THE MEANEST STREET IN DALLAS

Bryan Street is mean. It looks mean, it feels mean. And, statistically, it is mean. The Dallas Police have a four-inch-thick computer printout that has recorded, mapped, and catalogued crime in Dallas. The statistics show that the five-block stretch of Bryan extending from Peak to Fitzhugh has seen 42 assaults, 15 robberies, two murders, and one rape during the first eight months of 1977. And those, of course, are only the reported crimes. There is no higher concentration of criminal violence anywhere in the city. Ask any cop. Bryan Street is the meanest street in Dallas.

But it won’t be the meanest for long. Bryan Street has to go. The East Dallas renewal process won’t tolerate its existence any longer. Change is pressing in on Bryan at both ends and on either side of the street. The shiftings of the inner city are beginning to have their way with Bryan Street. It’ll be different soon. Safer. Cleaner. Quieter.

If that’s good news, it’s because Bryan Street is such bad news. One last quick walk down Bryan is convincing. One last fast look around before it turns from living legend to legend. It’s Friday night. And it’s mean . . .

Just another Friday night on Bryan Street. An angry young Indian stands in the doorway of the Tom & Jerry Lounge and screams a few last heated words at someone inside before he stalks out, climbs in his car, slams the door, and roars away. Across the way, a half dozen chicanos loiter in front of the windowless Chavarrias Lounge, paying no notice to the stir at Tom & Jerry’s. Up near the corner, a couple of bored hookers lean in silence against the darkened liquor store. Down the street, five more Harleys roar into the parking lot of the Scorpions’ clubhouse. Two blacks come out of the Surf Lounge, mumble something to each other, then move back inside.

Suddenly a car screeches to a stop in front of Tom & Jerry’s. The same angry young Indian leaps out, pushes past the group of Indians hanging out in front of the door, and lunges into the bar. Leveling his .22 caliber revolver at the corner booth, he opens fire as people scatter. Somebody smashes a beer pitcher over the Indian’s head, but not before he has scored five times. Dazed, he whirls toward the door, staggers out, and flees. Another Friday night on Bryan Street.

Every night is a hard night on Bryan Street, but Friday night is special. Friday is payday, so there’s a little more money on the street than usual. Drinking money primarily. But money for other things too. Maybe a few downers, maybe even a paper of heroin. Maybe a $20 tumble with a prostitute. Maybe just a little side bet on a pool game. Whatever, it heats up.

Tonight, two guys hail a police car. One of them tries to explain. They were just looking for a good time when a pimp pulled a gun on them, took a gold watch and 170 bucks between them. Worse, their third companion had bolted at the sight of the gun and the pimp had fired before disappearing. Now they can’t find the buddy who ran. He turns up later at Parkland with a gunshot wound. The watch and the money don’t.

Half a block away, girls in halters and shorts sit in their apartment windows, curtains open, on display. One of them spots a prospect below. Her pimp slips under the bed. When the trick’s pants hit the floor, the pimp will hit the wallet. Another girl watches from her window as a furtive young Mexican is talked into an alley by two blacks. She can’t see, but she can guess. Wetbacks are easy marks for rolling – they won’t squeal for fear of being arrested.

Up near the corner of Annex, a woman is striding intently along the street, wielding a butcher knife. She is going after her husband, she explains calmly to a police officer. “I’m gonna kill him before he kills me.” “The full moon really does bring out the worst in people on this street,” says the officer, glancing skyward. Meanwhile, another officer arrives at a disturbance complaint, just as a black man starts shooting at his wife. The officer returns the fire and the man surrenders, his afro neatly parted by the bullet.

The drug trade isn’t as hot on the street as usual right now. It’s been a little quieter at Chavarrias and at Los Rodriguez since the conviction of three big heroin dealers who operated from this corner. Some say the drug action has moved over to Ross and McCoy. It’s been a little quieter too since the Mexican-American bars started frisking everyone who came in, checking for handguns and knives. Quieter, but not quiet.

Over at the Scorpions Motorcycle Club, they’re partying. With their Harleys, studded leather jackets, shaggy hair, and skull tattoos, the Scorpions look like something out of a Jack Webb script. A Nazi flag hangs over the bar, an American flag in the back. Dozens of snapshots line one wall, most displaying the outstanding qualities of the club’s many girlfriends. The sign outside reads, “I’m not prejudiced, I hate everybody.” But it’s a jovial bunch tonight. No trouble yet. If there is any, the Scorpions have a lawyer on retainer to handle any police problems. The Scorpions take care of their Bryan Street neighbors themselves.

Back at Tom & Jerry’s, a mixed crowd is packed into the booths between the dingy green walls – mostly Indians, but some chicanos and a few Anglos. It’s one Of the few mixed bars on the street. A regular named Rachel is harassing an Indian across the room. Everyone suspects him of stealing $500 from his girl. He doesn’t mind. His girl belongs to him. His girl has passed out on the bathroom floor. He orders another pitcher.

At another booth, an argument is brewing. Finally, the girl screams across the table at an Indian male, “Kiowas eat dogmeat.” Without hesitation, he lunges over the table and plants his fist in her face. Just another Friday night on Bryan Street.



But there won’t be too many more of them. Bryan Street is changing. Bell Telephone has bought the block at Peak and now the Rocket Lounge is all that remains of the half-dozen bars that used to thrive on this corner. Fox & Jacobs is buying land at the southern end of the strip for inner city residence. Young couples are purchasing nearby homes for renovation. A recent city ordinance has made it impossible for bar ownership in this neighborhood to change hands and continue operation. Someday Bryan may even be a nice street. But it will be a mean legend.