Tag Archives: upper east side

Madoff’s in the Ice House

Ooo, baby it’s cold outside. And it was especially chilly this morning outside Bernie Ruth Madoff’s apartment building on the corner of East 64th Street at Lexington Avenue. The sidewalks and streets were loaded with no less than ten news trucks, rows of camera crews, still photographers and reporters from the New York Daily News, New York Post, CNBC, Fox News etc. Uptown, I sauntered over at 8:30a.m. to observe and become part of the pack. But mostly, I observed the pack.

According to reporters in the area, Bernie Madoff left the building at 7am. Metal police barricades were neatly stacked off the beaten path by the time I arrived since there was no need for crowd control or security. Doormen stood by their posts, greeted passersby good morning and overall, the mood was cordial, almost celebratory despite the cold wind in the air.

As I stood by, snapping pics of the technical crews, I was struck by the number of people who were more than willing to take a moment to voice their opinions “on the record, on camera” about the Prince of Ponzi. On top of that, they eagerly offered their names and telephone numbers for “verification,” if needed.

In the end, the adventure offered a reality check in the journalistic ethics department. One “character” approached a camera man and professed a loss of $25 million yet he refused to relay his real name. “I’m sorry for your loss,” said I. But was he a credible source? Not without a name. An older woman with a slavic accent pulled me aside and told me that she had “shocking news,” something she really wanted to share. It had nothing to do with Madoff but people would be amazed. She asked for my card. I gave it to her. She hasn’t called yet though she did tell me her name. Why not tell me her concern at that point? And what would she gain by sharing her story. What’s in it for her? Honestly, what’s up with people?

Reporting a story, while seen threw the lens of the reporter/storyteller is to do just that and offer a fair, objective lens for readers/viewers to take in the news. Please, don’t ask me to do anything but that, I won’t. Otherwise, I’m the one who loses face. Why would I do that?

By midmorning, as we all know, Madoff pleaded guilty and U.S. District Judge Denny Chin ordered that the Upper East Sider be sent directly to jail where he will wait until June 16, the scheduled date of sentencing. Bye bye Bernie. Hello Ruth.

Up On the Roof & Down in the Temple

The roof of the Metropolitan Museum of Art is one of the least touristy parts of the museum, namely because tourists don’t realize that as New Yorkers, we utilize every available inch of space — even in a museum. Right now the Iris and B. Gerald Cantor Roof Garden is holding an exhibition called “Jeff Koons on the Roof.” This past Friday I headed uptown and walked across park to meet a friend for drinks & to check out the giant “balloon dog.” Though we expected the roof to be packed, it was filled with a surprisingly mixed crowd of people: young and old, post-work, pre-dinner crowd. The art lovers, the downtownies, uptownies and even the borough people. It was really amusing to stand with a glass of wine in the setting sun, surrounded by a 360 degree view of Manhattan and a sea of people to watch. After an hour of taking in the views and conversations and lamenting on the future of a publishing house, my friend and I headed down to the Temple of Dendur, before heading further uptown to dinner at Sarabeth’s.

The temple, which is housed in the Sackler wing, is one of my favorite rooms in the museum. My first memory of the temple room was when my mother took my sister and I to the Met. I was ten and my sister was six years old. Every time we went to the Met, we were treated to a new “wing” or period of art. That particular dreary March day, my mother decided we were ready to tackle the Egyptian art. Two hours later, after reading almost every placard, gazing at every vase, piece of jewelry and mummy, we finally worked out way to the temple. Weighed down by two very cranky, hungry, thirsty children, my mother was determined to get us through that one last room. As tantrums set in, she told us, “if you don’t see this temple today, you won’t be able to ever see it again. It’s a temporary exhibition.” Even then, I was never one to miss an opportunity, so I reluctantly agreed. My sister agreed after being bribed with the promise of candy. That day, we spent an hour at the Temple of Dendur, my mom reading every card, fact and date out loud to us. She set the scene visually, making us imagine the Egyptians visiting the temple, and later, more mischievous visitors adding their graffiti in 1908 and again in 1921. Though I might not have enjoyed that first visit outwardly, I always remember it every time I visit the room today. And in case you didn’t pick up on that, the temple is still there, 16 years later. Which only proves that mothers can be very good in the art of lying to their children.