Stalked and stabbed not
once but more
than twice, her Please help
me! heard in Queens,
and interrupted,
the lights going
on off on as she was
seen to stumble
before the next strike,
when the one call
made came too late
to make a difference.
Who in Kew Gardens
might have held out
in doubt turned
a blind eye, afraid
to get involved.
She was their neighbor,
just 28, and dying a year
after she'd moved
in, her bad luck
to catch the look
of Winston Moseley,
the guy from Ozone Park
cruising down Austin after
hours in a white Corvair.
What's said to have taken
place, what might have
occurred, who saw it all
and acted, or didn't, how
the story made it
to The New York Times
and went viral, never was
exactly what anyone claimed
the night of March 13,
when Kitty smiled —
she had a great smile —
for the very last time.
© 2012 Maureen E. Doallas
___________________________________
Last week marked the 48th anniversary of the infamous March 13, 1964, murder of Catherine "Kitty" Genovese. What might have been remarked upon as just another grisly killing in Queens met with extraordinary public outrage and armchair-psychology when it was reported that at least 38 people had heard or seen something and done nothing the night the 28-year-old was stabbed repeatedly. Not yet 12 at the time, I well remember the news stories and still get a chill reading about it. When The Learning Network at The New York Times ran a feature on March 13, 2012 (see link below), I had to piece the story, some of the facts of which remain in dispute, into the poem I've posted here.
If you weren't around when this case hit the newspapers, read "March 13, 1964 | New York Woman Killed While Witnesses Do Nothing", The New York Times, March 13, 2012; "Kitty, 40 Years Later", The New York Times, February 8, 2004; and "37 Who Saw Murder Didn't Call the Police; Apathy at Stabbing of Queens Woman Shocks Inspector 37 SAW MURDER BUT DIDN'T CALL path of Victim: Stabbler's Third Attack Was Fatal", The New York Times, March 27, 1964.
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14 comments:
I wasn't yet 13, but I remember reading and hearing about it. Some commentaotrs mark this death as the beginning of the time when New York City was no longer the qwonderful place to live it had been - the murder and the apathy said something had changed.
I wonder if things have changed, even in NYC. A chilling story and poem, Maureen.
The heartache of this is tangible through your words.
I remember this story. Yes, we look back at it now as the symbolic beginning of the age of apathy--the "I Don't Want To Get Involved" generation.
Now, it probably wouldn't even make a ripple in the news.
Never even knew, that many people saw? wow that is just sad. Great write.
this story just turns my stomach...to think of all those not doing anything...but i imagine it all the easier to happen this day and age...
i had not heard of kitty, until now.
i did hear a piece on opb radio in the car today, about how a certain type of community garden can actually form community.
I remember this story from my childhood. Even as an 8 year old I was shocked at the indifference people displayed. It stayed with me for years and it would crop up in my conversations as a teenager when I inveighed against the ills of modern society. You retell it so objectively, yet revealing the humanity of the victim, whose memory should always be invoked in tender terms.
I remember this story still. It shocked even my 8 year old mind. I used it for years when, as a teenager, I inveighed against the ills of modern society. You retell the story with such humanity and compasion, a loving tribute to a person whose memory must always be celebrated as an individual and not a statistic.
As a sociologist, I've studied the Kitty Genovese murder as an example of social alienation. This is the first time the humanity of this tragedy was brought to my heart. Sublimely good.
How awful! And how much further have we come? Or rather gone. Great poem on a very emotive subject.
I, too, remember this chilling case, which told us more than we wanted to know about ourselves. What I really like is the staccato rhythm of the lines, which for me mimic the violence of the experience you describe, not easy to write so convincingly, to make the rhythm of the language reinforce its meaning.
I wasn't around but I picked up pieces of the story throughout the years and now know the story well. Thank you for sharing this story in poem.
Cheers,
Mark Butkus
Excellent write, Maureen!
http://charleslmashburn.wordpress.com/2012/03/20/a-promis-comes/
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