It was a Tuesday night late last month, and Mayor Martin O'Malley was trying to win over yet another Baltimore crowd.
Half of City Hall was with him: deputy mayors, the police commissioner, the public works director, all of them sitting on the Patapsco Arena's stage.
O'Malley was down front, sitting eye-level with the 350 people crowded into this Annapolis Road bingo hall. One after another, citizens challenged him with complaints about prostitution, rampant drug dealing, litter and trash. He listened, an understanding ally. And then, without a hint of defensiveness, the mayor spoke.
"I never met anyone who wanted to live somewhere that's dirty and dangerous," he said, turning to Maj. Jeffrey R. Rosen. "When might we see some relief?"
Similar scenes have played out all year. During his first forum as mayor, at Douglass High School, he calmed fears about the city's aggressive new policy for fighting crime. In Park Heights, residents complained about absentee landlords, outdated textbooks in the schools and a tree stump that had become a place for dealers to stash their drugs. At a forum in an East Baltimore church, yet another crowd de- manded jobs and a cleaner, safer city.
Each time, O'Malley gave his pitch: Give me some time. Help is on the way.
A year after Martin O'Malley settled in the mayor's second-floor City Hall office, Baltimore's problems remain formidable. But the new mayor, with a little money, a lot of resolve and force of personality, has been buying time and goodwill for city government.
He's parceled out small neighborhood projects - a skate park, for example, in Southwest Baltimore. And he's launched big programs, including Main Streets and Healthy Neighborhoods, designed to boost community retail districts and the city's middle-class neighborhoods.
So far, the approach seems to have worked.
Many in Baltimore say O'Malley is off to a good start. Though they may have only the smallest evidence that their lives have changed and though Baltimore's problems remain profound, many residents seem to have found hope in his energetic first year and have adopted a forgiving, wait-and-see attitude.
Even as he closed fire stations and Police Athletic League centers, vetoed a bill for a neighborhood parking lot and accepted the resignation of his black police commissioner, his support remained strong.
"He's bringing optimism to the city," said Kim Lane, director of Paul's Place, a soup kitchen and outreach center in Southwest Baltimore's Pigtown. "He sends a message that the status quo isn't good enough, that he has expectations you have to meet."
No one knew quite what to expect last year, when Martin O'Malley, a city councilman whose brashness and sarcasm were tempered with wit and charm, got into the mayoral race. He was the last major candidate to declare his candidacy and the only major candidate who was white - a political question mark in a city that is 67 percent black.
His legislative resume was not substantial. He was best known perhaps for his unrelenting criticism of the police commissioner and for leading an Irish band.
But he campaigned fiercely, winning the endorsements of leading political figures black and white. And a year ago today, with his photogenic family at his side, Martin O'Malley succeeded Kurt L. Schmoke as Baltimore's mayor.
At 36, he took over a city burdened by tremendous social ills and found the expectations of its citizens enormous. The young mayor has shown a deft ability to meld substantive efforts - an all-out assault on crime - with the decidedly symbolic, such as giving the city a new slogan. His phrase: "Baltimore: The greatest city in America," harks back to the enthusiastic cheerleading of William Donald Schaefer.
Supporters hail his CitiStat program, which uses computer-driven analysis to gauge governmental efficiency. They say their phone calls are returned. Stalled projects - like draining the boat lake in Patterson Park - have left the drawing board and become reality. There's a strong chance that he'll make good on his promise to get the city's murders under 300 for the first time in 11 years.
For many, O'Malley's first year has been a time when neighborhoods with vocal advocates, political savvy and community leaders adept at getting government's attention could get a response. For them, the new administration has meant new enthusiasm for working on city problems.
But in some of the city's most desperate neighborhoods, O'Malley's energy and resolve have not had even symbolic effect. And the mood in those places remains unchanged from years past.
"O'Malley hasn't made my life better," said Stacy Baines, a department store sales associate who lives in Park Heights. "Not at all. The drug rate didn't go down at all to me. I would have hoped that would have happened, but it didn't."
Cherry Hill is home to 11,000 people, many of whom are poor and live in subsidized housing. Situated across the Middle Branch, the neighborhood feels disconnected from the rest of the city.
