Kyung Dong Oh stands in front of a charred door with his hands in his pockets. Every now and then he walks from one side of the building to the other. But mostly he looks at the boarded-up windows and the soot-covered entrance and the bright blue tarp covering most of the sunny yellow cement structure.

Kyung Dong Oh paces in front of his building, which was badly damaged in a fire last week. Photo: Singh/Brooklyn Ink

This had been home for Oh, and his wife Kyung Ja, but now it is just remains. A fire destroyed the Cobble Hill building last Tuesday morning, while the Ohs were on a morning walk. Everything that the Ohs had amassed in 20 years of living at 178 Smith St. burned to ashes in just 20 minutes, according to Antonio Gonzalez, who saw the blaze unfold.

“It was business as usual but then I saw smoke so I went outside and saw the store on fire,” Gonzalez, who owns Tony’s Hardware and Plumbing Supplies across the street from the Ohs’ building, said. He said that the fire began downstairs, in a shoe repair shop, and then flames shot up and burned everything, including the scaffolding next door.

Gonzalez has been in the neighborhood for 53 years, and has owned Tony’s for 14 years. He said he knows the Ohs well. Everyone in the neighborhood does. Carmen Rivera, who works at the Felmingo Corp. deli a half block down from the site said that she was sad to hear about the fire. “They’re nice people,” Rivera said. “Been in the neighborhood a long time.”

The Ohs, who are known in the neighborhood as Joseph and Anna, owned a dry cleaning business in the area for many years. They decorated the walls of their shop with postcards from patrons on vacation and baby pictures of frequent customers, but rent hikes in Cobble Hill forced Trusting Cleaners to close last year.

“They were a beloved couple in the area, with the dry cleaners. They were well, well known in the community,” Reverend Robert Powers, administrator of St. Paul & St. Agnes Parish, said.

Though they no longer owned the store, the Ohs remained in their apartment above the shoe repair shop. They had gone out for a walk the morning of the fire, and returned to find their building ablaze. The building itself was insured, but all of the couple’s furniture and belongings are gone.

“We’ve lost everything,” Kyung Dong Oh said.

Oh and his wife are staying with their daughter Theresa, but it is a one-bedroom apartment so Oh wants to find a small place of his own to stay in.

“We have all these friends asking, ‘stay here, stay here,’ but we don’t know how long it will be,” Oh said. “It’s not a quick turnaround—it might be 1, 2, 3 years—but we’re looking to get back home.”

His neighbors are trying to help. Powers and members of his parish created a fund to help ease the many costs the Ohs face in the coming weeks and months. Because of the couple’s relationship with the neighborhood, “we thought it was natural to have a fund for them to draw on,” Powers said. Linda Blyer, a longtime neighbor who has been deeply involved in helping the Ohs after the fire, estimated that in the week since the fire, the parish has already collected $1,000. Blyer said that the church is also hoping to hold a potluck fundraising event in January to collect donations.

“They’re from another country so they don’t have a lot of relatives here, just their children.” Blyer said. “So they’ve become our family and we’ll try to do anything we can to help them.”

Oh has been grateful for all the help, he said. “There’s so many people asking, ‘what do you need?’ They want to help us put our life back in order.”

A ladder shakes precariously in the early December breeze. Its extension rattles against the side of Borough Hall, almost 20 feet in the air.

Two men stand in front of the main entrance, glancing at its top and then glancing at the ground. They wear heavy Timberland construction boots and graying black sweaters. Their hands, the same size as the sheets of paper that fill the offices inside, are stuffed deep within the pockets of their thick blue jeans. An evergreen wreath rests on one man’s leg, so large it reaches his waist. It is covered in painted red, gold and silver glass balls, and lights that shine faintly in the morning sun. A large red bow hangs in the center, its velvet soft and smooth and shiny. Its ends flutter lifelessly on the sidewalk as the two men stand and stare, first up, then down, then up then down. Two smaller wreaths have already found their homes in the windows next to Borough Hall’s main doors; the men have only to place the large wreath above the doors before they can leave.

But the rattling sound is ominous and the mantle above the entrance far from the ground.

Finally, the man picks up the wreath by his feet. He notices the dirty ends of the velvet ribbon, and calls his partner over. His partner takes out a box cutter and slices the ribbon perfectly at an angle. “Byoo-ti-ful,” he says in a thick Brooklyn accent, admiring his own handiwork.

Two workers hung a wreath outside Borough Hall this morning. Photo: Singh/Brooklyn Ink

The other man nods and grabs the wreath. It is too big, even for his mammoth hands, so he hangs it in the crook of his elbow and grips the ladder tightly, knuckles white against the orange steel. One timid step after another, he climbs, boots hanging over each narrow rung, eyes peeled on the rungs in front of him. His partner stands at the foot of the ladder, looking up at the mantle and encouraging the man as he makes his way up. Finally, with one booming step and then another, the man arrives on safe ground. He has reached the mantle.

The wreath jingles as he rests it against a window. The man pulls thick green wire through the wreath and hangs it over the main entrance. He lowers the wreath by allowing a large amount of wire slacken, so that the wreath falls. “Slowly!” the man below shouts, as a woman runs into the building to avoid the oncoming wreath.

“My bad,” the man at the top yells, as he pulls back much of the wire. He then releases the wire, little by little. “There ya go,” his partner says, nodding his head. The man places the wreath just over the main entrance, and ties the wire into a knot.

“It’s f—ing gorgeous,” his partner shouts.

The man peers over the edge and catches a glance of the wreath. He steps back, far away from the edge, and finally, he smiles.

Firefighters attended to a fire at the UA Court Street Stadium 12. Photo: Portlock/Brooklyn Ink

When an overheated popcorn machine caused smoke to billow at the UA Court Street Stadium 12 on September 13, the theater’s employees should have known what to do. After all, a similar, and more serious, fire had occurred at the Brooklyn Heights movie theater just six weeks prior, on August 4.

But according to locals who were at the theater the night of the fire, no one at the theater did anything. The fires generated a big discussion on the Brooklyn Heights Blog, where patrons of the UA Cinema that night posted criticism of the theater for its lack of response. Neil Wehrle, who was there with his wife that night to watch an 8:10 showing of “District 9,” said that approximately half an hour into the movie, the lights came on in the theater. “No employees came into the space, and there was no announcement from the theater.” Wehrle added that he could not hear if any fire trucks or emergency response crews were outside the theater either.

Someone in the hall finally went outside to see what was going on, Wehrle said. “He came back a minute later,” Wehrle continued, “and said there was a fire and we should leave. Still no employees or announcements.”

After the “District 9” viewers evacuated the theater, Wehrle said he saw fire trucks and police outside. Even then, no one from the theater had told him what happened. The theater, which has 12 halls, was considerably packed on that Saturday night and large groups of people huddled outside on the street, Wehrle said.

The theater’s lack of response frustrated Wehrle. Though no one was injured in the September fire—emergency medical staff treated seven people on-site during the first fire in August—a fire or smoke situation in a crowded theater could of course be dangerous.

Maria Alomar, the manager at the theater, declined to comment about the fires. Richard Grover, director of marketing and communications for the Regal Entertainment Group, which owns UA Cinema, responded in an email. “We take the safety of our guests and employees very seriously,” he said. “Popper fires are rare events in our business; however, on occasion they do occur for both mechanical reasons and human error.”

The fire department said that they arrived at the scene promptly and took control of the situation. “The alarm system activated as it should have, and we came investigated it and that was that,” Fire Department spokesperson Jim Long said.

Jose Costa, also of the FDNY’s Office of Public Information, said that a routine preliminary investigation after the fire, to determine its cause. In both the August and the recent fires, he said, the cause was determined to be an overheated popcorn machine.

Long said that these fires are not common. Employees at the Paragon popcorn machine manufacturing warehouse, which produces movie theater-sized popcorn machines, were also surprised to hear that a popcorn machine could catch fire or smoke. Customer service representative Lori Adams said that she had no idea that this type of situation could occur. “I have never heard of one of them catching fire in the year that I’ve been here,” Adams said.

The owner’s manuals to various popular movie theater popcorn machines warn that improper wiring of the machine may lead to the malfunctioning of parts in the machine, but do not warn against fire or smoke. Fire department spokesperson Long said that though these fires are not at all common, he was unsurprised by its cause. “The machine is an appliance, and like any appliance they can be compromised to the point where there can be a fire condition or a smoke condition,” Long said. “This was not a great issue. This was a minor incident.”

Long also said that the fire department recommended that the theater bring in a technician to look at the machine, especially in light of the first fire. But he admitted that the fire department did not check back in with the theater to make sure that a professional had examined the machines and the way they are set up to ensure that a third fire does not occur.

UA Court Street Stadium 12, which is owned by Forest City, real estate mogul Bruce Ratner’s corporation, has had previous violations issued, mostly for elevator regulation issues, but none recently. A complaint was filed on September 28 against the theater, claiming that the theater had improper exit signs, but the department checked that day and determined that all signs were in place.

The theater did not say what policies it has put in place to prevent a third fire, or if it has implemented new emergency procedures if a third fire does occur.

And Neil Wehrle said that even though he received a compensatory coupon from UA Cinema for a movie, he has not been back to the theater since the fire.

Mornings are hectic outside of Borough Hall in downtown Brooklyn. Photo courtesy of Flickr.

In the distance, a siren wails.

No one pays attention to the caterwaul. It is far away, and it is 9:30 a.m. on a Wednesday morning in downtown Brooklyn. Everyone has somewhere to be. Between Borough Hall on the left and the Municipal Building on the right, this narrow block of Joralemon Street is perhaps only a few hundred feet long and dead much of the time, but right now it is all busy tedium, bursting with people who crowd the Borough Hall subway station and spill into the street. Bursting with buses-the B41 then the B37 then the B103 then the B52 then the B26 and then the B41 again-an endless line of dirt-coated white behemoths chauffeuring people to work every minute, every hour, every day. Bursting with cars, cabs, Access-A-Ride vans for the handicapped and mail trucks and even a Time Warner Cable van with a ladder attached to the roof.

People do not look as they cross the street. There is no need to. Traffic is so stalled on this little street that there is no danger of being hit by anything other another person running by. The buses squeal, the cab drivers honk, the people yell as they push by one another-the everyday sounds of the morning rush.

But the whine of the ambulance cuts through that white noise. A woman in a short black coat and long black boots quickens her pace. “Damn sirens,” she mutters to herself as she stares down at her coat. A trickle of coffee slides down the front, spilled as the woman hurries to get away from the noise. But the noise is coming towards her, getting louder, coming towards the tiny passage with the glut of people and cars and buses.

A bus driver hears the sirens and sees the small Brooklyn EMS ambulance trying to get through. His face, though just barely visible through the cloudy scratched-up plastic windows of his B103 bus, shows an unmistakable look of surprise. Making room for ambulances on this stretch of Joralemon is not part of his daily routine, and his task seems impossible. Even if he can squeeze out enough space for the ambulance, there are two buses ahead of him, and two mail trucks, four cabs, three small sedans and that Time Warner Cable truck, which has stopped on the corner, ladder and all.

Face scrunched, the bus driver turns his wheel. He turns and turns and turns, until the bus finally moves enough to the right to let the ambulance through. The sirens are so loud that people on the street run with hands over their ears, unaccustomed to this new element of their morning rush. The ambulance driver pounds the side of his car with his arm impatiently, screaming at drivers to let him through. But even if the cars did have room to move, the light is red, and they can go nowhere.

Finally-finally-the light turns green. In a rush of movement, cars move to the left or to the right, the ambulance slides through with its blaring sirens and rushes along on Joralemon. The B103 stops in front of Borough Hall with a squeal. People get off and the bus driver closes the doors. He is stopped at the light again. In this moment of stillness, he strains his neck to look for the ambulance. It has sped away, too far to see. The light turns green and the bus driver moves on. Another bus comes behind it, and then another and then another, and the squealing buses and the honking cabs and the hurried people once again form the white noise of the morning rush in downtown Brooklyn.

Ishita Singh

The legendary Gleason’s Gym has been in DUMBO since 1984. In that time, it’s seen the neighborhood flourish around it, while still maintaining it’s gritty, classic style.

Ishita Singh sends this audio postcard from the gym floor.

Gravelle Pierre and Kris Graves opened +Kris Graves Projects in DUMBO in January. Photo courtesy of +Kris Graves Projects.

By Ishita Singh

When Gravelle Pierre decided to open his art gallery +Kris Graves Projects, he knew that it would be best suited for DUMBO. Pierre and his co-owner Kris Graves loved the neighborhood’s art scene, and they also loved its low rents.

Pierre and Graves opened +Kris Graves Projects in January, one of many new galleries to open in DUMBO in the past year. A.I.R. Gallery recently moved into the neighborhood, as did Bose Pacia, among others. The moves have improved the artistic quality of the neighborhood, according to Andre’ Martinez Reed, director of the Henry Gregg Gallery.

The market and the recession have caused artists to move in and out of the neighborhood, Reed said. He added that more serious, better-established galleries have moved to the area in a search for lower rents.

Reed, who has been in the neighborhood for six years-a long time by DUMBO standards-said that the influx of new galleries has brought a lot of experimentation to the arts scene, along with different audiences.

“Our audiences are people who have an affinity for new artists,” Pierre said. “They’re young collectors, people looking for artists who have a lot of upside.”

+Kris Graves Projects focuses on the work of new and emerging artists. The lack of brand-name art allows Pierre to price his pieces at a lower rate, a boon in this recession. Most of the artwork at Kris Graves is priced between $1,000-1,200, much less than the $5,000 artwork found at Henry Gregg and other galleries in the neighborhood.

“Given that this is the most severe recession we’ve had in 80 years, lower-end retailers benefit,” Pierre said. “You see McDonald’s knocking the ball out of the park because they offer a $1 hamburger. Not to draw too close a comparison between fine art and hamburgers, but we offer a lower price point so we’ve done well.”

Pierre said that the art in his gallery has begun to attract customers not only form in the neighborhood, but from all over Brooklyn and even lower Manhattan. The new crowd has come for what he called the “critical mass of galleries” in DUMBO. Many galleries are housed in old warehouses, so there are multiple galleries in a building, even on a floor. This has created an exchange of ideas and creative visions among the owners. Each gallery has its own target audience and its own culture. Since they are each so unique, competition is not really a factor. But with so many galleries so close to one another, those separate cultures have begun to bleed together.

“Everyone can benefit from the different range of visions, prices,” Pierre said. “There’s a different feel for each one of the galleries.”

The proximity has also created a camaraderie among gallery owners. Pierre called it a “collegial environment.” He said that when arranging seats for a lecture held at +Kris Graves Projects, he simply walked down the hallway asking other owners for chairs.

“Boom-I had the chairs,” Pierre said. “It’s a cooperative thing, we all benefit from helping each other.”

Borrowing chairs from fellow galleries was a way for Pierre to avoid the cost of renting chairs. He is always trying to find ways to keep the cost of running the gallery down.

Like Pierre, Rebecca Davis, the director of Bose Pacia, which moved to DUMBO from Chelsea in August, is just trying to survive through the recession. But she said she was confident the move would help Bose Pacia’s finances. “We have streamlined our overhead significantly, which makes it easier to stay afloat when sales volume drops,” Davis said. “Certainly the reduced rents in DUMBO help with these efforts.”

Setting up a gallery is always difficult, regardless of the recession. Davis said that she had to maintain relationships with investors, art institutions and advisors even during the move. Pierre added that the physical labor involved in opening a gallery can be overwhelming. “All that partying and glamour of owning a gallery is only five percent of the time,” Pierre said. “The rest kind of sucks: painting and spackling walls, mopping floors.”

But still, Pierre enjoys being surrounded by art. Both as an owner and an avid collector, he finds himself on the lookout for new work all the time. After all, new work means new exhibits, which means more excitement for Pierre.

“It’s a lot of fun: the openings, the parties, the closings,” Pierre said. “The long and the short of it is that I’m glad I did it.”