The corner of Fifth and Morris streets in South Philadelphia is much like any corner in a tough, hardscrabble neighborhood with a rapidly changing demographic. Thrown together by poverty, economics and the fell clutch of circumstance, Southeast Asians and Hispanics mix easily with African Americans and Caucasians. But for the past week, tragedy has tied them all together.

Just behind Pang's Laundromat on the southeast corner is a collection of balloons, candles, cards, toys and stuffed animals of every size and description. The hastily strewn-together memorial at 1705 S. Fifth St. is for Porchia Bennett, the 3-year-old girl whose starved and battered little body was discovered there Aug. 17.

Sometime last year Porchia and her three sisters -- ages 4, 6 and 10 -- were left in the care of their 18-year-old aunt, Candice Geiger, and her 31-year-old boyfriend, Jerry Chambers. There, authorities say the girls were beaten and starved routinely. The escalating violence culminated with the death of Porchia, who was allegedly beaten to death for her childlike curiosity after she was caught watching the couple's sexual tryst on the living-room couch. According to court documents, her head was smashed against a radiator and her broken body found wedged between a bed and the wall.

This past Monday morning, a woman walking with a cane, and accompanied by three young girls, shuffles north on Fifth Street. Stopping to pay respects at Porchia's memorial, Susan Foster says she knows the young girl's family well and was devastated by the news of her death. Foster attended the little girl's funeral a few days earlier.

"I used to hang with Dee Dee, the grandmother, and Tiffany [Porchia's mother] used to go with my brother," says Foster, noting that she's known the family since 1984. She shares a chilling story of her encounters with Chambers and Geiger, Porchia's accused killers.

"I had two strokes last year and I'm always out here taking my walks for therapy," Foster explains. "I would walk by and they'd be out here sitting on the stoop until all hours of the night smoking crack, sometimes with little Porchia and the other kids sitting right next to them. The kids always looked dirty and hungry to me. I would offer to buy the children something to eat at the store, but the girl, Candice, always said no. If one of the kids said she was hungry or started to get up to go to the store with me, she'd scream at them to sit down and shut up. I don't think they fed those kids at all. It's always the kids. We don't protect the children. How can you do that to a child?"

According to Ted Qualli of the city's Department of Human Services, people do it with frightening regularity. DHS employs 148 social workers who are assigned to investigate anywhere from 1,300 to 1,500 reports called in to DHS' child-abuse hot line each month. Although a new system designed to ease the social workers' caseload is in place, there are still some bugs to be worked out. Calling the investigators overworked, Qualli says, is not an overstatement.

Fewer than 50 yards from Porchia's memorial is a similar collection of candles, dolls and stuffed animals dedicated to the memory of 15-year-old Veronica Rios, who was killed in an August 2001 drive-by shooting.

The stuffed animals and flowers are usually the result of heartfelt sympathy from a community in mourning, and they've cropped up all over the city. They stay up as long as the community wants them to, according to Streets Department spokesperson Cynthia Hite. "We don't have a policy on taking down the memorials," says Hite. "Usually, when they get old or dirty and have been out in the weather for a while, the neighbors decide to take it down. But it's not considered trash for collection until that happens."

Abdul Chestnut, a 29-year-old South Philly native, was moved to tears upon hearing Porchia's story and wanted to make a tribute of his own. An antiviolence activist and member of The Chestnut Brothers, an inspirational gospel and R&B group, Chestnut decided to start a foundation in Porchia's memory and will hold a benefit in her honor from 5 to 9 p.m. Sunday at 23rd and Wharton sts.

"We've been doing songs and appearing in shows with an antiviolence message for a long time, so this is just natural, to hold a benefit for Porchia," says Chestnut, noting that proceeds from sales of compact disks, food and drinks will go to the Porchia Bennett Save The Children Foundation. "We understand that there wasn't enough money to pay for funeral costs, so we're hoping to defray those costs and square the bill with the funeral home. We'd also like to set up a fund to benefit her siblings."

Chestnut hopes that people will come out to remember Porchia, and maybe contribute a few dollars to the Porchia Bennett Trust Fund, managed by Wachovia Bank. "We're encouraging people to come out and bring pictures of loved ones, especially children, lost to violence," he says. "We hope to not just celebrate the lives of Porchia and others like her, but to put names and faces to the statistics."

Today, Chambers and Geiger are in custody facing one murder charge and four counts of child endangerment each, in addition to charges of conspiracy and possessing an instrument of crime, according to a spokesperson for District Attorney Lynne Abraham. They await a yet-to-be-rescheduled preliminary hearing. Charges of conspiracy and child endangerment were lodged against the children's mother, 27-year-old Tiffany Bennett, who turned herself in to authorities Monday. Porchia's three sisters are in foster care.

A middle-aged man who will only identify himself as Nathan lives directly across the street from Porchia's makeshift memorial. He watches as a young Asian woman walking her children to the store stops to read the sympathy cards and handwritten messages addressed to "the little angel in heaven."

The woman shakes her head sadly while reading, and then is shaken from her mournful reverie by her son, who reaches for one of the large stuffed toys. Smacking his little hand, she continues to the store, holding on to the children a little tighter now.

"I didn't even know they had kids in there because they never brought them out when I was around," says Nathan, watching the woman hustle the kids across the street. "When something like this happens, people ask, ïWhere was the family? Where were the neighbors?' But you don't know what goes on inside other people's houses. People look to blame the police, or youth services, but it's nobody's fault but the people who killed her. It's just a shame, that's all."