D.C.'s Eternal Mayor Watches Over His Ward

Politics: As Marc Fisher's fluff piece on Marion Berry shows how hustlers keep the game going when everyone else realizes they are part of the problem.

T hree mayors have sought to remake Ward 8, home to many of Washington's poorest, most crime-ridden neighborhoods. One, Marion Barry, got nowhere but is widely beloved, hailed on the street as a champion of the needy. The next, Anthony Williams, utterly transformed the landscape yet was treated as an arrogant outsider from Day One right up until his departure. The third, Adrian Fenty, eschews grand visions and emotional bonds, promising only to make things work. When Fenty shows up on a Ward 8 street corner, he speaks mainly to the TV cameras and the scribblers; when Barry, the ward's council member, drops by, residents' attention quickly slides over from the current mayor to the eternal one.

Of course he could just be playing to the people.

Still, the poverty in Ward 8 is palpable. We stop at a red light, and a 60-ish woman sidles up to Barry's window. "It's the mayor," she says. "I need $4." "Y'all breaking me over here," Barry grumbles, with a smile. He reaches into his pocket and counts out four singles, hands them through the window. "These people wearing me out," he says. From the corner a few yards away, a middle-age man calls out, "What's up, Barry? Got some for me?"