..other than an odd acronym for something called the Hudson Museum of Photography. Even the lady in the door getting her mail didn’t know, or wouldn’t admit to it.
HUDSON, NEW YORK, 12:50 P.M. I’m standing in line at a small local bank when a person behind me says that there has just been a robbery at Bank of America, less than a block up the street and only twenty minutes or so ago. There’s a moment of panic in the air and Tina, the teller, tells a woman customer with two children that they should leave. They do. The rest of us wait on line; the guy behind me adds that the robber had no gun but managed to walk away towards State Street with 1,000 20 dollar bills, a sum that, according to today’s Register Star, was greatly exaggerated (turns out it was only $500 worth of 20s).
1:00 p.m: Walking up Warren Street toward the scene of the crime, people are doing what they normally do: going in and out of stores, complaining about business, trying to park their cars. A slight buzz in the air of “did you hear…etc?” but no visible sign of panic or further mayhem.
1:05 p.m. I pass BOA, the sidewalk in front of which is now cordoned off with police tape. One policeman and/or security guard standing on duty, one police car parked in front, if I recall correctly. Rick, the hot dog guy, is still there selling hot dogs in and around the barricade — also if I recall correctly.
1:07 p.m. I walk directly across the street on Warren and Sixth Street, in front of Regan & Smith, and talk to a few friends, one of whom said I should be at home reporting this story. I told him I wasn’t normally that type of writer. An unmarked black police car rushes into the no-parking spot right in front of us and an investigator type jumps out and rushes across the street to the BOA corner. He is wearing a formal-looking button down teal blue shirt and dark pleated (we all guessed) pants. We go on to discuss the Furgary Boat Club issue and other bits of business, including the fact that it was all like Odds Against Tomorrow except this was in the middle of the day and there were no guns or injuries, thank heavens.
1:10 p.m. Walking down past the BOA building, around the still barricaded sidewalk, I notice that Rick, the hot dog guy, is no longer there, and the usual odor of roasting onions is quickly fading. –Scott Baldinger