New Name, New Outlook

      The Buena Vista Springs resident council is sitting at a long table. There are manila folders spread in front of them containing police reports, rent applications, credit reports and security complaints.
      One of the council members is Cochise Couyette. He wears his salt-and-pepper hair in a ponytail and spends most of his days painting with oils in a tiny artist's studio at the back of his apartment. He has an easy smile and laid-back manner. He did not volunteer for the resident council, which reviews prospective tenants and complaints against existing apartment dwellers. He was prodded by a management looking for good people.
      A woman walks into the room and sits at the table. She is followed by her teen-age son who sits in a chair next to the door.
      Neighbors have been complaining about the boy's loud music and his partying friends who leave a trail of beer bottles outside the apartments. The mother, who is staring into the distance with weary eyes, says she is at work when all this happens.
      Couyette sits up in his chair. The contemplative artist leans forward and looks at the boy. Without a flinch, he begins talking like an angry father about respect.
      "These beer bottles make your mom responsible. If you don't give a damn about your mother having a roof over your head then keep on doing it," he says.
      The boy is expressionless. The lecture continues for several minutes. Finally, as the mother and son open the door to leave, Couyette gives a final, frustrated plea.
      "Say man, pull your act together."
      They would consider themselves unlikely heroes but people like Couyette are becoming the lifeline for a place called Buena Vista Springs Apartments, formerly known as the Carey Arms Apartments, near the intersection of Martin Luther King Boulevard and Carey Avenue. Among Couyette's group are a grandmother, a former psychotherapist turned social services director, an apartment manager with a strong faith in God, a single mother and an office manager who has come out of retirement. All six are dedicating themselves to a place that, at one time, seemed hopeless.
      The residents at the North Las Vegas housing project are primarily mothers and their children. Of the approximately 900 tenants, 255 are single mothers and 582 are children under the age of 18. Only three adult males are listed as heads of households.
      Residents have to meet income requirements to live at Buena Vista Springs. A family of one mother and two children, for example, cannot have an annual household income of more than $22,250.
      The complex was built about 35 years ago in the middle of empty desert. The cities of Las Vegas and North Las Vegas grew along its rim and eventually swallowed it up. Doris Heaton, who has worked in public housing for 25 years and is now office manager at Buena Vista Springs, remembers driving past the complex as early as the 1970s and seeing boarded-up apartments. Many of the units were burned out, she said. Stoves caught fire and management didn't bother to repair the damage.
      "Back in those days we did not come into this neighborhood unless it was absolutely necessary and we'd take security," Heaton said.
      Crime has plagued the community for years. It is surrounded by warring gangs. Drug sales, drive-by shootings, vandalism and robberies have been common in the apartments and surrounding neighborhoods.
      It wasn't until April 30, 1992, the day of the Rodney King verdict, that community leaders were forced to look at the crumbling community.
      Couyette remembers that day well. He was in his second-floor apartment, painting a portrait of his granddaughter. About dusk, he started hearing shouts and the pops of gunfire coming from outside.
      He went to his balcony and saw teen-agers and adults in their 20s gathering in the courtyard. It was an eery scene. By the next day, the administration building at what was then called Carey Arms was destroyed by fire. About $6 million worth of property was damaged throughout the city. One teen-ager was dead.
      Community leaders formed groups to attack the problems of crime and joblessness in the area. In 1994, Carey Arms was acquired by a Florida-based company called Creative Choice Homes, which specializes in renovating public housing. The buildings were painted, units were given new carpet and appliances. Gutted units were rebuilt and a new administration building was constructed. The housing complex also received its new name.
      It has been within the past few months, however, that the guts of the project have formed. One reason is the hiring of Jack Goldstein as Buena Vista's director of social services. When he arrived, the only program was for children in need of tutoring. During the past eight months, the former counselor has established a clothing bank, job bank, small library, art classes and on-site computer classes.
      Goldstein estimates that 15 to 20 residents are using the job bank each month, and at least 36 have taken the computer classes since they started in April.
      By networking with social service organizations throughout the city, he is also bringing in a parenting program run by Columbia Sunrise Hospital and Medical Center, and after-school projects such as Classroom on Wheels and Recreation on Wheels. There are also sign-up sheets on a community bulletin board for General Education Degree classes. A recent list included the names of 26 Buena Vista Springs tenants.
      "The people here needed more pride not only in who they are but where they live," Goldstein said. "At the beginning they were skeptical. They thought we would disappear. They see that we're here and not going away, and the resident council is getting stronger not weaker."
      The six-member council was established about three months ago. Its members help screen new applicants and weed out residents who cause trouble. While management has the final say on who stays and who goes, the council's recommendations are strongly heeded.
      Being a member of the resident council is not without its dangers. Members have received angry threats. But there is only so much chaos one can watch before something has to be done, said Sharon Turner, a grandmother of three.
      "They need a change. A change needs to come and change is gonna come. ... If we don't do it, somebody else will do it," Turner said.
      "Anywhere you go, it's the people that make (a place) what it is," added Couyette. "It can be a slum but if you have pleasant, progressive people they can make it a paradise. On the other hand, you can take a paradise and put people in there and they can make it a slum. It's the people's desire and willingness to make a change that will affect the outcome."
      The metamorphosis will be slow, say Goldstein and resident committee members. Council member Cynthia Henry moved into the complex in April and has had a BB through one window, a rock through another and a bullet through her upstairs shower. The single mother is still too shaken to sleep upstairs in case another stray bullet pierces her bathroom wall.
      But council members see an increased feeling of hope and sense of security among residents. During the past year, 25 residents have been evicted, said property manager Vera Banks. Security officers are keeping track of the problems, flooding the office with stacks of reports each week detailing problems such as vandalism, noisy parties and littering. Even the average number of broken windows has dropped from 100 to 30 a month.
      The management shows an interest in the residents' lives not just their rent checks, council members explained. Goldstein has been known to pester tenants until they enter an on-site computer class or help with one of his programs. Banks, according to council members, is a fair manager who understands the problems residents face.
      She should. Banks lived in a low-income apartment 18 years ago with her young son. She remembers public housing as being isolating. She never saw a manager. When paying her monthly rent, she drove to a city housing authority office on 10th Street and slid an envelope through the door.
      "It feels like you're all alone there. You have no one else to go to but here you have a body. You need flesh, someone you can talk to, feel and touch.
      "I was scared where I was at. I knew it wasn't a good neighborhood but I knew I needed a roof over me and my son's head so I had no choice but to stay there."
      On a recent Friday, Banks was walking through the center of Buena Vista Springs to one of the model apartments. She noticed some residents who were scheduled to be evicted that afternoon gathering together, talking. Three evictions were scheduled that day. The North Las Vegas Police had been warned about possible gunfire in retaliation.
      On the way back to her office, as she avoided the group by walking along one of the busy roads that line the complex, Banks was asked why she stays.
      She shook her head and glanced at the beige apartment buildings.
      "If I didn't trust in God, I'd probably be scared outta my mind."