In the State Fair neighborhood’s southern end, where prairies outnumber homes, John Leonard has watched his block thin out, one house at a time, leaving his house surrounded by grassy fields that bear the loud song of crickets. And he prefers that it stay that way, opting for the empty fields over potentially rowdy neighbors.

“I kind of like this spot,” he said as he sat in the shade of his front porch on a sunny day. “If they ever started building down there I would be upset, ‘cause this is peaceful here now, this little area here. Nobody to bother you, no noise, quiet. But if somebody moves in down there, people’s out of control now, did you know that? No respect, no nothing, it’s just wide open. In my day, people had respect for one another. People don’t respect you no more. It’s dog eat dog.”

Leonard, a friendly, laid-back 70-year-old, decorates his old property with an artistic flair. A mobile of sorts, made of CDs, beads and paper cutouts hanging from strings, dangles on the front porch, which is lined with chairs for visitors and shaded from the sun by a thick wall of tangled grape vines. Ceramic geese mark various corners of the yard. An old, tattered American flag hoisted atop a tall pole flutters raggedly in the breeze. Painted red triangles add flair to his white picket fence and his front porch supports. The decorating isn’t all done by him; his daughter and his wife of 45 years added their own touches and crafts to the yard.

His own sitting chair has a doormat resting in front of it, to keep the boards of the porch clean. Tomato plants jut out from the side of the home. In the back, a dog that’s part wolf rooted around in a corner, back behind the tall trees.

Leonard worked for years as a trucker, and after retiring he began making and selling barbecue pits out of his home, using a jigsaw to cut into barrels, and attaching shelves and wheels to make them easily movable.

“First one I messed up, the second one I got better, I sold one, then I got better, sold another one, I got better. So I’ve been doing it ever since.” An odd, hand-painted sign propped against an old fence offers the pits for sale. He said he sells quite a few. A display model, decorated with his trademark red painted triangles, sits in front of his house, chained to a fence. A homemade, hand-painted little birdhouse, affixed to a fencepost, rises from behind it. In fact, the entire yard is filled with little arts and crafts projects.

He moved to the house here 30 years ago, before the old residents moved out and criminals moved in, before the arsons and the demolitions wiped the blocks clean.

“Generally I stay mostly to myself, and I try to do my little thing, ‘cause people are looking for trouble, you know. Most of the people are looking for trouble. You catch a fool every once in a while, walking the street coming from down there,” he pointed towards the north end of the neighborhood. “Don’t know what they’re doing, but most likely doing the wrong thing.”

His corner of the neighborhood, though rangy and open, is one of the better parts of the area, with neighbors doing what they can to sustain it. “We just like to pick up the pieces of paper, try to keep it clean in this little area. We look out for one another.”

Overall, he doesn’t think his neighborhood, with its long, grassy fields, is special. “We got bad people, we got good people,” he said.” It’s like any other area.”