Dwight Evans

State representative, 203rd District; mayoral candidate; Democrat

by Brian Hickey

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I f anything, Dwight Evans can pick a stage. In this instance, it's Ogontz Grill on the 7100 block of Ogontz Avenue in West Oak Lane. It's an off-the-beaten-urban-path enclave that could serve as a case study in civic reclamation.

Where the strip mall across the street once resembled post-helicopter Osage, it's now a bustling center of commerce with a high-end state store and a shiny-new DMV office. And thanks to this growth, just a couple of blocks away, a bank, when it recently opened, became the first financial institution here in decades. This is the scene visible through the windows of the Grill that was once a Church's Fried Chicken.

But as Evans, the district's state representative since he was 25, works the post-work crowd, the scene is right out of Tir Na Nog — well, if dozens of middle-class African-Americans packed Tir Na Nog after a long day at the office.

Here, he doesn't miss a table, for there isn't a table at which he doesn't know somebody. Looking dapper in a long winter coat complete with cream-colored scarf, he chats them up, and not in that forced I-could-use-your-vote kind of way. He's greeting old friends, and it's how he acts when we sit down in a dining room complete with art-lined walls and Stevie pining for his cherie amour through the speakers.

This, it's easy to tell, is exactly where he wants to be: in the midst of a neighborhood that he worked hard to rejuvenate, a place that he'd be well-served to show off to as many people as possible, for if he could do this on a citywide scale, it'd be hard to vote against him. Which is exactly what Philadelphia did in 1999 when, Evans is eager to point out moments after ordering a lemonade (which should never, ever be mistaken for a cocktail), clam chowder and crab cake, he was already warning about the woes pay-to-play could bring. He doesn't say it, or name names, but his message is clear: We made the wrong choice and "the crows have come home to roost."

"In this town, we have an attitude of just accepting things the way they are, and that's a matter of leadership," Evans says. Rattling off crime statistics and reiterating an idea to bring former Police Commissioner John Timoney back to town, he's not referring solely to a corrupt-and-content political vibe, but that we've become numb to the mounting homicide rate. "We need somebody who believes they can do something about it."That somebody, Evans says, is him.

Evans' sales pitch is simple: Look at my record and you'll see that I have the leadership qualities necessary to jump-start the area I'm charged with representing. At the root of it all, he says, is better education, for better education grows a middle class, which, in turn, "promotes democracy."

This is coming from Evans, who has both an inquisitive nature (asking my thoughts on campaign-advertising techniques) and a quick, loud laugh (it doesn't feel arrogant but matter-of-fact). When I proffer that the biggest challenge he'll face is getting people to see the fruits of his labor, he agrees to a point, but says he's up for it. "I love politics," he says, "from the respect of getting things done."

It's as if he's begging for someone to question the veracity of what he's saying — because the ranking member of the state appropriations committee with 17 budgets under his belt will dispatch doubts with the greatest of ease. Polishing off a second lemonade, he avers that the city is at a critical juncture, that we need to start believing things can get better.

"It can be done," he says, twice repeating the line for triple emphasis. "And it would be done if I become mayor."

For more information, visit www.evansformayor.com.