A DAY IN THE BRONX

I was born in the Bronx. Oh, somewhere after the last Ice Age. And today, it seemed like the return of the Ice Age. The wind was whipping off of Long Island Sound at a steady 30 MPH. The temperature was in the low 40's, but the radio was saying that factoring in the wind chill, it was more like freezing. It WAS freezing! At least I was. This time of year, the temperature is normally in the mid to upper 60's. Except for a pleasantly mild Sunday afternoon, this week has been raw, rainy and blustery. And, there was no place to sit in out of the wind.

I was talking to a pair of NY City cops in a police cruiser parked on the corner. I asked them if they knew when the funeral procession would pass this intersection where a week ago, a limo driver from the Dominican Republic became the seventh limo driver to be shot in the back of the head in the past few months and robbed of his money. The Mayor, the City Council and the Police Commissioner have been on tv a lot, lately, talking about ways to bolster security for these drivers who run their Lincoln Town Cars into areas that most Yellow Cabs refuse to go. And for good reason, it would seem.

Today, after funeral services in Manhattan for the driver, Francisco Perez, the funeral procession was going to detour to the intersection in the Bronx to pause briefly at the very spot where the cold blooded murder took place. There was a faded bouquet of flowers wrapped in plastic and a pair of memorial candles propped up against a curbside fire plug. The candles were unlit and cold. Everything was cold in this wind.

I had parked my car as close as I could, but it was still a block away and I couldn't sit in it and stay warm and still keep an eye out for the approaching funeral cortege. I huddled in my jacket and wool cap on the windy corner. The cop on the passenger side of the patrol car rolled down the window. The driver was a sturdy male and his partner was a nice looking woman.

"Hi. I'm Dick Kraus from Newsday," I said.

"Hi, Dick. I'm Laurie. Do you want to sit in the back seat? There isn't much leg room, but at least you'll be out of the cold."

"Bless you," I said as I folded my long frame into the cramped rear seat.

I asked if they knew when the procession would get here. She said that they hadn't left the funeral home, yet. We passed the time in idle chatter. She was friendly. She wore a wedding ring. I notice things like that since I no longer do. I told her that I was born around here, somewhere, but I had no idea where. My family moved to Long Island when I was 7. Back then, the neighborhood where I grew up was mostly Italian and Jewish immigrants. Now it's all black and hispanic. I told my hosts that I had an earlier assignment in Elmhurst, Queens. I photographed a woman from India who was showing school kids the grace and movements of classical Indian Dance. It was a far cry from what I had to do here in the Bronx.

© 2000 Newsday Photo by Dick Kraus

© 2000 Newsday Photo by Dick Kraus

Another police cruiser pulled alongside and the cops talked between cars. They were all here to direct traffic. Hundreds of Limo drivers and their cars were expected to join the procession which would eventually end up at JFK Airport where the body of Francisco Perez would be flown back to his native Dominican Republic. For the past hour, limos have been driving past and slowing down as they passed the place where one of their own expired. Many of them could be seen making the sign of the Cross as they drove slowly away.

I had to get out of the police car for a few minutes while the two cops returned to their station house. When they returned, Laurie handed me a container of hot coffee and refused my efforts to repay her for it. Nice. The police radio crackled. The procession was getting close. I grabbed my gear and got out, thanking these two hospitable officers for their kindness. I'm glad that I can say that in light of all the negative press the NY City cops have been getting, lately. There's a lot of good folks on the force in the Big Apple.

© 2000 Newsday Photo by Dick Kraus

The intersection became jammed with limousines and the hearse made it's way to the makeshift curbside shrine. The head of the NY State Taxi Drivers Federation escorted the family of the slain driver to the spot. Dozens of floral pieces were brought over and placed alongside the faded bunch of flowers that had stood alone, previously. The widow cried against the shoulder of the man who brought her to the site. A young girl stood next to her with her face contorted in grief. I never found out who she was. They stood for a few minutes. I made my photos. There was only one other still photographer there. A photographer from the NY Times. And there were two tv cameras. One from Channel 9 and one from the Spanish station. And then everyone was gone and the intersection was empty. And life in that little cold and windy corner of the Bronx went back to normal.

Until the next shooting.

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