May 13, 1996

Michael DiBisceglie was a teacher and drug-program coordinator when the local school board in Brooklyn's Bushwick section made him principal of Public School 106 in 1980. A board member who thought Mr. DiBisceglie was not qualified for the job remembers the lobbying pitch from his biggest supporter on the board: "Why can't you vote for him? He's my son-in-law." The appointment was just another bit of favoritism that went without notice in the vast New York City school system.

Janason Hu has brought his film "Moon Lake" to the 49th Cannes International Film Festival, but he has no fantasies about seeing stars pushing their way through crowds of photographers to attend a gala showing of his movie. For the young director from Taiwan, "Cannes" means something far less romantic. Working from the Taiwan stand in the neon-lit basement of the Palais des Festivals, Mr. Hu tries to interest passers-by in his movie, a video of which is being shown on a nearby television. Last week, he managed to barter it for a Russian film, which he must now sell in Taiwan. This week, he hopes to make his first international sale of "Moon Lake."

IF this was the last time in Madison Square Garden for the Knicks as we have known them, perhaps even as Patrick Ewing's team, then New York's most celebrated dysfunctional basketball family went out with its trademark rousing show and a predictably exasperating defeat. One last time, the Knicks made better players look bad. One last time, they bled right on down to the very last drop. One last time, they brought their special brand of creativity to the art of proving they are good but not good enough.

The aged firebrands begin arriving by nightfall, armed with patriotic oaths and bushels of oratory about the virtues of the candidates in the upcoming national election, the future of the country, the wisdom of the voters. They pontificate loudly, their index fingers rising and falling in exclamation, in disgust, in agreement, as they stir up an impromptu political whirlwind seldom seen on the streets of the United States. Shoppers laden with plastic bags listen, laugh and nod as they walk past the men, who cluster every evening on the same corner of a busy shopping district in Washington Heights.

More than 40,000 New Jerseyans fought on both sides of the Civil War, but the state has never had a permanent Civil War museum -- until now. The Civil War and Native American Museum, with headquarters in an 18th-century farmhouse in Hamilton Township's Veteran's Park, opened Saturday with exhibits of weapons, uniforms and other war memorabilia. Vincent Mercandetti, the museum's director, said future exhibits would focus on black soldiers and the role of women in the war. The museum plans eventually to house a library and a genealogy computer, he said.