How a 95-year-old resident and her neighbors are taking the fight to drug abusers in a tiny Iowa town

BRIDGEWATER, Ia. — Dorothy McCall is 95 and spends her days quilting, but she wasn’t going to sit idly by as low-cost homes here began to fill with suspected drug abusers.

“We decided something needed to be done," she said.

In response, a nonprofit group, Take Back Bridgewater, formed and town meetings commenced in a church basement last spring.

McCall added her 2 cents to what many in the formerly sleepy town of 157 and its largely senior population had noticed.

People milling about at all hours of the night, coming and going from rundown homes. Houses burning down. Petty thefts.

There’s no police force in Bridgewater, but citizens such as McCall decided to keep close watch, document and report what they saw, even erect surveillance cameras.

Authorities say Bridgewater's problems are hardly unique.

Methamphetamines are still the major drug issue in southwest Iowa, while other areas are facing a growing problem with opioids, said Todd Jones, a special agent with the state’s Division of Narcotics Enforcement.

Rural areas are attractive to drug offenders who can live cheap and avoid regular police presence, working remotely with mobile phones and commuting to surrounding areas.

“They can stay under the radar if they avoid the locals,” he said.

Bridgewater's citizenry has been especially aggressive and effective in fighting back.

Adair County Sheriff’s officers who patrol Bridgewater say the nonprofit group has made a difference in slowing down crime.

And U.S. Rep. David Young of Iowa in recent congressional hearings offered Bridgewater as an example of citizens taking action against the scourge of drugs in rural towns.

But there has been a backlash.

Some citizens who voiced concern were threatened by suspected drug offenders.

Others complain that small-town intolerance has taken the place of understanding for those who struggle with addictions.

'There go the druggies'

A few days after the Des Moines Register spoke with McCall by telephone, a reporter visited her residence. She was a bit shaken.

“There go the druggies,” she said, pointing out her front door to two people walking past wearing pajama bottoms at midday.

“I haven’t been scared until the other night,” said the widow, who has lived in town since 1980.

McCall heard a noise at her back door at 2 a.m. She got up and saw the shadow of two men standing there.

The security light clicked on and they fled.

“When they get on drugs, they don’t know anything,” she said.

She hadn't locked all her doors before, but she scheduled installation of new locks on all doors.

There were 115 arrests for drug violations in Adair County from 2014 to 2016, more than six times the total from the previous six years.

In Bridgewater, authorities were seeing theft, assaults, drug possession and other criminal conduct in a town that rarely saw much of any crime.

“If you’ve got anything in the county not bolted down, it will be turned into cash,” said Bridgewater Mayor Steve Frese.

Launching a movement

The breaking point occurred last winter when resident Doug Miller had seen enough.

He drove by a gravel pile at an intersection outside of town and noticed someone had spray painted “meth” on the rocks with an arrow pointing to Bridgewater. He had to explain that to his young son.

Miller launched Take Back Bridgewater soon after, and dozens of people showed up at meetings in the months that followed.

Citizens who were sick of the drug activity got involved — like 75-year-old Judy Ford, who has lived in town since 1962.

“We couldn’t face our grandchildren if we didn’t do something,” she said.

They began to watch and report while announcing they were watching and reporting with yard signs.

Law enforcement officials said it was like a neighborhood watch for the entire town, including a few dozen houses, a post office, auto repair shop, gas station and café, and everyone showed up in response.

“When there are 10 cops in town you get people’s attention,” Adair County Sheriff Jeff Vandewater said. “But do I think (drugs) are special to Bridgewater? No. Maybe these people were extraordinarily dumb for a while.”

Some of the suspected drug abusers have moved to Bridgewater from other states in the last five to 10 years.

“We have low-quality older homes that rent cheap, and we’re halfway between Omaha and Des Moines,” Frese said.

The dangers of fighting back

It’s not as if the predominately senior population took up arms.

Agent Jones is quick to say a license number or a video is preferable to direct confrontation, “because when they are on drugs, you don’t know what they will do.”

Some residents were afraid to get involved, though “Take Back Bridgewater” signs are planted in yards throughout town.

City Councilman Marlo Smith even purchased an old house for $3,000 just to keep criminals from squatting in it.

A citizen’s surveillance camera captured one of four suspicious house fires in town.

The Adair County Sheriff's Office posted the video on its Facebook page, which captured a shadowy figure approaching a home and the resulting flash of light a few minutes later inside a home that burned down. No arrests have been made.

“I saw the gentleman walking down the street with a gas can,” said Smith, who is involved in the anti-drug effort and said he’s also been threatened.

Tyler Warrior, 38, rushed out to see the nearby fire. He said he was approached by a man who threatened him.

Two days later he was driving his all-terrain vehicle down an alley when he heard a vehicle approach him from behind. He said it was the same man, who gave him a grin before slamming his vehicle into the back end of his ATV.

“He pushed me at 45 miles per hour and spun me off the road,” said Warrior, who was uninjured. “It will definitely get a guy’s attention. But none of these people are going to deter us.”

Justin Parker, 36, was later charged with criminal mischief. Vandewater said they took the rare step of extraditing Parker for a non-felony charge when they found him in Missouri.

The pace of arrests has slowed since citizens got involved, Vandewater said. A few of the offenders are in prison, others have left the area and those that remain have quieted down.

The mayor said other small towns might consider a similar approach.

“You might as well publicize it," Frese said. "They hate the limelight."

Warrior questions whether citizen action is doing a lot of good. He and other residents complain that offenders are given a slap on the wrist for their crimes and eventually return.

“We could build bigger and better jails, but that costs money. I think the best thing we could do is if they are getting any government assistance, they should have to pass a drug test before they get a nickel,” said Clel Baudler, a Republican who represents the area in the Iowa House and has introduced similar legislation without success.

“Those people in Bridgewater have worked hard all their lives, and they just want the town the way it was before meth.”

Giving people a bad name

But Gina Ward, 30, said the effort has given the town a bad name and kept young families such as hers from moving in or staying.

“I don’t know that Bridgewater stands above the rest,” she said of drug issues.

Others call it small-town stereotyping of people who don’t look or act like them.

“I have a friend who is going through hard times, and they have slandered her,” said Shelly Evans, 51. “I had a DUI in the past, and they attacked me on it. Addiction is a disease.

“If these people (who are complaining) had hobbies or jobs they wouldn’t be in other people’s business.”

That’s coming from a woman who said she has had gas siphoned out of her tank and three thefts at her home on the edge of town.

'We're not shouting victory'

Vandewater agrees that some citizens have to be reminded that “it’s not 1960 anymore. You won’t know everyone in town. And not every problem is solved with prison.”

The nonprofit group, which is selling Christmas wreaths this November to pay for its expenses, has also attempted to inject some understanding during its meetings.

Jerome Miller, a drug abuse counselor from Des Moines, was invited to a meeting, and he asked residents to not quickly label people, remember that people who move there might keep different work hours and to understand what those with drug problems face.

“When you think you are above being an addict, or your town is, that’s when you are susceptible,” Miller said. “I think they came in with a lock-'em-up mentality, but they left with a sense of understanding and compassion.”

No one claims the issue is solved.

“We’re not shouting victory,” Ford said. “But at least they know we are paying attention.”