The neighbors at East 154th and Utopia are getting restless. Most houses in the South Collinwood neighborhood are modest, and mostly maintained. But right on the corner stands a dilapidated and partially boarded structure the neighborhood has taken to calling the Addams Family house. Where the windows and doors aren't boarded, they are broken. The plywood panels that are in place have bleached and weathered, and seem to have been there for years. Its grass is tall, its hedge untrimmed.

On a recent sunny Tuesday afternoon, about 20 neighbors gather to meet Ed Rybka, the city's director of building and housing. One of the neighbors contacted Rybka's office, and he arrives to find that, organized by the local ACORN chapter, they have posters and chants ready, and the hope of getting him to sign a commitment that he will tear the hazardous eyesore down.

"I caught at least 40 varmint," says John Damron, who has lived across from the Addams Family house for 20 years. He has watched the place deteriorate across that span of time. Never well maintained, it was at least occupied until some years ago. Then it went vacant and deteriorated fast. And now he says it's home to rats the size of cats.

"You know how varmint usually run along a fence or a wall, and they usually come out at night? Last summer I saw a rat as big as this run across the street in broad daylight. I caught at least 40 of them. Rats, groundhogs, squirrels, which you're going to get. They live in there." He points at the wreckage across the street.

Damron isn't just concerned about the ugliness of it, but the safety. He and his wife have three kids.

According to Cuyahoga County Auditor records, 15315 Utopia is owned by Marvin Parsons. He bought it in 2001 - the third time the property changed hands in the first three months of that year. During that time the sale price went from $20,000 to $80,000. Parsons owns one other property in East Cleveland. He bought that one just four months earlier, paying $75,000 on the same day someone else bought it for $18,500. Whoever Marvin Parsons is, he's helped a couple other people make pretty good profit.

But the neighbors on Utopia don't really care about that. They just want the house down. When Director Rybka arrives, the crowd is small, and he starts talking with the people one by one. They all want a piece of his ear. Damron tells him about picking up "debris" around the property with his son. He tells Rybka about the varmints.

As they talk - and 5 o'clock quitting time comes and goes - a few more people gather. Pretty soon the group is moving along the sidewalk, taking a look at some other houses, too.

Councilman Roosevelt Coats arrives, and the neighbors start taking him to task in a heated shouting match. He's not doing his job, one neighbor shouts.

"I voted for you," says Joe Amato, who's lived across the street from the Addams Family house for 40 years. "I voted for you, and I'm going to vote for you again. Because you know why? Because I think that after this, you are going to get this house torn down. But listen to me: If you don't do something about this house, I am not going to vote for you. Do you hear me?"

Before Coats can react, someone else begins to speak. The neighbors would like to see grass, a garden - anything but the falling-down hazard. Everyone agrees that the house should come down. Everyone agrees that the city should do the job. Still, everyone is either frustrated or angry or both.

They walk three doors down Utopia to another house, which doesn't have a back door. There's a weathered notice copied onto white paper, advising that the home has been "winterized." But nothing is sealed inside or out. Windows are broken. Screens are torn.

"Someone could be waiting in that house, and they could yank your child off the street, and nobody would know he's in there," Amato says. "The police could be looking in San Francisco, and nobody would know the kid was in that house."

"Amber alert doesn't do any good in there," Damron says.

"I went in there with my son," Amato says. "The floor goes like this." He waves his hand. "It goes down about a foot."

"We'll call to get that boarded up when we get back," Rybka says.

"Don't Play Around! Tear It Down!" The people begin to chant. "Don't Play Around! Tear It Down!"

One quiet, older woman gets Rybka's attention, and while the crowd lingers near the Addams Family house, she takes Rybka walking around the block to see a vacant house that's not in bad shape. She's hoping he can help get someone in there before it succumbs to aluminum siding thieves, varmint and whoever else might find alternate uses for it. He assures her that he'll do what he can. As they round the corner back onto East 154th, a middle-aged man on a bicycle, wearing an optic yellow vest, tells Rybka that when he sees a disorganized crowd like that, they are not bad people. He should listen to them, and respect them, and work with them.

"Thank you for that advice," Rybka says. He makes his way back to the crowd, where Councilman Coats has been going toe-to-toe with a couple of neighbors over who's doing his job, who knows what's going on in the neighborhood, and how things really get done in this town.

"He seems to be doing a good job," Rybka's aide deadpans.

With Rybka's return, the crowd turns its attention back to him.

"You have every right to be upset," Rybka tells them. "The fact is that the city has 9,000 vacant, abandoned properties. Last year we demolished almost 1,500. In prior years we were tearing down about 200 a year. Last year we tore down 79 houses here in Ward 10 alone. This is a high-priority area."

But the neighbors want Rybka to commit to a timeline. A poster stating their demands has a signature line marked by an X next to the first item: "Tear this eyesore down."

But Rybka won't sign. He can't commit to their schedule.

"I can commit to getting it down soon," he says. "Maybe in a couple of months." Murmurs and groans ripple through the crowd. The chant - "Don't Play Around, Tear It Down" - begins again.

Rybka gently raises his hands as if to calm them. "There are thousands," he says. "This house belongs to someone. Before I can condemn it I have to get a search warrant. I have to give the owner notice by certified mail. It may take 30 to 60 days if he doesn't get his mail. Then I have to get a contract. It takes time."

Since upping the demolition ante last year, the city has sped the process of taking a house from citation to condemnation to demolition. What once took nine months to a year is now taking three or four months. But for neighbors living next to the hazard, it can't happen fast enough.

"Please," Joe Amato says. "Please, can I say something? That house is collateral damage," he says, looking Rybka in the eye and referring to the one a few doors down. "This one here is like a wart right on the tip of your nose. And every time you look in the mirror you see this big wart sticking out there. How would you like to come out of your house every day and see this across the street?"

"If this house catches fire," someone else says, "my house is going to burn, too."

"If everyone would take care of their property, we wouldn't have this problem," Coats says.

"We take care of our properties," someone says.

He tells the neighbors a clean-up effort is going on in the ward that weekend. "With your help we can get a lot of things done. We can bring a dumpster."

"Where is the dumpster going to be?" someone asks.

"We can put it right here," Coats says, motioning to the driveway of the abandoned house.

"We can put the house in the dumpster!" someone shouts with perceptible glee.

Meanwhile, Rybka is taking names and phone numbers for follow-up in two weeks. Someone asks, "What are we going to do if we don't hear back in two weeks?"

"We can go to the office!" someone else responds.

A guy who identifies himself as Rob comes over with his wife. They live in a beautifully maintained house across the street from the Addams Family house. They just got off work. They bought the house last fall, Rob says, to get away from drugs on the West Side. Their yard is mowed close. There are no weeds. His trees are pruned up. The house itself is pristine.

"If they won't knock it down," Rob says, "I was going to clean up the yard and make it look right. Me and John was talking about it yesterday. No matter what, we've got to live with it, right?"

EPILOGUE

Deputy Director of Building and Housing David Cooper says that as promised, the "collateral damage" house with the open doors was boarded that night. The department got a search warrant to enter the so-called Addams Family house and issued a 30-day condemnation notice. Before the house is demolished, the department will have to do a full title search to make sure no one else has financial interest in the house, re-inspect and find that the violations have not been abated, then file a criminal complaint, then, after the case moves through housing court, bid out the demolition and get a purchase order. And then demolition will be done. He estimates that the process will take four to six months.

Still, that's a marked improvement over years past. Prior to 2006, Cooper says, the fast track to demolition took about a year. The process has been sped partly through greater efficiency, and partly through increased funding. City Council will soon give third reading of legislation to approve a $6 million bond, which is the department's major source of funding for demolitions. The department also gets about $1 million from the county for demolitions, and recovers some of its cost via collections from the owners of the abated properties.

Some numbers:

Houses boarded

2006: 1,002
2007: 4,706
January-March 2008: 1,863, on pace for year-end total of 7,452

Search warrants for abandoned homes

2006: 375
2007: 1,513

Condemnation notices issued

2006: 496
2007: 1,289
January-March 2008: 432, on pace for year-end total of 1,728

Houses demolished

2006: 225
2007: 950
January-March 2008: 308, on pace for year-end total of 1,232.