Last May, I blogged about a murder case that caught my eye: Yu Yao, a 23-year-old Chinese immigrant, was raped and fatally beaten as she walked home from the grocery store in Flushing, Queens. Even in the statistically safe streets of New York, shocking crimes happen on a regular basis but the circumstances behind Yu’s death seemed especially tragic and senseless. Yesterday, Yu’s killer, 29-year-old Carlos Salazar Cruz, was sentenced to the maximum prison term of 22-years-to-life after pleading guilty to second-degree murder. Despite the resolution, neither the senselessness or tragedy of her death have lessened. I’ve updated my original post.
So I’ve finally finished my update to my iheartnymuseums.com listing…http://agogh.com…though it’s not quite finished. But it’s good enough for now for people to get some use out of it.
Same idea as before: an easy to read list of cultural venues in the city. But I’ve added profile pages for all the venues and a sampling of exhibition listings. After viewing more than 200 homepages, I’m even more convinced that it’s a huge pain to just serendipitously find what’s going on and when (other than at the most popular, obvious attractions) because of how different each place’s web presence is.
This site is an attempt to make it all a little more uniform, whether you want to see the latest exhibits in the city or what’s free today. Let me know what you think.
One of my favorite assignments as a metro newspaper reporter was the occasional obituary. Not so much the ones about people whose lives (or deaths) were notable in a news sense (such as a local prominent politician, or a murder victim) and necessitated a timely story. My favorite obits were about people who came and went with no mass announcement and were, at least in the past decade, mostly-unknown-in-life, but were now selected by the obit editor out of the hundreds of other local recently-passed, non-notable-in-names.
But “non-notable” only in that they their name wasn’t immediately connected to any famous event or accomplishment that most readers remember or had ever heard about. Because even with just a half-day’s worth of interviews to learn about a late, complete stranger, you could find out at least one notable accomplishment from his/her surviving relatives, as well as details of personal drama universal to us all, and distill his/her life into a profile as interesting and inspiring as the celebrity obits that shared space in the next-day’s section.
I hadn’t read many of non-celeb obits since moving to NYC. But while waiting for take-out, I checked the Times on my phone and came across this obit about a young well-off-salesman-turned-social-worker:
After she had unpacked, and her toothbrush was on the sink, the woman realized something was missing. She turned to John Sullivan, the tall, smiling social worker who had discovered her on a bench in the Broadway median. The woman was a nurse who had lost her grip and had been living in a tent on the Upper West Side, until Mr. Sullivan coaxed her off the street. She was delighted to be in an apartment of her own.
“Just one thing,” she told him. “I really need a tent for here.”
Mr. Sullivan left. He came back with a tent, which she pitched in the living room. Some time and medication later, she put it away.
In Mr. Sullivan’s line of work, there was no instruction manual.
Mr. Sullivan grew up in Sleepy Hollow, N.Y., a star high school quarterback and pitcher who took his golden personality and looks into sales. He made a fine living that provided him, as he once said, “lots of travel and a closet full of Brooks Brothers clothes.” He also drank too much. Then he stopped.
One morning, on his way to a run around the reservoir in Central Park, he passed homeless people in the street. The next day, he applied to Fordham University to begin graduate school in social work. In 1995, he got a job with Pathways to Housing, an agency that finds homes and help for people with mental illness and addiction living on the street. He prowled East Harlem before it was gentrified, meeting people living under railroad tracks and in abandoned buildings.