"Based on true events of a haunting in Austin, Texas"--P. [1] of cover.

Renowned city planner and housing advocate Alan Mallach presents effective strategies for community leaders, local officials, and nonprofits contending with vacant properties in the United States. Examples illustrate creative ways to reduce the harm caused by vacant properties, jump-start housing markets in struggling neighborhoods, create the potential for future revival, and transform vacant properties into community assets.

Road 19 is a very real place that represents the beginning foundation of what has become my family. And we're not just your typical family either. Some things that were, and are, prevelent in my family stand out as extraordinary for sure. Very big highs and debilitating lows have found us in many ways through several generations thus far. As honest as I can be about my family’s personal story, I must say, it is fascinating to realize all that took place! Yesterday, I was hurt, angry and confused. Today, I am happier and more aware. The difference was not created through therapy or found in a church. No drugs (prescribed or otherwise) have been used. In fact, no external source can be credited. One simple, yet complicated to admit reality is all it took. Through the creation of this book and my family’s story, I have come to realize… True understanding is found far beyond the obvious. Childhood exposures set me on a path of adult experiences that have seemed extremely frustrating at times. During most of my young adult years, I was simply in denial. I didn’t even want to look at any old family photos. Scars were deep, resentments were strong, so I set out to detach myself from my family’s past. I did this for a very long time… way too long in fact. Now, through the open-minded perspective that has thankfully found me as I have aged, I have looked deep into my family history. Far beyond the obvious that engulfed my attention span for many years, I found a lot of understanding… my understanding. Now, I wish to record a deep and somewhat detailed exposure of our legacy. I invite you in to our past. Joe

The rain kept up. Day after day after day it kept up. I stayed in my room. Della brought in my meals. Alan finished the rototilling and went to the nursery for seeds. He came to show me what vegetbles hed chosen to plant and shook a handful of seeds on to his palm. Look, Kit, absolutely perfect. Ill plant the leafy stuff now lettuce, spinach, cabbage, and Ill pollinate=by hand. In spring Ill plant squash, tomatoes and I dont care what you plant! Im sick. Dont you know Im sick? You killed Mom. You took her from me. She gave meaning to my life. Kit, I didnt kill Now Im back to the start. The nightmares I stroked my forehead. You dont know my nightmares. Thats because youve shut yourself up in this room. Why dont you get out there and start living? Dellas just a kid. She needs you, Kit. What about me? Dont I need someone? Yes, that little eleven year-old. She lost a mother. You lost a son. You could give each other so much. My son was white. If Mom had been black would you have cared for her? My eyes ached with those hateful tears. They lodged there like rocks, pushing against my eyeballs, yet still refusing to fall. I tried to picture Mom with a black face. I saw her only as she haunted me, peaceful and smiling while I read that stupid Bible to her. I had loved her so much that day her color would have been negligible. But to compare her face with Dellas black one, to suggest Della could ever take my sons place Sweet Jesus, no child but my own could take Marks place. Alans eyes turned to steel. He clenched his fist and shook the seeds in his palm, as if debating whether to fling them at me. He left the room. I stood and watched rain pelt the patio. A monstrous idea crept into my head. It Started to grow. No child but my own. My own. ********* February sixteenth. Marks birthday. The idea obsessed me completely now. I could think of nothing else. I would call him Mark. He would have my black hair, my pale skin, my dark eyes, my long body. And I I would have my son. Della entered with a dinner tray. I told her to send Alan in. He responded to my request almost two hours later. It was the first time Id seen him since he showed me the seeds. He said he and Della had been watching Gone with the wind. What did I want ? I didnt hedge. I want you to get me pregnant. What? I need someone to love. His mouth curled with contempt. As long as the kids white, huh? You effing snob! Dont you use that word to me. A cynical look darkened his eyes. The look turned to desire. He reached past me as if to switch off the lamp on the night table, but changed his mind and left it on. He slipped a hand inside my robe and cupped a breast No foreplay! I screeched, backing away. I dont want any foreplay. Just just do it! You bitch, he said, reaching toward me as I continued to back away. You bitch, he said again, and I knew by his trembling voice that he would stay.

This Brief is based on a research study of aging adults' perceptions and fear of crime in their community of Ferguson, Missouri. The study, which was conducted by coincidence just prior to the death of Michael Brown, presents unique insights into the community environment prior to those events, which sparked protests and turmoil in Ferguson and beyond. This qualitative study employs sampling and semi-structured interviews to survey older adults aging in place in Ferguson about their perceptions of crime, social disorder, racial integration and community transformation. The author also draws comparisons to other US cities, and recommendations for future research. While the study is only preliminary, it will be of interest to anyone researching the intersection of race, crime, and community, or particularly the protests surrounding the events in Ferguson, Missouri, as a starting point for comparison.

This book is dedicated to all those people who work 3rd Shift, the Graveyard Shift; these people are a special breed of mankind that go to work in the dark and often, come home in the dark. These people feel isolated often, even though they may be surrounded by millions of people who are asleep, and only the next day will their body be found—cold and stiff at their post by the ‘day dwellers’.

The original title of this collection was The Many Realities of Ynot Nagromthis because some of the people who may have read my novels and/or a few of the short stories contained in this volume have asked me if I consider myself a science fiction writer. As you will see, many of these thirty stories and essays are far from that genre; therefore, I do not consider myself to be such a writer. Rather, I see myself at times consumed with the possibilities of alternative realities. For instance, what if there was a way the South would have been able to win the battle of Gettysburg and, with it, the Civil War, the Titanic had missed the iceberg, we were able to build a Super Hadron Collider the circumference of the moon, which then opened a parallel universe to ours, and George Custer had not chosen to leave his two Gatling guns behind on his way to the Little Bighorn? As the cover proclaims, I have also included my literary essays, short stories, and personal tales for all of you. And as the Koran begins, Not a word of this book should you doubt. Tony Morgan