the people who come up here from the South. On a full-moon night the saloons are like magnets. The full-mooners try to walk past them and they get drawn right in.”
“That explains a lot to me,” said Mr. Flood. “I must be a full-mooner. I’ve started home many a night with no intention in the world of stopping off. It was the last thing in my mind. And four A.M. would come, and there I’d be, holding on to some bar, and I wouldn’t half know how I got there.”
“Exactly,” said Mr. Cusack. “Some full-mooners get drunk and some get delusions. The Department is well aware of this. There’s a glassed-in booth down in the lobby of Headquarters, the information booth. They have a calendar hanging in there, and they always have a red circle drawn around thedate of the full moon. That’s to remind the officer on duty what’s ahead of him. I had an accident when I was in the Department, broke my leg, and I was a year and a half convalescing, and most of that time they had me on night duty in the information booth. And every full-moon night, I had visitors from all over. The full-mooners’d come trooping in. They’d step up and ask to see the Commissioner; nobody else would do. There was one who always came at midnight; he never missed. He’d ask for the Commissioner and I’d say, ‘Lean over, sir, and whisper it to me. You can trust me.’ And he’d lean over and whisper, ‘They’re after me!’ And I’d get out my pad and pencil and ask for the details. And he’d talk on and on and on, and I’d take it all down. And I’d tell him, ‘Rest assured the proper steps will be taken.’ That’d satisfy him. He’d go away and I’d tear up whatever it was I took down and I’d throw it in the wastebasket.” Mr. Cusack laughed. “Next full moon, he’d be back again.”
“Mr. Cusack,” said Mr. Bethea, “I recall a talk I had some years ago with an old gentlemen who works for one of the big cemeteries in Brooklyn, a foreman gravedigger. He said that a grave dugaround the time of the new moon, the dirt that comes out of it won’t fill it up. It’ll have a sunk-in look. Whereas, a grave dug around the time of the full moon, there’ll be plenty of dirt left over; you can make a nice mound on top. Another fact he told me, he said that women’s bosoms get bigger during the time of the full moon. Did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t, Mr. Bethea,” said Mr. Cusack. “I’m glad you brought it up. While we’re on the subject, I recall a case I was personally mixed-up in that might be of considerable interest to a man in your line.”
“What was that?” asked Mr. Bethea.
“It happened in 1932, the year before I retired from the Department,” said Mr. Cusack. “At the time I was attached to the First Precinct. One morning around four A.M. I was patrolling on South Street, proceeding east, and a radio car pulled up and the driver-officer informed me they were looking for two lads that stole an empty hearse. It seems this big black hearse had been parked in front of a garage on Third Avenue in the Sixties, the Nineteenth Precinct. The lads stole it and proceeded south on Third. Just ahead of them was a
Daily News
truck, delivering bundles of
DailyNews
es to newsstands. You know the way they operate; they pull up to a corner where there’s a stand and heave a bundle out on the sidewalk. At that hour a good many stands haven’t opened, and the bundle lies there until the man that runs the stand comes to work. The lads in the hearse conceived the idea of collecting these bundles. The hearse would pull up and one lad would leap out, grab a bundle, and heave it in the hearse. They went from stand to stand, doing this. Headquarters was soon getting calls from all over, people that saw them, and it was put on the police radio. The hearse was last seen on lower Broadway, heading for the Battery. I told the driver-officer I hadn’t observed no hearse, but I got on the running board and went along to
“That explains a lot to me,” said Mr. Flood. “I must be a full-mooner. I’ve started home many a night with no intention in the world of stopping off. It was the last thing in my mind. And four A.M. would come, and there I’d be, holding on to some bar, and I wouldn’t half know how I got there.”
“Exactly,” said Mr. Cusack. “Some full-mooners get drunk and some get delusions. The Department is well aware of this. There’s a glassed-in booth down in the lobby of Headquarters, the information booth. They have a calendar hanging in there, and they always have a red circle drawn around thedate of the full moon. That’s to remind the officer on duty what’s ahead of him. I had an accident when I was in the Department, broke my leg, and I was a year and a half convalescing, and most of that time they had me on night duty in the information booth. And every full-moon night, I had visitors from all over. The full-mooners’d come trooping in. They’d step up and ask to see the Commissioner; nobody else would do. There was one who always came at midnight; he never missed. He’d ask for the Commissioner and I’d say, ‘Lean over, sir, and whisper it to me. You can trust me.’ And he’d lean over and whisper, ‘They’re after me!’ And I’d get out my pad and pencil and ask for the details. And he’d talk on and on and on, and I’d take it all down. And I’d tell him, ‘Rest assured the proper steps will be taken.’ That’d satisfy him. He’d go away and I’d tear up whatever it was I took down and I’d throw it in the wastebasket.” Mr. Cusack laughed. “Next full moon, he’d be back again.”
“Mr. Cusack,” said Mr. Bethea, “I recall a talk I had some years ago with an old gentlemen who works for one of the big cemeteries in Brooklyn, a foreman gravedigger. He said that a grave dugaround the time of the new moon, the dirt that comes out of it won’t fill it up. It’ll have a sunk-in look. Whereas, a grave dug around the time of the full moon, there’ll be plenty of dirt left over; you can make a nice mound on top. Another fact he told me, he said that women’s bosoms get bigger during the time of the full moon. Did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t, Mr. Bethea,” said Mr. Cusack. “I’m glad you brought it up. While we’re on the subject, I recall a case I was personally mixed-up in that might be of considerable interest to a man in your line.”
“What was that?” asked Mr. Bethea.
“It happened in 1932, the year before I retired from the Department,” said Mr. Cusack. “At the time I was attached to the First Precinct. One morning around four A.M. I was patrolling on South Street, proceeding east, and a radio car pulled up and the driver-officer informed me they were looking for two lads that stole an empty hearse. It seems this big black hearse had been parked in front of a garage on Third Avenue in the Sixties, the Nineteenth Precinct. The lads stole it and proceeded south on Third. Just ahead of them was a
Daily News
truck, delivering bundles of
DailyNews
es to newsstands. You know the way they operate; they pull up to a corner where there’s a stand and heave a bundle out on the sidewalk. At that hour a good many stands haven’t opened, and the bundle lies there until the man that runs the stand comes to work. The lads in the hearse conceived the idea of collecting these bundles. The hearse would pull up and one lad would leap out, grab a bundle, and heave it in the hearse. They went from stand to stand, doing this. Headquarters was soon getting calls from all over, people that saw them, and it was put on the police radio. The hearse was last seen on lower Broadway, heading for the Battery. I told the driver-officer I hadn’t observed no hearse, but I got on the running board and went along to
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