V.W.H. Campbell, Post-Gazette Paul Schoenberger became the unofficial mayor of the 500 block of Lloyd Street in Point Breeze about 12 years ago: "I saw a bunch of young men walking up the street real slowly and looking at the houses," he said. "I went outside and said, 'Can I help you guys?' They took off like a shot."

By Diana Nelson Jones
Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

Most evenings after work at the Housing Authority of Pittsburgh, Matt Hogue sits on the steps of the church across the alley from the Elliott home where he grew up and still lives.

From the steps, he motions for cars to slow down. He waves and people wave back. He hails people to stop and talk. Cars boom by, speakers crackling.

The unofficial mayor of Lorenz Street, Mr. Hogue aims to fix what's broken in the entire neighborhood as a board member of the West End-Elliott Citizens Council. He was named an officer on the board six years ago, when he was 16.

Mr. Hogue is one of several people named by readers responding to a Pittsburgh Post-Gazette inquiry about unofficial neighborhood mayors.

	Bill Wade, Post-Gazette Matt Hogue, 22, center, the unoffical mayor of Elliott, chats with fellow West End-Elliott Citizens Council officer Norene Beatty and Steve "Fro" Joseph, custodian of the Emanuel United Methodist Church. Click photo for larger image.

In these uncertain times on Grant Street, Pittsburgh is lucky to have many such people. It's a time-honored position that suits genial people who usually prefer the informal go-to role over politics.

One exception was an actual mayor of Atlanta, Sam Massell, who stayed active as the unofficial mayor of that city's Buckhead neighborhood. New York magazine once called actor Robert DeNiro the "unofficial mayor" of New York City's TriBeCa neighborhood.

It would be hard to imagine either of them being as hands-on as the Post-Gazette reader-nominated group, starting with the youngest, Mr. Hogue.

"I just got done yelling at the guy who owns that lot," he said on a recent evening, pointing at a vacant lot across from Emanuel United Methodist Church. "The trash was awful. We've got it worked out, though. I clean it every week."

He lives with his grandmother, Betty Hogue. He calls her "Mum." His mother lives elsewhere. He said: "She can't take the noise."

"He yells at kids who are up to no good," said Steve "Fro" Joseph, a neighbor who often sits with him and credits him with getting the city to install a street light on the alley. He grinned at Mr. Hogue, saying: "So now the drug dealers can see to make change."

"When I was younger, I saw a drop-off," Mr. Hogue said. "Nobody cares anymore. I just got sick of it. We had a bunch of robberies on the corner, too close to home."

He petitioned City Council to get more police presence.

"We're trying to get a neighborhood newsletter and block watches, but nobody's interested," he said.

One day, as he sat on the church steps, opera singer Myrna Paris pulled over and commented on the color he and a crew of volunteers had painted the base of the church.

"How come it's white? I liked the black," she said.

"That's the primer," he called back, assuring her it would be black. "You're going to come help us, right?"

"Nah," she said, "I hate to paint."

"Then come sing to us." he said.

Mrs. Hogue walked up the street to join him.

"Mum," he said, "what do you think of this neighborhood?"

She took his face in her hands and shook it playfully.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"Well," he said, "we're still here, so it must be somewhat decent."

"Five years ago," Mrs. Hogue said, "I was ready to go, but Mattie, he loves this neighborhood."

"We need more squeaky wheels," said her grandson.

Paul Schoenberger is Point Breeze's Lloyd Street mayor. More specifically, he oversees the 500 block, to which he moved about 15 years ago.

"It's a pretty nice block to be the mayor of," said Mr. Schoenberger, who lists among his attributes being big and living next door to a retired policeman. Semiretired himself, he does construction work for the elderly and disabled.

He said he started earning his mayoral stripes in the middle of one night about 12 years ago.

"I saw a bunch of young men walking up the street real slowly and looking at the houses," he said. "I went outside and said, 'Can I help you guys?' They took off like a shot.

"I'm the kind of guy who walks up to someone and says, 'Hi, I'm sort of the mayor for the street. I guess you live here, huh? What do you do?' "

When Mr. Schoenberger moved to the neighborhood, he said, people didn't talk to him. It bugged him.

"I wanted to do a street directory, and I broke the ice that way," he said.

The directory lists all who live on the block and all their phone numbers, except one. He keeps it updated and distributed.

The retired policeman, Dave McNutt, and his wife, Rosemary, have lived on the street for 37 years.

Several weeks ago, Mr. McNutt said, Mr. Schoenberger saw some youngsters on his porch when he wasn't home.

"He notified the police and they came and chased the kids away." On street-sweeping days, he said, Mr. Schoenberger calls neighbors who forgot to move their cars. "He says, "They're coming. You don't want a ticket.' "

"Anytime we go on vacation, we know our house is well looked after," Rosemary McNutt said. "If there is any problem, like a couple times the furnace has gone out, he has our daughter's phone number. He also has our key, and we have his."

Bev Boggio grew into her role as unofficial mayor of the South Side Slopes after joining its neighborhood association.

"I have been called the mayor, and it's very embarrassing," she said. "I just want to be a good neighbor. I don't want to be the boss of anything."

In 1998, after eight years on her street, she realized she didn't know anyone except her immediate neighbors.

"I thought, 'How silly is that?' I joined the association, and now I know hundreds of people," she said. "The downside is that, when I was anonymous, I used to be able to water my window boxes in my jammies."

Nearly everyone knows her now, and because she takes care of things, people call her for solutions. One elderly neighbor called Ms. Boggio, worried about a retaining wall that was leaning.

"I made a few calls and got her in touch with someone," said Ms. Boggio, who explains her tendency to take care of people by saying, "I'm a nurse."

Joe Balaban, vice president of the Slopes association, said Ms. Boggio leads neighborhood cleanups, connects people to resources and services they need, and sticks her neck out. He described her as "almost a super mayor, with public works thrown in. If you have an issue, get Bev there."

He recalls the day when neighbors called her to report that a woman was digging up ornamental grasses in a community garden.

"She ran down there" and confronted the woman. "She said, 'We're pressing charges.' The woman had to do community service and replace the grasses," he said.

Chuck Sanford is active in the civic association of North Hills Estates, a planned community of about 500 houses built in Ross in 1929. His neighbor, Heidi Sestrich, said he was the neighbor you could always count on. He said, simply, "I have the time because I'm retired. I've lived in this neighborhood for 58 years."

The organizer of regular cleanup days, he said he had taken on the tasks that don't require the physical vigor he used to have.

"I try to make up for that by having the refreshments ready for what I call the worker bees," he said. "I try to make sure there are tools available, and I have a little garden tractor."

Ms. Sestrich said Mr. Sanford was also the voice of the neighborhood at the township commissioners meetings, "making sure issues concerning the neighborhood are taken care of."

He said he had heard people call him "the mayor," which makes him a little uncomfortable, because he's modest: "I don't want people to think it was my idea to be called that."