That Answered My Main Question, Thank You

The Post answers the question on everyone’s mind after hearing about a brazen armed robbery at a Brooklyn post office:

Three gun-wielding, masked thugs barged into a Brooklyn post office early yesterday, tied up six workers and fled with a canvas mail bag stuffed with about $10,000 in cash, authorities said.

So there you have it: $10,000.

Little Shop Of Horrors (Reprise)

Before porcelain — before even silver — dentists used mercury to fill cavities, rendering luxury condominimum conversions uninhabitable:

City inspectors have discovered dangerous levels of mercury vapor in Brooklyn’s tallest building, triggering a cleanup before the landmark is converted to luxury condos, the Daily News has learned.

Air samples taken inside the Williamsburgh Savings Bank, a longtime mecca for dentists, who use mercury for fillings, showed that mercury vapor levels exceeded the government-allowed limit in at least one room, according to a city Health Department inspection in June.

In a former dentist’s office on the eighth floor of the 34-story tower, an air sampler recorded 2,300 to 2,400 nanograms of mercury vapor per cubic meter, more than twice the level that would trigger a cleanup in a residential unit.

A third of the other locations checked had vapor levels exceeding the residential thresholds of 200 to 300 nanograms recommended by two government agencies, even though they were under the limit that would mandate a cleanup, the inspection showed.

Andrew MacArthur, an official with Dermot Co., the developer behind the conversion of the building into 216 condo apartments and retail space, said the firm is planning to replace the plumbing, which is believed to be the source of the contamination.

“To the extent that all the plumbing is being ripped out of the building, we don’t see that there should be any problem. But we certainly have plans to double-check everything when it comes to the vapor,” he said.

Experts said mercury can linger if not properly cleaned up.

See also: American Dental Association’s Dental Filling Options Information Pages.

Location Scout: Williamsburgh Bank Building.

First Comes Your Balls, Then We Inflate The Giant Rat

Brooklyn Brewery founder Steve Hindy reminisces about his first time meeting local labor representatives:

[Williamsburg] was a very different place [in 1996, when the brewery opened]. One day during construction, a bunch of union guys right out of Good Fellas showed up. One said, “We want J-O-B-S.” Their head guy — later indicted for labor bribery — said, “We put a picket up and no one’s gonna unload your trucks.” I promised them jobs on my next project. They went off to talk. I was sitting there shitting in my pants. One comes back, puts his hand on my thigh next to my balls, and says, “We’re gonna have to hurt you.” Then he says, “Just kiddin’! We’re gonna leave you alone. Next time you do something, we have to be part of it.”

Rebbe al-Sadr

Southern Iraq or Brooklyn? It’s difficult to say [emphasis added in advance, for your comprehension and pleasure]:

A brawl broke out in a Brooklyn synagogue yesterday morning, forcing dozens of cops in riot gear to pull worshippers from their house of prayer, in the latest eruption of a Hasidic holy war.

Yesterday’s melee, which included punches, slaps and beard-pulling, broke out between clashing factions of the Satmar Hasidic sect in Williamsburg and ended with cops in helmets closing down streets to restore order on a Jewish holiday, Shmini Atzeret.

“There was chaos,” said worshipper Joel Klein, 29, who said he was pulled from the Yetev Lev Bikur Cholim synagogue on Rodney Street by cops. “It was like a war zone.”

Cops and witnesses said thousands were involved in the fight.

The bitter feud dates back to a longstanding dispute between two brothers who both claim to lead the Williamsburg Satmar congregation and its system of rabbinical yeshivas, religious schools and social services.

The grand rebbe of the ultra-conservative Satmars, Moshe Teitelbaum, picked Zalman in 1999 to lead the Brooklyn congregation, over his elder son, Aaron, who continues to lead another congregation in upstate Kiryas Joel.

The congregation fractured into rival boards that held separate elections and each side claimed victory. A law suit was filed for control of the congregation’s board, but a Brooklyn judge ruled last year that it was not the court’s job to interfere in the grand rebbe’s decision.

But an upstate judge’s decision last week — which some interpreted as leaving Aaron’s ally, Berl Friedman, to be the corporate leader of the Brooklyn congregation — sparked yesterday’s religious rumble.

When Friedman entered the synagogue at about 8:30 a.m., people began shouting and shoving matches ensued between the hundreds of worshippers, witnesses said. As the scrimmage elevated, fights spilled out into the streets.

By the time cops arrived, “there were a couple thousand people in the streets — just tons of people in the streets,” a police source said.

Cops were forced to shut down several blocks in the neighborhood.

Where Brooklyn Ends . . . Er, Where “New” Brooklyn Ends

Charles Graeber writes in New York Magazine about the L-ification of Brooklyn and finds that it extends to . . . Jefferson Street:

I’ve been walking toward the gentrification line all day, and all day that line seems to have gotten no closer than the horizon.

Now, for instance, walking toward the Jefferson Street L station, I see on the horizon several more of those five-story factory buildings with Manhattan views — the sort of buildings that I watched go condo two years ago in Northside Williamsburg, the sort rented to youthful capacity today down the street at the Morgan L stop. I’m starting to hate these buildings. I’m starting to hate the people with their ironic bangs and ITHACA IS GORGE-OUS and VIRGINIA IS FOR LOVERS T-shirts, the shooter-producer husband and his video-artist wife and their baby, Fido. I’m not even halfway to Canarsie, but I’m done. I can no longer tell whether I’m in the middle of nowhere or on the edge of the next big somewhere. If there is a gentrification line, I’m giving up on finding it.

And then I run into Simon.

Simon is a big man, maybe six two, 250, dressed in thrift-shop clothes: blue jeans, a golf shirt nappy from overwashing, sneakers that are brand-new but not name-brand. His shaved head shows a star-shaped puncture wound; his arms are tweedy with scars. He stops just ahead to fish a hand-rolled smoke out of a box of Newports. When I stop next to him, he simply smiles and nods and exhales a thick cloud of blue smoke from a finger-size joint.

“You just checking out the neighborhood?” Simon says. He inhales, exhales, scratches.

“Yeah, that’s basically it,” I say.

“Checking it out,” Simon says.

“Just seeing what I see,” I say. I tell him about my walk, about following the L-train route away from Manhattan and looking for the line where things change.

. . .

Simon waves his joint toward Jefferson Street. “Look here,” he says. “You got them wide streets so the kids can play. And there’s no drugs—just a little weed, you know. And, I’m not paying rent right now so I don’t know, but most of the people around here, they Dominican, they work in the factories. Keep ’em close, the owners like to keep ’em close, word.” He laughs, getting excited. “And you know they ain’t getting paid much, so these places gotta be cheap!”

That’s when it hits me: I’m finally here. Simon’s gesture toward Jefferson takes in brownfields, industrial sprawl, derelict yards, and buildings that contain real working factories rather than raw loft space. There are no baby stores, soy products, or 24-hour delis. There is nothing to buy, no apartments not to afford. There are no Manhattan-bound commuters. There isn’t an ITHACA IS GORGE-OUS T-shirt in sight. Even Simon himself defines the line, which is exactly why the state has placed him right on top of it.

All day, I’ve been searching for the cliff edge of gentrification, and Simon has just casually pointed it out with a burning joint.

Bonus Points: Handy Craig’s List Shortcut.