Vexed in Park Slope: When Animals Attack! Edition

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Remember the Bronx Zoo cobra escape of early 2011? Of course you do. That story got more local news air time than 37% of all the murders in 2011 combined. Ok, I totally made that up. But I'm sure it's not far from truth. Let's face it, New Yorkers are more afraid of nature than we are of the myriad of frightening things that are just part and parcel of Big City living. So it should be no surprise that denizens of Park Slope have long been terrorized by critters run amok. For example, in November of 1921 a . . .

17! People! Bit! The Times reports that an otherwise quiet Sunday night in Park Slope was interrupted by a crazed dog who ran through Flatbush, Park Slope and Bath Beach (that's a lot of running!) biting people all along the route. The fates of those bitten by the rabid mutt are lost to history, but the dog's is known: he was taken down by a single bullet at the intersection of Smith and Carroll Streets late that night. I guess he was all bitten out by the time he made his way into Carroll Gardens.

Thirty years later, the good people of our neighborhood found themselves once again cowering at the furry of a tireless beast:

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Price Markups on Old Pie is NOT in the Holiday Spirit

Sad Pie.Everyone who's lived in New York long enough knows that recent grocery purchases spoiling early (sometimes as early as on the way home from the store, apparently) is par for the course. But that's because of the inexplicable fact that food in New York grocery stores have more imminent expiry dates than on perishables in suburban stores, right? Maybe. As it turns out, tampering with dates on the part of grocery store owners is alive and well in Park Slope.

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Vexed in Park Slope: Historical Foodie Edition!

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Welcome to Vexed in Park Slope -- a column about every day things that FIPS would have reported on had FIPS existed in the 19th and early 20th centuries. All stories come from the NYTimes online archives, so if you don't believe one, look it up. 

When I started putting together this VIPS Food Edition, I imagined I'd dig up a few vintage restaurant reviews, detail some especially appalling menu items (ok, I did spend at least an hour fretting over the concept of a "rum omelette," but I digress) and throw in a few snarky comments about typical New York Times condescension about the Brooklyn restaurants. Easy peasy lemon squeezy, right? Not really. According to my extremely imprecise and far from exhaustive archival research, the New York Times didn't see fit to review restaurants in Brooklyn until well into the 1980s. My self assigned task thus became "difficult difficult lemon difficult."

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Vexed in Park Slope: Thanksgivings of Yore Edition!

 New York Public Library Digital Gallery

Happy (almost) Turkey Day, everyone! In honor of the holiday, I've dug up some very FIPS-esque happenings from Thanksgivings of Park Slopes past. So take a moment and try to imagine a time when, instead of worrying about overcrowded airports, appeasing in-laws and finding a big enough organic turkey, you could focus on what really mattered -- not getting typhoid. 

Park Slope Thanksgiving Anecdote #1 (Sad)

Before you head outside with the "ole' pig skin" this Thursday, give a thought to young Walter Rhue: a 16 year-old who, in 1896, lost his life after a post-Thanksgiving dinner football game in Prospect Park. Walter set off from his home at 720 Carroll Street (between 6th and 7th) after promising his parents he would just watch. 

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Bike Hits Person Hits City (with 3 Million Dollar Lawsuit)

Sober Second Thought Photography http://www.sobersecondthought.com/archives/003340.php?sel=photoEvery time I hear about a pedestrian/cyclist accident I think, "How can that be? We're on the same team!" The team of people who feel bullied and oppressed by cars in this city, that is. But then I remember all the times I've been nearly mowed over by a cyclist going the wrong way down a one way street, or disregarding traffic signals entirely to zip through a red light without the slightest regard for those of us on foot.

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