They essentially want to put their money where their mouths are. Tired of just talking about unions and the way they changed the face of this country, a group of about 30 educators—hourly workers who lead tours and discussions at the museum—decided to form one. Easy, they figured: No institution is friendlier to labor than the Tenement Museum. After all, a pro-union vibe permeates the place, from its bookstore stocked with tomes about the labor movement to the actual tenement at 97 Orchard Street, where the seeds of organized labor grew. The founders and managers of the museum clearly revere the history that surrounds them.

Despite that reverence, a no-holds-barred labor clash is underway beneath their own roof. Educators who spend their days extolling unions were thwarted from the very beginning and told their own union would not be recognized. They organized anyway, protested and passed out flyers at every opportunity, just as the men and women in their history lessons did. Their rallying even convinced a trustee, State Sen. Tom Duane, to resign his position with the museum. But the museum’s stance did not change. For two years it has opposed immediate recognition of the union, and thrown up roadblock after roadblock. It’s a living history if there ever was one.

What sounds like a Lower East Side tenement is actually a $53.5 million pair of Plaza penthouses bought by Russian hedge-fund manager Andrei Vavilov, who says the developer promised him the epitome of luxury and then handed over an “attic-like space.”

In a $31 million suit, Vavilov says the purchase — which would have represented the second-highest amount for a residential sale in New York City history — was the result of a bait-and-switch scam. Unlike The Plaza hotel of the children’s story “Eloise,” where rooms “embodied the height of elegance and sophistication, the same cannot be said of the penthouses,” said lawyer Y. David Scharf, who filed the suit Friday in Manhattan Supreme Court.

“The disparity between what they were supposed to get and what [developer] El-Ad was planning to deliver to them is outrageous.”

Instead, the 60-year-old limo driver has an amazing tale to tell: He barely escaped being crushed to death Monday by a tree that toppled onto his car.

The father of two grown daughters felt so lucky he bought a Lotto ticket last night.

“Maybe my guardian angel is still with me,” he smiled.

Vizuete, who drives for Long Island-based Vital Transportation, was about to pull away from 411 W. 54th St. to pick up a “VIP going to Newark Airport” when death knocked.

“I put the key in the ignition, heard this loud noise, and looked to my left,” he said, recalling he was too stunned to move. “The tree was falling straight at me. It was like slow motion. I couldn’t believe it.

“It was coming 5 or 6 inches from my head,” he said. “Glass went all over me and everything went dark for a while.”

The honey locust pancaked the front end of the limo, which Vizuete owns, but didn’t touch him. Saturday’s storm apparently split the tree down the middle and made it unstable.

“I’m not terribly interested in looking at Central Park or the East Side,” said Ned O’Gorman, one of the four tenants who turned up their nose at the offer.

The poet and his cronies had filed suit to stop their landlord, the Church of Latter-Day Saints, from ripping out the walls in their one-bedroom apartments and replacing them with windows.

“Plaintiffs argue that they would be severely and irreparably damaged by the removal of the wall and by the dust, fumes, noise and vibrations,” Judge Michael Stallman wrote.

He signed off on their bid for a preliminary order barring the landlord from doing work on their apartments, finding the changes were purely cosmetic and not a “necessary repair.”

The landlord’s lawyer, Seth Denenberg, said the window installation between the 22nd and 37th floors was part of a massive rehab of 60 W. 66th St., designed to transform the tower into a “premium building.”

When work is finally completed, the plaintiffs’ four units — all on different floors — will be the only ones without the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The four tenants all said they had good reason to block the construction.

Abraham Cherney is 87 and gets kidney dialysis several times a week.

Former model and dancer Laima Drobavicius has severe allergies, and both said they would “suffer potentially life threatening health consequences” if forced to stay in their apartments during construction.

As last call approached, so did a customer in a pinstriped shirt. Money changed hands. The dealer slipped something into the man’s pocket as oblivious revelers strolled past.

It’s a common sight in the club-heavy Meatpacking District, which has replaced Chelsea as the epicenter of the Manhattan party scene — and home to all the woes that follow.

The venerable neighborhood, long-ago habitat of butchers in bloodstained aprons, hosts an assortment of less savory sorts each weekend: Drunks. Cokeheads. Dealers.

. . .

The no-holds-barred party, as witnessed by Daily News reporters, knows few boundaries. One reporter was solicited by three dealers within two hours on a Saturday night.