September 12, 1993

Florida's Dangerous Game The death of a German tourist in Florida was hardly random. Robbers have developed a system for spotting and stalking likely victims. Page 26. Bombing Trial Starts Tuesday The World Trade Center bombing trial, which opens in Manhattan on Tuesday, is likely to be a classic criminal prosecution. Page 45. Gunmen Kill Aristide Backer Gunmen cornered and killed a backer of Haiti's ousted President after a church service in the capital. Page 8. Erich Leinsdorf Dies The conducter, 81, was known for his restrained manner and uncompromising intellect. Page 58.

NO ONE is going back to school at the College of Staten Island this month. Rather, its 12,000 students are traveling to a place they have never been before: a 204-acre campus with 19 buildings, new and old, on the grounds of the infamous Willowbrook State School for the mentally retarded. Although this $374 million campus is easily the largest academic property under development in New York City, it is by no means the only one. Major colleges and universities have either launched, planned or recently completed more than three dozen projects -- about $2 billion worth of construction, renovation and acquisition.

Once bitter enemies who vowed to destroy each other, Yasir Arafat and Yitzhak Rabin will stand side by side at the White House on Monday for the signing of the peace agreement that will usher in Palestinian self-rule in the Israeli-occupied Gaza Strip and the West Bank. The last-minute decision of the chairman of the Palestine Liberation Organization and the Prime Minister of Israel to validate the signing with their presence adds another layer of symbolism to the event itself and the agreement it will codify.

BRIAN MCBREEN and his son, Brian Jr., are close, so close, that when Brian Jr.'s wristwatch pager vibrates, he knows it is his father calling him. Mr. McBreen, who repairs cellular telephones for a living and loves gadgets, bought his son a pager two years ago as "another piece of his arsenal for communications." "First, I punch in my birth date on my pager, so my son knows it's me," says Mr. McBreen, who is divorced and lives in West Hartford, while his son lives in Torrington. "Then I punch in the phone number where I can be reached. If I'm in my car with a citizens' band radio, I punch in my birth date and then the channel I'm on. He has a CB too."

WHEN I moved to the block, my bum Bill owned the beauty salon's corner. He never begged; he mooched off smaller, older bums who sat against a whitewashed brick wall and read paperbacks while Bill smoked and paced and harangued them. "Reality," he would shout through the prematurely white beard that covered his lips, "what do you know about reality? You're bums." He yelled at me for strolling through his sidewalk seminar. I didn't catch the words, but the tone was pure outrage at my rude invasion of his space. He was in the middle of a lecture on the worthlessness of four readers snoozing in the morning sun, and he seemed to be quoting from a book in his hand that had no cover. Because he was so big, broad as well as tall, I couldn't let him intimidate me or I'd be crossing three streets instead of one to get my paper. I glared at him and growled like a dog. He wearily shook his head and rolled his bright blue eyes and waved me through.