MORNING BULLETIN: CRIME JUMPS IN 24TH PRECINCT, CENTRAL PARK SEX ASSAULT
Photo by stefan0 at 85th Street and Central Park West via flickr.
February 22, 2012 Weather: Partly Cloudy, High of 55 Degrees.
Notices:
West Side Rag readers are now being offered a special deal for the Alan Menken concert (the guy who wrote Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, Little Mermaid, Tangled, etc.) on March 4 to benefit PS 84. If you go to http://ps84pta.eventbrite.com/ and enter BROADWAY as a discount code, you can get 25% off. A portion of the price is tax-deductible.
News:
Crime has jumped 53% in the 24th Precinct (police station is on 100th Street) so far this year, rising 24%, mostly because of burglaries and auto thefts. Other parts of the city have also sen increases. “Police officials have attributed the increase to the unseasonably warm winter weather.” (Village Voice)
A woman told police that she was sexually assaulted by a man with long hair at 61st Street and Central Park West, near the entrance to Central Park last Wednesday around 1 a.m. The man fled the scene and had not been arrested as of that night. (ABC)
The wife of Upper West Side lawyer Michael Schecter paid $42,388 in an online charity auction for him to meet Jeremy Lin and get his jersey from the game where he scored 38 points against the Lakers. (NY Post)
A little more about that apparent suicide yesterday morning at 111 West 71st Street: the person who fell was a man and police believe he jumped off the building at around 7:28 a.m. He was pronounced dead at the scene. (NY Post)
Stacey Zabar, whose father-in-law is Stanley Zabar, one of the Zabar’s owners, just wrote a book about cookies. (Wall Street Journal)
Don’t forget, today’s the day that Big Nick’s rolls back prices to 1962 levels in honor of its 50th anniversary! Open noon to midnight.
great, my hood. but only for another week then off to sugar hill i go.
as an aside, that building pictured on the corner is my dream building. but i don’t have a spare 20 mil.
I lived in a basement apartment in that building in the late 1970’s and 80’s. The rent was $300. The landlord, who was a wonderful character, threw me a wedding reception in his first-floor flat. Years later, deflated balloons from the party still hung from his chandelier, but my marriage was no longer. All his tenants were struggling writers, actors, musicians and the like, some of whom made it big, and it being NYC, some of whom didn’t.