With a headline nod to Jesus Colon, the pioneering Puerto Rican journalist (check out A Puerto Rican In New York if not familar with his work), and hearty mondongo thanks to reader Glenmore Snediker for the photos (“taken somewhere in East New York,” he says), WWIB rouses itself this morning with strong coffee and the raising of at least five Puerto Rican flags— sometimes mistaken for Cuban but ya’ll know better. —Hahira Barney Lakeland
The indefatigible Norman Oder, although sometimes taken for granted as much South Brooklyn’s extensive Puerto Rican (and Cuban, and even Spanish-from-Spain) history, is still here, dissecting the corruption, lies and hypocrisy of the so-called Atlantic Yards boondoogle and its attendant non-reporting. Why is Norman’s persistence so necessary? While there was a time not so far off when the South Brooklyn community newspapers were— if hardly bastions of multi-ethnic awareness (future students of Spanish Smith Street, which it plainly yet proudly was, will look elsewhere for its eulogy) or political courage— at least half a decent read within the bounds they set for themselves. Alas, those days seem as far off as Latin Jazz nights at the Grid but, thankfully, Norm isn’t taking “nobody cares” for an answer and here breaks down the defense of the Brooklyn Paper’s bought-and-paid for petit editorialist a hell of a lot better than any fucking Nets point guard ever will. Norman Oder: swishing and dishing! — Caz Dolowicz
Caz Dolowicz was born on Sands Street in 1923; a retired Transit Authority tower operator, he 1) Loves Walt Frazier like the son he never had and 2) will soon re-read Daniel Fuchs’ 1937 novel Low Company to recall a Brooklyn before the Borscht Belt reject schtick stuck.