Didn't build Jack.

Lately, adults have been down on Jack Abramoff, but, if they'd been ten-year-olds in Silver Spring, sometime in the mid-1990s, they probably would have thought Mr. Abramoff from down the street was a pretty awesome dude. According to former neighbors, when Jack wasn't at the office committing ethics violations, he was at home playing a veritable Fred Rogers. Neighbors say the Abramoffs took a great interest in local schools and even organized martial arts training for kids in the community. Best of all, Jack drew on Hollywood connections forged while writing and producing "Red Scorpion" (a seminal anti-communist feature starting Dolph Lundgren) and had the neighborhood children over to meet the cast of the TV show "Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers." (Abramoff told Roll Call that actor Austin St. John, the red-costumed Ranger, was especially interested in taxation and regulation issues.)

Jack's greed didn't entirely disappear in the suburban setting, however. When the money really started to roll in, the Abramoffs relocated to a residence more appropriate for hosting influential players on the Hill. Looking to make an extra buck, Jack divided his property into two lots for sale: one containing his charming brick home, and another ideally suited for, well, nothing. At a width of roughly 22 yards, just over the 20 required for a residential building permit, the lot is just a few feet from the side of Abramoffs old house, with little room to spare. Reached by phone, a Maryland zoning official explained that the lot might be suitable for a home, but only if the residence were built perpendicular to the road. (Architectural additions of this sort, said a member of the community's civic association, are generally "not appreciated.") Records show that the only building permit approved for the lot since it was sold off in 1999 has been for a chain-link fence, an "eyesore," complains one neighbor, that meshes imperfectly with the stone or wood variety generally favored in the area. The lot's present owner, who bought it from Jack for $135,000, said she had "no interest" in talking to The Washington Monthly. Perhaps, like the Coushatta tribe, she's less than thrilled about having paid something for nothing.