It took little time for the neighborhood to react. Austin is a precariously wholesome, integrated, mixed-income area and we sometimes pride ourselves on caring what goes on and how our neighbors are doing. Sort of a mythical all-American neighborhood, sans the TV blandness. We've had a Neighborhood Watch Committee for many years, but it had atrophied greatly by last August.

Everyone suddenly was concerned about the neighborhood. A forum was organized at the local Episcopal Church, St. Martin's. Our Alderman, who seldom appears on Midway Park except to claim credit for someone else's achievements, came, as did the local police commander. Tribune and Chicago News Service guys showed up.

The meeting ran long. Serious talk about starting a new block club on the streets north of Midway alternated with complaints about the lengthy response time of 911.

All shorts of scum floated to the top of the meeting's pond. A family of career criminals who'd started out 10 years ago by robbing the houses around them every other week had prostitutes and drug dealers hanging around. A crack house was four blocks north. A local grocery was selling drug paraphenalia as more prostitutes had been pling their trade in a nearby park. Many people began to talk about moving out. Everyone felt frustrated. Where were the police?

"Look," said someone. "It's our neighborhood, not the commander's. We're the ones who have to call and keep calling, who have to tell Mars Hill Church assembly the park their children play in is full of whores."

But the feeling of impotence remained.

Finally, the coroner's report came out: Marina had suffered three skull fractures from a blunt instrument. And the police caught the man who'd been seen following her. He confessed he'd robbed her for fourteen dollars. He needed $45 for a brake job.

The next night at the memorial service St. Martin's was packed. The organ played old Catholic hymns, a bit out of place, but comforting. Marina's employer eulogized her. One of the boys who'd turned her over broke down, saying he wanted to say how sorry he was he never knew her. Marina's tenant told how they'd become fast friends over the past year. Alderman Davis, who maybe met her once, stood up near the end and gave a long-winded speech insisting that Marina Justice Must Not be Forgotten.

Finally, Owen stood up. His contorted face was streaked with tears.

"I just...wanted to tell you all...how much you all've eased our plain this week," he mumbled into the microphone.

The helpless feeling lingered for several months. No one heard anything about a court date for Marina's assailant, and when I came back to school in February I felt little had changed since August.

Last month I returned home for several weeks to find Austin's atmosphere changed. Walking the dog late at night in the park I saw no evidence of streetwalkers. Those friends of Marina's who last year said they would move were-still there. After the memorial service, one of them who at first considered leaving told me "Marina would have wanted me to stick it out. And I will. Leaving would be to admit defeat."