Putty Hill is the name for the western half of an west-east Baltimore County primary street that becomes Rossville Boulevard in Rosedale, Stemmers Run in Essex, and changes identity again, to Back River Neck Road, as it finally ends, a winding, rural affair, dying by the water at Rocky Point Park where Back River empties into the Chesapeake Bay.

Over the past few years the mile-deep area of Baltimore County between Putty Hill and I-695 in Towson and western Parkville, has been targeted for ghetto resettlement. The reasons were pretty straight forward:

1. Enough working class whites in this area have finally lost their homes to the bank and auctioneer as their incomes continue to dwindle, to accommodate a robust criminal class at the 5% level required to destabilize a neighborhood and begin the middle class evacuation necessary to flood the area with entire project-loads of the unemployed, forcing the surrounding municipality to take some of the sainted city burden.

2. The middleclass whites have begun to die or shuffle off into retirement communities.

3. There is a lot of commercial infrastructure at the Perring-Joppa and Loch Raven-Joppa crossroads to support ghetto tastes. Ghetto folk are lost in a purely residential area and must live in a mixed commercial-residential zone to thrive. Those areas without commercial centers in the urban ghetto are most prone to mass vacancies.

As the Federal and City authorities dump these unwanted people of the criminal class from the deep ghetto into outlying areas—passing by other enclaves with no fried food carryout, 7-11 or liquor store—working class and middle class blacks being pushed out of the ghetto margin by these same types, have unwittingly fled to these same areas, as they cannot generally afford to make the leap all the way into the new tier of McMansion suburbs miles further out, beyond all mass transit. A clutch reason for fleeing the city is to get your child into a County school, not [yet] dominated by ghetto gangs.

This is what motivated Barry and Yolanda, a married black couple recently moved out from the city. Their daughter, Nyla, was enrolled in a local middle school, from which she was walking home, at age 14, at about 3 in the afternoon, through a neighborhood that was regarded as safe by her parents, for it consisted of 90% white people, who were all employed and predominantly home buyers. Nyla was stalked and threatened by two older, innocent, unarmed, black, male youth. This happened in full view of white adults who would do nothing to aid her, which bemused her parents, who did not realize the simple fact that white, suburban neighborhoods are safe, not because whites protect themselves or their neighbors, but because they are white and white suburbanites do not engage in violence—do not even, in fact, understand aggression. When one decides to den among a warren of white rabbits, the arrival of a single black cat on the scene can turn it into a nightmare.

The current demographic trends have the making of a bad joke, with working class blacks escaping the criminal element to live with working class whites, only to be met by cadres of black criminals imported into their new neighborhood for the express purpose of preying on the whites they have come to live with. The punch line is, once these criminal blacks find out that there are noncriminal blacks inhabiting their knew hunting ground, they become their preferred prey, initially at least, until they become emboldened by the visible fear on the faces of the whites, whose only solution to aggression has been to run, yet who now find their backs against the economic wall, unable to sell.

A month past, May 2016, a16-year-old black girl was abducted two blocks north of Putty Hill and has not been seen or heard of since. Her mother, Sheri, weeks beyond tears, stood ghostlike holding up her smart phone with the picture of her daughter, hoping someone had seen her.

It must be tough indeed, to flee Hell, only to show up in the Promised Land—promised by every public service and product promotion commercial for the length and breadth of your misinformed life—in time for its fall.