From a previous post:
Joe Petrosino was the city's first Italian-American police detective. Standing a feisty (and chunky) 5-foot-3, he was a prominent leader in the fight against Italian-American organized crime around the turn of the 20th century. This role eventually cost him his life when he was assassinated in 1909 while on a mission in Sicily, making him the only NYC police officer killed in the line of duty outside the US. While his name has largely been forgotten in the years since, he was beloved by the New Yorkers of his time: an estimated 200,000 people turned out to watch his funeral procession (photo) make its way through the streets of Manhattan and Queens!
Lieutenant Petrosino is buried here in the newer sections of Calvary Cemetery
I was going to say that this establishment's presidential name didn't fare as well as that of Obama Fried Chicken in Brooklyn, but then I checked Street View.
The sandwich board says "Cutterz", but I have to defer to the main sign for the official spelling.
Opened in 1963 on the former site of the Jamaica racetrack, Rochdale Village was an early experiment in racially integrated housing. (It has since become a predominantly middle-income black community.) With room for some 25,000 residents, it was also the world's largest housing cooperative until it was overtaken several years later by the Bronx's Co-op City (itself located where another old place of outdoor entertainment — a US history-themed amusement park called Freedomland — once stood).
The Jamaica racetrack, by the way, was reportedly New York's most popular sporting venue in the early 1950s, with higher yearly attendance than even Yankee Stadium. This is not to say that the place was necessarily all that charming, however. Here's how Sports Illustrated eulogized the track, which it called an "overgrown subway station", during Jamaica's final season in 1959:
At Aqueduct the salt breezes cooled off horseplayers now and then. At Belmont bettors had a grove of trees to sit under between races. But Jamaica, more constricted and looking like a betting factory, was never marred by such frills. Jamaica represented pure, pristine greed. It was always as ugly as sin. There was no place to sit down under trees. In fact, it was hard to find a tree, and the only place to sit was in the 17,500 seats in the grandstand and clubhouse. That never kept people away. The largest number of people ever to go to a New York track was at Jamaica on Memorial Day of 1945—64,670 paid, turnstile-registered patrons.
Looks like the low road's been slowly getting lower.
Much less adorable! For what it's worth, a guy sitting on his stoop nearby told me the church started building and then ran out of money, and was left with this bunker-like structure. It looks even weirder from the other side.