Editor's note: This Island Observer was written in 2002, but not published in The WIRE at that time. (It has been available on Website NYC10044 at nyc10044.com.) It is published now because it recounts an incident similar to last week's in which a resident was handcuffed by Public Safety after taking photographs.

January 10, 2002

Sometimes, even in a community as small and peaceful as Roosevelt Island, it takes some extraordinary measure to bring you the news.

Forget the fact that RIOC often demands a Freedom of Information filing for information that should have been public a year before. Forget the fact that any information at all, no matter how critical to daily routine, is only grudgingly shared.

Forget all that. Want something really hard? Try taking a photograph.

That's right... a photograph.

Thursday morning, wanting a fresh picture as an update to illustrate The WIRE's January 12 report on the Island's extended Tramway outage, I bicycled to the Island Tram station, digital camera at the ready, to get a picture of our grounded cabin #2.

For the best angle, I stepped up on the grass where the cabin is parked, only to have Public Safety Officer Anderson (badge #1572, I'm told, though her first name is unavailable) leap from her Cushman Scout to tell me I could not take pictures. "I'm from The WIRE," I said, and though I continued speaking, she didn't wait. "You cannot take pictures anywhere on this Island without permission!" She was shouting - unnecessary given the fact that she was approaching fast and nearly upon me by then.

I tried to say, "I need this picture for the paper going to press..." but never got out the word "today" before Anderson stiff-armed my camera, bouncing it off my face and glasses. I think I yelled something worthy of an articulate wordmeister, like, "Hey!" and as I lowered the camera from my face, I think it probably passed her chest a little more closely than she would have liked. We were, by now, ample belly to ample belly.

She swore. I swore. She radioed for help. I took my cell phone out of my pocket to call RIOC President Rob Ryan, or someone else at RIOC who might provide the PSO with better information than she apparently was working with. (There is a RIOC rule that a permit is required to take pictures on the Island. It's intended to extract fees from movie companies and fashion photographers, and doesn't apply to the press.) Ryan and his top staff were unavailable, other than RIOC's new Public Information Officer, John Melia, who seemed confused by my call and the shouting he was hearing in the not-so-background.

In no time at all, a trio of PSOs had arrived to take me into custody. My hands were cuffed behind my back, and I was plopped, immobile and wrists hurting, into the back of their car. It occurred to me that this was rather harsh treatment for what had transpired to that point, but of course the assisting officers were taking PSO Anderson's vastly inflated word for what had happened before their arrival.

At Public Safety's office I was frisked, cuffed to a rail in the muster room (muster closet might be more descriptive), and held incommunicado while summonses were prepared.

The 114th Precinct was called in, and Sgt. James Heffernan informed me that Anderson was claiming physical injury and was being checked out by Emergency Medical Services. (Huh?) He explained the likely course of events to me (summons, court appearance, and probably it would be tossed out), but I was lost in thought: Anderson, clearly, realized she had overreacted, and was trying to build a case that I had somehow gotten physical with her. Apart from the belly-bumping she did, we had no contact, but I realized she would want to cover her posterior.

An hour later, while writing this chronology, I was still incommunicado, waiting for summonses to be issued. Eventually, three were presented to me: Disorderly conduct, trespassing, and harassment. Pretty standard stuff, but as Heffernan had carefully avoided saying, mostly bovine deposits, since there had been no signs indicating I could not step up on the grass for a better angle, since nobody had been disorderly until Anderson stiff-armed my camera, and harassment was the way I was treated, not anybody else.

When I finally left the Public Safety Office, now more bemused by the experience than angry, I realized my bicycle was yet to be recovered, so I returned to ask where it might be. There, I encountered Chief James Fry, who asked me to join him in his office for a chat.

It was a pleasant chat, and Fry even complied when I suggested he have PSO Anderson join us. She didn't like it when he let it be known the summonses would be voided. She even didn't like it when I said to her, "Can this be OK between us?" She stomped out, saying, "No I'm not OK with it."

For the record, I specifically asked Fry to be sure Anderson was not hurt by this incident. I've overreacted myself at times, in my younger days - and she is younger. (Fry promised he would make her comfortable with the outcome.)

The lessons to be learned here are, I suppose, that you can't fight City Hall or Public Safety - that an officer with ire will call in reinforcements whose job it will be to respond to the situation as described, rather than attempt to ascertain what the situation really is.

There are also lessons in it for Roosevelt Island and Public Safety, having to do with overreaction, proper understanding of the rules being enforced, and - let me not fail to mention - something we call the First Amendment.