Who’s Your Daddy?

Is he the patriarch of one of 29 high-powered families profiled in this week’s Observer? A new, improved nepotism:

Somewhere between the Astors and 2006, it seemed as though the city had lost its class, to put it mildly. But Mrs. Astor — even in her ancient, faded, painted and chipped state, worn down by a century and four years and more of a great life — had saved it once more. She had once more reasserted the importance of life, reminded us that we are a city in which family trumps all. It may have been that the ghosts of Four Hundred society wafted from the vents at Delmonico’s and possessed vengeful Post and Daily News reporters who slashed and whacked at poor Anthony Marshall, who eventually was vindicated by the judge.

But something more important happened, once more, in a city where it has rarely failed to happen: Mother had won. And New York is a town that is defined by families. We have chosen 29 of them, and the power of family defines each, a power that supersedes any other consideration, and that is at once the clearest thing in life, and the most mysterious.

Either That Or We Bring Back Whoopi For Sister Act 3 (Is There Some Way To Get Margaret Cho On Board . . . Is Margaret Cho Chinese?)

If it were a movie pitch you might say it was Stand and Deliver meets The Joy Luck Club meets Animal House:

Workers at Church of the Transfigur­ation on Mott St. see their greatest success in children of immigrants, who often were born in the United States and stand with one foot in their Chinese past and another in their American future. The church’s Sunday school classes teach the Catholic faith to area children, and some non-Catholic parents see it as a chance for free babysitting, said Sister MaryAnn Scherr, a nun overseeing religious education at the church.

. . .

Every Sunday morning, Scherr and her team of religious educators teach Catholic catechism to parish children. It is a task fraught with complexities, as often these children know very little about Christianity.

“When people come to us, they often come with no religion at all,” Scherr said. “Some of the parents don’t see the value of the religion program.”

Down one flight of stairs from John Hum’s class, Jennifer Yau teaches first graders about books of the Bible, and routinely struggles with non-attentive students.

“This is boring,” said James, a tiny six-year-old boy with an untucked collared shirt, one leg up on his chair, the other dangling above the floor. “I don’t know it.”

“There is no, ‘I don’t know.’ That’s not an option,” said Yau, visibly at wits’ end. “I’m trying to teach you guys something and you’re not really paying attention, so I’d appreciate it if you would.”

. . .

Overall, progress is being made, Scherr said.

“We can have as many as 30 people we baptize each year,” she said. “Many are men.

“We try not to be people who just work to get certificates,” Scherr said. Too often, she says, immigrants believe their participation in church activities will guarantee them citizenship, or at least a green card.

“If they want to really be baptized, then we work with that,” Sherr said. “It’s not completely our job to doubt sincerity.”

As Chinese immigrants come into the city, they bring with them their own ideas and customs. In the Chinese province of Fujian, where most of Chinatown’s newest residents emigrate from, it is perfectly O.K. for someone to spit on the floor, even when inside, since most floors there are dirt, Scherr said. The church staff has tried to limit spitting and educate immigrants on American social conventions.

Drive In A Car With Someone I Met On Craig’s List? I’ve Done Worse Things With Craig’s List

The Sun takes a look at the New York City ride board on Craig’s List, with varying results:

Looking for a ride to Monsey, N.Y., or to make a quick trip to Lansing, Mich., over Thanksgiving break? Hitching a ride on the streets of New York is illegal, so today’s hitchhikers are sticking out their thumbs with posts on craigslist.org.

Motivated by many of the same needs that inspired their predecessors, virtual hitchhikers say they lack funds, desire companionship or the sheer thrill of an adventure, and sometimes act out of pure desperation.

The craigslist.org New York ride board gets about 25 posts a day, with about an even number offering and soliciting rides. Most posters are looking to team up for shorter drives to destinations along the Northeast corridor, but some seek cross-country travel companions.

. . .

A production assistant, Rudy Samana, who recently sought company for a drive to Florida, said he didn’t get south of New Jersey. “The guy I was driving seemed very unstable,” Mr. Samana said. “He told me he might get a job in Florida, but he didn’t really have a plan, and he kind of wanted to latch up with me, so I just turned back around.”

Then again, I think the people in this example thought the writer meant “Casual Encounters”:

Others said they had better luck. When advertising producer Grellan Harty needed a ride to Vermont last winter for a ski trip, he posted on the site. Kathy Jo Carstarphen responded because she said she was eager for companionship. The strangers had no plans to check in to a motel room in Middlebury, Vt., just hours after meeting, but were forced to do so at 2 a.m. when they got lost on their way. “We’re still good friends after sharing that experience,” Mr. Harty said.

Shh . . . Don’t Let Bill O’Reilly Hear About This

The War on Christmas continues:

Santa Claus has been bumped.

Instead of having pride of place in the center of the Staten Island Mall, the Jolly Old Elf has been relegated to the JCPenney wing — separating him from the holiday congestion near the Christmas tree and train ride.

St. Nick also is being nudged out by two new kiosks installed in center court: Vonage, the online discount telephone company, and the Piercing Pagoda, which also has a kiosk in the Macy’s wing.

It’s a question of space, Mall general manager James Easley insists.

“Center court is always so crowded with . . . [long lines waiting] for Santa and the train. Moving Santa and his chair will allow us to accommodate a lot more people by spreading things out,” he said.

. . .

“These three things — the Christmas tree, the train and Santa — should be together,” said Patricia Leahy of Greenridge, mother of 3-year-old Christopher. “There is plenty of room in center court for a tree, Santa and the trains. I can’t figure out how Mall management thinks there is more room by JCPenney.”

At least Santa will be there, said Ms. Leahy, who e-mailed the Advance last week to check on what turned out to be a false report that Santa Claus would skip his appearance at the Mall in New Springville this year.

But she was skeptical about his new spot: “I personally think it is a way of de-Christmasing Christmas.”

Enter San Man

The anthropologist-in-residence at the Department of Sanitation shows she can hang with a san man, and yes, she mongos:

[Director of N.Y.U.’s Draper Interdisciplinary Master’s Program in Humanities and Social Thought Robin] Nagle, who is forty-five, has been researching the Department of Sanitation for the past several years, while working on a book, “Picking Up.” At first, the san men were convinced that she was a plant, from one of various surveillance agencies. “We are from different worlds,” she acknowledged. “I have tried to close the gap between us. I walk in, I’m female, I’m an egghead, I’m older, I have a Ph.D. — for some reason, they foreground that. My response is ‘La-di-fucking-da, I have a Ph.D. Whatever.'”

She said that she had earned her commercial driver’s license in 2004, and pointed to a Teamsters Local 831 jacket hanging behind the door, with “Robin” embroidered on the front. “You have to know what you’re doing or you’ll end up killing somebody,” she said. “As one of my instructors told me, if a car can be a weapon, a garbage truck can be a nuclear weapon.”

Nagle’s interests lie more with the trash collectors than with the trash, although the two intersect on the subject of “mongo” — sanitation lingo for “redeemed garbage” or the act of collecting it. (Nagle consulted a lexicographer, looking for help in tracking down the etymology, to no avail.) “Within the department, if you mongo or if you don’t — there’s kind of a dividing line,” she said. “‘He mongos.’ ‘Do you mongo?’ ‘Oh, mongo, are you kidding? I wouldn’t mongo.'” She paused. “Hell, I mongo, absolutely. And I have some pretty nice things.” A book cart to her left bore a sticker that read “NYU Asset Management: Authorized for Disposal.” She had found it on the curb. Maps on the walls outside her office were rescued from a Dumpster. And her winter wardrobe draws heavily from a stash of cashmere sweaters that she found in a garbage bag behind the Dakota, while accompanying a san man known as the Mongo King on his rounds, in 2003.