Amid a wave of violence, Highland Springs seems lost

Heart-shaped balloons, stuffed animals and candles surround the portrait of a pregnant teen who died after being shot Monday at a Highland Springs apartment complex.

A note at this curbside shrine urges Wazira Harris to rest in peace and says she's in a much better place. "Didn't really know you but saddened by the lost."

"Loss" is likely what the author meant, but "lost" is apt. The lost ones perpetrating this mayhem are indeed the source of sadness. And "lost" describes Highland Springs, a community engulfed in a wave of violence at odds with its small-town ambience. Harris, who was a senior at Highland Springs High School, is among a half-dozen people slain in the area over the past two years.

On April 12, Chinese restaurant employee Yong Sun was shot while making a delivery. In December, former Highland Springs student Quintin L. "Skittles" Chambers, 16, was killed in a drive-by shooting. In February, a Louisa County resident died in a hail of bullets. And in March 2007, Highland Springs senior Rodrick Cousins Jr. was shot to death.

Nothing in this eastern Henrico County community's history has prepared it for this bloodshed.

Highland Springs, one of Richmond's earliest streetcar suburbs, was founded in 1890 by Massachusetts developer Edmund Sewell Read. Read drew its name from its relatively high ground and natural springs and named its streets alphabetically after his favorite flora.

Highland Springs remains a place where you can spot bunting hanging from a porch. But something clearly is amiss.

A recent caller bluntly blamed the community's changing racial demographic, though this socio-economic shift hardly occurred overnight. Others might point to trends in inneror aging suburbia. Perhaps this violence is a random spike. But whatever the cause, it doesn't bode well.

"For everybody to think this is a quiet neighborhood, this is a lot of drama," said Highland Springs junior Lanaudia Goode, who had just been "friended" by Harris on MySpace.

She said students have placed photos of Harris on their binders and in their cell phones. But the loss of schoolmates has become too much for Goode. "I want to move," she said. "I don't even want to go to this school anymore."

Melvin Perrin, 75, has lived in Highland Springs since 1948 and plans to stay put. He worked the family vegetable garden yesterday with his 95-year-old mother, Vernelle Perrin, and other family members.

"It's hard to believe," he said of the violence, "because when we first moved here, you could sleep with your windows open, your doors unlocked."

He still thinks Highland Springs is a nice community, but some of his neighbors aren't so sure. "They're kind of scared. They don't even want to be out at night anymore."

Indeed, Highland Springs is not alone in experiencing the end of the innocence. Bloodshed increasingly doesn't distinguish city and suburb. When an aberration becomes a trend, it's time to wake up.

This violence is a regional affliction that must be treated. Simply containing it is futile, and it doesn't help young people like Wazira Harris.

Contact Michael Paul Williams at (804) 649-6815 or .