When Lithonia Mayor Joyce McKibben fired the police chief on April 7, it prompted weeks of escalating turmoil in the southeast DeKalb County city.

The drama included:

John Spink/AJC (ENLARGE)

Police Chief Willie Rosser was fired by Lithonia Mayor Joyce McKibben, but reinstated by the City Council in a chaotic meeting

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• A shouting match at a City Council meeting that ended with some of McKibben's supporters locking themselves inside City Hall, prompting the council to change the locks and lock out the mayor.

• An alleged shoving incident between McKibben and a Lithonia police officer that had McKibben later sporting a neck brace and facing misdemeanor charges of obstruction.

• Two of McKibben's aides arrested and thrown in jail.

• Pleas to the state, God and DeKalb Superior Court to step in and settle the mess.

"When I heard about what was going on, I was so appalled," said Varion Ascardi, 82, a retiree who lived in Lithonia for almost eight decades and watched the recent chaos in her hometown from an Atlanta hospital bed. "The city always had problems, but these are such good, wonderful people."

Truth is, though, that tiny Lithonia has been a running soap opera for years, no matter who's in office. Financial woes, power struggles and personal battles have plagued the city eager to remake itself in the mold of prosperous surrounding suburbs.

With a population just under 2,300 — not much larger than nearby Martin Luther King, Jr. High School — it doesn't take much for the personal to become political in the 1-square mile town.

Consider: On Election Day, 2005, newly elected councilwoman Linda Pruett complained to the city about her neighbor blowing leaves onto her lawn. Pruett blew the leaves back onto the property of Doreen Carter, and the battle was later settled in court.

Flash forward to election day 2007. Voters elected Carter to the council. Carter, who took office in January, still lives next door to Pruett.

The pair sit two spaces apart on the council yet have only spoken to one another in recent meetings to question each other's actions.

Neither woman returned phone calls seeking comment.

"It has been personal duels, and I think people are real frustrated with that pettiness," said Sandi Morris, a teacher who lives just outside the city limits but regularly attends council meetings. "They need to work together, as a council."

In its heyday, Lithonia's downtown was full of small offices, a bowling alley, shops and restaurants. Nestled in the heart of the state's granite district, its name refers to it as a City of Stone.

Today the stone is chipped. On Max Cleland Boulevard — named for the city's famous son who went on to become a U.S. senator — and adjacent Main Street, vacant offices are outnumbered only by hair salons. A Family Dollar store anchors the dilapidated plaza where, until this week, the city hall annex housed municipal operations.

Some in the city want to see it capitalize on development around the nearby Stonecrest area, a bustling live-work-play community just two miles across I-20 from Lithonia.

That was Darold Honore's vision when he was elected mayor in 2003, three years after moving to town from New Orleans. He envisioned a revived downtown flanked by trendy cafes and businesses that reflect south DeKalb's affluent African-American community. The city itself is 80 percent black, though far poorer than the surrounding area.

Critics, though, said Honore was dictatorial and unwilling to work with the council and community on his ideas. A 2004 recall effort led by a councilwoman and the former mayor failed, but the squabbles continued.

By 2005, the city teetered on bankruptcy. Police cars were idled for a month because the city couldn't pay its auto insurance. Nine city workers were laid off — there wasn't enough money to pay them.

Honore blamed previous city leaders for the financial meltdown but said more was at play in the struggle.

"I got grief for trying to change," Honore said. "The problem with Lithonia is, there are not enough new families moving in, trying to change it. It's like a fortress from another time."

Nonsense, said one of Honore's chief rivals. Former councilwoman Barbara Lester said the problems in her city are recent and reflect the lack of government experience by its new leaders.

Lester served just one term on the council, resigning in 2005 because her clashes with Honore led her to believe the two could not work together.

Lester's family, though, is something of a Lithonia dynasty. Her mother served on the City Council. Her brother is the former police chief. Her sister Marcia Glenn served as mayor for eight years before Honore defeated her in 2003.

"There have always been issues, just as there are in every other place, but you didn't hear about it on the news at 11, 10, 6, 5 and noon," said Lester, a lifelong Lithonia resident. "This town has existed for 150 years with men and women who were just sincere, good-hearted people who cared about the place. Now, in the last five years, what has happened? It's embarrassing."

McKibben, who is asking the county Superior Court to rule on what powers the city charter gives to her, is also a hometown girl. A community activist working with single mothers and children, she got involved in politics by supporting Honore.

The two had a falling out, prompting her to run against Honore in 2007. She won the four-way race with just 76 votes.

Critics say her recent grab for power implies a mandate that doesn't exist. Supporters say they long for a strong voice to end the idiosyncrasies and problems that are holding the city back.

"There have been problems going on from before, but it has got to get better," said Pam Miller, a McKibben supporter who with her sister opened the Coffee House on Main Street three years ago, a rare bright spot on the rundown downtown.

Varion Ascardi tries to be upbeat. "I don't know why it has to be this way," she said.