to be ruined.

The attention attracted Animal Control, which forced Birdman to stop. That lasted a couple months. Since he's apparently back in action, more than 40 pigeons regularly line the rooftops.

That's relatively tame when compared to what the hookers and druggies leave behind, though. As a pimp cruises the block on a bike, neighborhood children play among tiny plastic bags with white powder residue and soiled, discarded condoms squished against the curb.

"I've seen gas workers and Philly Water Department guys letting hookers into their trucks," says Beth, noting that she and another resident once saw a prostitute sneak out of a newspaper-delivery truck. Beth and other neighbors claim that "dirty old men" from the senior center one block down also patronize the hookers.

"There's a lot of shady stuff there," another neighbor claims. "I've seen hookers goin' inside all the time."

Through it all, Betty and her husband George — who, now in his 60s, "has had 15 heart attacks," Betty says, "and he goes to work every day" — are friendly with several black and Puerto Rican families on the block. After school several days a week, Betty watches three children of one single working mom. Betty says she gets along with most people and values her neighbors who work and maintain their homes.

"It's not about race to me," Betty says. "I don't care what race you are. I like you if you are legal and you don't steal. I don't like you if you steal."

Betty has also reported several families to L&I and to former district City Councilman Rick Mariano's office for stealing utilities, peddling drugs and not maintaining their properties. She says some row houses have two and three families living in them and some able-bodied residents are collecting welfare and unemployment.

"I've had raw sewage in my basement four different times, overflow from a neighbor who didn't fix his plumbing," she explains. "Another guy was stealing gas. Can you imagine what would happen if there were an explosion because he fooled with the gas lines? We're all row houses, all connected. The whole block would go up in flames."

Shockingly, Betty says an L&I inspector told her to stop reporting crime and infractions committed by her neighbors. "The guy from L&I said to me, 'I can't help you. You're white. They're poor Latino. You're screwed.' He said I was wasting my time."

She claims someone in Mariano's office told her the same thing.

"The lady told me, 'It's a Puerto Rican neighborhood now. You don't like it, leave. But don't call me to complain. You and your husband work, so take your money and buy a house somewhere else,'" she recounts.

But enough has finally become enough, says Betty, who plans to move out of the city by Christmas.

"I'd like to live in a place where my granddaughter could visit," she explains. "Where she doesn't have to smell pot from next door. Where she doesn't have to see hookers or hear gunshots."

(b_mcgarvey@citypaper.net)