A basement full of stuff, a lifetime of stories
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Three days a week I work from the press room at One Police Plaza, the imposing brownstone mothership of the New York Police Department in Lower Manhattan.
As a police reporter for The New York Times Metro desk, I visited many parts of the building: the second-floor space where press conferences are held; the fourth floor trial room for department hearings; and the 13th floor conference room, where journalists meet with senior officials to discuss current affairs.
But I had never been in the basement before.
Last fall I visited One Police Plaza to discuss an article with Sgt. Edward Riley, who works for the Office of the Assistant Commissioner for Public Information, the police department’s communications division. As we walked down the stairs to the underground floor, I saw a pair of sliding steel doors that looked like something you would see on a military base.
I asked Sergeant Riley what was behind them. He said it was the entrance to the Manhattan Property Clerk’s office, where thousands of pieces of evidence are stored. Lost belongings turned over to police are also kept there, he said, as are items recovered from ground zero after September 11.
There was also a safe containing seized weapons, cash and drugs. At that moment I imagined a film noir scene with a Swiss bank from the 1940s.
Sergeant Riley asked if I would be interested in writing about the basement. I said yes before he could finish his sentence and added, “When can we go?”
I soon discovered that people cannot simply walk into the real estate registry office without an appointment. The sergeant needs the police signature to visit me, and that may take some time. Only those assigned to work there – officers and civilian employees charged with protecting its highly sensitive content – can get past the public access point. (This is for good reason. In the 1970s, an ex-narcotics detective and a gangster were linked to a heroin smuggling scheme run out of the clerk’s former location in Little Italy. The thefts were linked to the so-called French Connection, and the men were indicted in 1974.)
I submitted an official visit request and then waited. Weeks passed; the winter holidays came and went. Last month, Sergeant Riley messaged me. My request was approved.
On January 11, he took me, photojournalist Lanna Apisukh and Ms. Apisukh’s photo assistant, Obed Obwoge, to the basement of One Police Plaza. Sergeant Surabi Consuegra, a boss at the clerk’s office, and Charmain Carryl and Tricia Samuel-Williams, two police investigation and real estate specialists, met us at the entrance.
They walked us through the cavernous space, which reminded me of a library with its high shelves and long hallways. They showed us where items are inspected and opened the safe to show us where firearms, narcotics and dollar bills are stored.
On the way we passed a shopping cart full of binders. Ms Carryl said there were 298, each containing hundreds of invoices for items seized by the clerk’s office. I heard that the office received 60,733 items last year alone.
Ms. Apisukh took photo after photo while I asked questions: What is the temperature in the room where the medications are located? What’s the weirdest thing you’ve seen here? How long has this sad looking stuffed dog been in the basement? Does it have a name? (He doesn’t, Mrs. Carryl told me. I privately called him Rover.)
The women smiled at our enthusiasm. “That’s how we were when we first came here,” says Ms. Samuel-Williams. “Every aspect of this job is interesting, especially the first time you experience it.”
As I looked around at the objects on the shelves, I thought about their meaning. I remembered how in December 2022, a three-alarm fire at a Brooklyn police warehouse destroyed large amounts of evidence in storage. As a result, some crimes will never be solved.
Later that evening I thought about it further. What if objects I saw in the basement – a child’s toy, a beloved book, an engagement ring – were consumed by a flood or flames? It saddened me to think that their owners would never have the chance to find them, no matter how slim the chance.
Days later, I was back in The Times newsroom in Manhattan to meet with my editor, Steve Merelman, about the article. He told me he is constantly at war with the clutter in his own basement. Police, he noted, are fighting the same battle.
A month after my visit, my article, a tour of the cellar and its various objects, was published online. That evening I scrolled through the comments section to see if the piece had resonated with readers.
One response stood out to me.
“I’m pretty sure someone will recognize that stuffed dog,” the reader said. “I hope a beloved dog is reunited with a child. I lost a favorite years ago and still think about it sometimes, like today.”