The Shooting Gallery

Twenty-first precinct, Sergeant Klein. What's the matter with him? How do you know he's dead? Where is it? You're in a muster room at the twenty-first precinct. The nerve center is on call is coming through.

You will follow the action taken pursuant to that call from this minute until the final report is written in the one twenty-four room at the twenty-first precinct. All right. You just wait there for the office.

It's not right there. I'm sending them out. You just wait there and show them where he is. All right, thank you. It's tough lines on a map of the city of New York. Most of the 173,000 people wedged into the 910th of the square mile between Fifth Avenue and the East River wouldn't know if you asked them that they lived or worked in the 21st.

Whether they know it or not the security of their homes, their prisons and their property is the job of the men of the 21st precinct. They're 21st, 160 patrolmen, 11th sergeants and four lieutenants of whom are in the boss.

My name is Canelli, Frank Canelli. I'm Captain in command of the 21st. I was working my 4 p.m. to 8 a.m. tour. After I turned out to put to him for the night tour, I read the entries on the event record and bought out for an event by event picture of what had occurred in the

precinct since I was last on duty. A little after six. Sector car number three came by the house for me and I went out to control the precinct. When I returned to the station house Lieutenant Gorman, the desk officer, told me things were quiet.