The Twins

Twenty-first place, thanks, Sergeant Klein. Yes, ma'am. Yes? It isn't, guys? What's the address? It's one you are. In the month, the room at the 21st Precise. On what? The nerve center call is coming in.

You will follow the action taken pursuant to that call from this minute until the final report is written in the 124 room at the 21st Precise. All right, ma'am. You'll have a sister there right away.

Yes, ma'am, right away. Twenty-first precinct. It's just lines on a map to the city of New York. Most of 173,000 people wed into the nine-tenths per square mile between Fifth Avenue and the East River wouldn't know if you asked them that they lived or worked in the twenty-first. Whether they know it or not, the security of their

persons, their homes and their property is my job. My job and the job of the 160-patrollment, 11 Sergeant and four lieutenants of whom I'm the boss. My name is Connelly Frank Connelly. I'm Captain in command of the 21st. What makes a city? Not buildings, not subways, not business.

People make a city. From dawn to midnight. From midnight, dawn, the rich and the poor and the good and the bad. Poor their lives together in stirrup. I was out of the precinct on my way to Division headquarters.

There was a meeting of Precinct commanders in connection with new regulations for the supervision of cabarets and dance holes. It was 8.38 am when the radio call went out. I'll say, five, zero. Turn around, Johnny.

Take a look. When we turned into 76, I could call the ad plenty of men. I was young. Two sector cars from the precinct were in front of 614, an old law tenement, so was the Sergeant's car.