The Story

The first place in charge and kidding. Was that somebody shooting was shot? Yeah. Yeah, well, did you see it? Well, it's a woman. Yeah? Which way do they go? Up first, down to the clock turns.

You are in the muster room at the 21st precinct, the nerve center. A call is coming true. 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 precinct.

I can just wait right there. I'll send the officers right over here. And the ambulance here. Just wait there and show them where it is. Okay. Twenty-first precinct. It's just lines on the map of the City of New York.

Most of the 173,000 people who edged into the 9th tenths 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 Twenty-first.

Whether they know it or not, the security of their home, their persons and their property, is the job of the men of the Twenty-first Precinct. The 21st, 160 patrolman, 11 stars in some four lieutenants of whom I am the boss.

My name is Connelly, Frank Connelly. I am Captain in command of the 21st. I was working my night tour, 4 p.m. to 8 a.m. It was a warm spring night and I took advantage of the weather to make a thorough survey of conditions in the precinct, in connection with the growing problem of useful offenders.

Riding in Sekakana, but two with patrolman Patrick E. K. Hill as operator, I patrolled the precinct from one end to the other to look for possible cobblest spots during the coming months of warm weather.