It's a part of Oakland the kids call 'Ghosttown.' They give various explanations for the name: bad things happen here; the streets are vacant, without the hum of thriving businesses; the black people who walk the streets at night look like ghosts. In other words, West Oakland isn't exactly a destination. Cars may pass through here, but they stick to the interstate freeways along the edges of the neighborhood.

The corner of 33rd and West, however, is a different story. Here, in a duplex that used to be a crack house, the Attitudinal Healing Connection has opened up shop. On any given day, this non-profit community center is a hub of activity. People are constantly going in and out of the front door for after-school art programs or around back to check on their squash in the garden.

The AHC, simply put, is a nontraditional arts center, a school where you can take classes in painting, photography, and African drumming. But it is much more than that. It is a local effort in a national movement called attitudinal healing, which seeks to help people find inner peace by changing their attitudes toward personal problems. It is the most passionate of personal crusades--one family's effort to transform a blighted city neighborhood, one heart at a time.

Whatever optimistic energy the center exudes, it has apparently been contagious. Near the house, where bougainvillea climbs up the porch posts and young trees sprout out of recently laid sidewalk, the neighbors have been cleaning up their property, too. All this fixing of fences and planting in yards to keep up with the Joneses.

Or, the Clotteys, to be exact.

"Before we came here, it was like a Third World country," says Kokomon Clottey, who opened the AHC in this neighborhood in 1994 with his wife Aeeshah and Aeeshah's daughter Amana Harris. He points to the house across the street. "In 1994, that house didn't sleep. They were always drinking or selling drugs. There was always the TV, partying, friends, cars--all kinds of madness."

A white family, the Belknaps, used to own the house. Though it had a security system and bars on the windows, people still raided the house easily, even hauling a refrigerator out the front door once. The Belknaps were desperate to sell it. They even offered to loan the Clotteys the $10,000 needed for purchase and renovation if the Clotteys would use it for their arts center and live above it. The Clotteys were hesitant at first; it didn't help that a man was killed across the street as they were considering the deal. But finally they decided they couldn't refuse the opportunity to get to work in a neighborhood that so needed change.

Eight years later, the Clotteys have not only survived their stay in Ghosttown, but their center has thrived and its offerings have greatly expanded. These days Oakland residents can participate in a variety of programs that include a well-known racial healing circle, an ArtEsteem after-school program for children, after-school mentoring, and personal development retreats that can be counted for credit in some educational and vocational programs. The center's staff also visits local schools on occasion, where they put on assemblies mixing together storytelling and African drumming.

In those eight years a lot has changed in the neighborhood, too. Prostitutes used to walk the streets nearby, but after Aeeshah insisted on inviting them in to sit for a spell, no one dares to troll for business in front of the AHC. The house also hasn't been robbed since they moved in--even though the Clotteys have forgotten to lock their doors several times. Once Aeeshah left her purse on the back step and someone brought it around the next day with the contents untouched.

Above the center's entrance is a saying that sums up the general attitude: "Expect a miracle."

"The center has a lot to do with pulling the community together. People go into the garden to pick fruits and vegetables. It's much quieter now and people seem friendlier," says Robert Ervin, who lives right behind the AHC on 33rd Street. When he moved here in 1990, Ervin says the neighborhood was "pretty raunchy," with drug dealing and other crimes taking place in the open. But now, he says, "We're more of a community."

Lucille Walker, who lives two doors down from the center, plants tomatoes in the AHC's Forgiveness Garden. Since she arrived in 1973, Walker has seen the neighborhood go through a lot of changes--but nothing, she says, like what has happened since the AHC moved in. A woman of few words, she pats Kokomon on the shoulder, saying, "Since you've been here, everything's been real nice."

The AHC is an unusually successful example of a community-based program, says Breonna Cole, a nonprofit consultant. "What makes this place very different from other nonprofits that I work with is the ethos that they work from," she explains. "They're not afraid to be spiritual and pull together the pieces. This is evident in the work they do, especially the racial healing circle, which seems to benefit especially white people in asking what each of us brings to the table."

Many city officials, including Oakland Mayor Jerry Brown, have commended the center's efforts. "The AHC's programs have clear goals and are open to all Oaklanders," Brown writes in an endorsement letter. "Their approach is innovative and their programs are sorely needed in the communities they serve."

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