October 23, 2005

THERE are still lots of real secrets in Washington. But the most secretive White House in modern history has learned the hard way -- even while its spokesman reflexively utter the caution, ''We don't talk about intelligence,'' or, ''Sorry, that's classified'' -- that it must reveal a pretty steady stream of secrets all the time. That is one reason journalists and some government officials are so wary of what might happen next in the C.I.A. leak case, which could conclude with indictments within a week. What began as a narrow case on a specific leak, many fear, has morphed into a broader threat to the way business is done here, a system that often benefits both sides.

The Bradley fighting vehicles moved slowly down this city's main boulevard. Suddenly, a homemade bomb exploded, punching into one vehicle. Then another explosion hit, briefly lifting a second vehicle up onto its side before it dropped back down again. Two American soldiers climbed out of a hatch, the first with his pant leg on fire, and the other completely in flames. The first rolled over to help the other man, but when they touched, the first man also burst into flames. Insurgent gunfire began to pop.

SEVERAL days a week during the school year, the novelist and playwright Sarah Schulman takes a subway, a ferry and two buses to get from her cramped sixth-floor walkup in the East Village to a cramped classroom at the College of Staten Island, where she is a tenured professor of English. Her students this semester -- as many as 40 in each class -- include Italian-Americans, African-Americans, Yemenis, Dominicans, Haitians, Lebanese, Azerbaijanis, Bangladeshis, Chinese, Koreans, Russians, Albanians from Albania and Albanians from Kosovo. ''Some can barely read out loud, and some know five languages,'' Ms. Schulman said. In any case, she learns their names by the second week and also what they mean. If Ms. Schulman works so hard to reach her students, perhaps that's in part because the world, as she sees it, has not always done as much for her. She has not, for instance, been as successful as she feels she deserves to be. Oh, she's been recognized; her seven published novels and two works of nonfiction have won many awards (she was a finalist for the Prix de Rome), while her playwriting has earned her most of the plum residencies and fellowships available. But there is still that sixth-floor walkup and that two-hour-each-way commute and the constant effort to get theaters to mount her work, while some writers she considers her peers struggle far less and have, she says, ''more personal choice about which of their plays will be produced.''

MAYOR MICHAEL R. BLOOMBERG is not wildly fond of looking at art. This should not insult anyone. Spectating is just not his thing.

As crews begin inspecting thousands of rotting houses and preservationists begin efforts to save them, city and federal officials say that 30,000 to 50,000 of the city's houses will probably have to be demolished. That number, though smaller than some earlier predictions, nonetheless represents more than a quarter of the city's housing stock. A few weeks from now, when giant track excavators begin tearing into homes that once sheltered families and nest eggs, the city will experience one of the most painful moments of its ordeal.

WHILE investors have railed about skyrocketing executive pay, lo these many years, the response from executive suites has been a confounding silence. Even directors, who have a fiduciary duty to put shareholders' interests before those of managers, have been unwilling to stop the insanity. Last year, the average pay package for chief executives at big companies came in at $10 million, up 13 percent from 2003. In view of the pension and health insurance givebacks being forced upon lower-level workers, this surge is especially obscene.

Until the fourth trip to the hospital in 1998, Zachery Dorsett's parents thought their son was an average child who was having trouble getting over a passing illness. He was 7 months old, and it was his second case of pneumonia. The Dorsetts, Sharon and Arnold, were concerned about Zachery's health, but they were not worried about the financial consequences. They were a young, middle-income couple, with health insurance that covered 90 percent of doctors' bills and most of the costs of prescription drugs.

Hurricane Wilma stalled over the Yucatán Peninsula yesterday, pounding the Mexican beach cities of Cancún and Playa del Carmen and stranding tens of thousands of tourists in hot, leaky shelters while a maelstrom of howling winds, uprooted trees and hurtling debris raged on all sides. Forecasters said the slow-moving tempest would probably hit Florida early tomorrow, perhaps with diminished force. But with haunting images of Hurricane Katrina still lurking, thousands of Floridians and state officials were taking no chances.

The federal government, vastly extending the reach of an 11-year-old law, is requiring hundreds of universities, online communications companies and cities to overhaul their Internet computer networks to make it easier for law enforcement authorities to monitor e-mail and other online communications. The action, which the government says is intended to help catch terrorists and other criminals, has unleashed protests and the threat of lawsuits from universities, which argue that it will cost them at least $7 billion while doing little to apprehend lawbreakers. Because the government would have to win court orders before undertaking surveillance, the universities are not raising civil liberties issues.

Alabama and Texas Remain Unbeaten Jamie Christensen kicked a 34-yard field goal with 13 seconds left, and No. 5 Alabama improved to 6-0 with a 6-3 victory over No. 17 Tennessee. After a sloppy start, quarterback Vince Young guided second-ranked Texas to a 52-17 rout of No. 10 Texas Tech. Rutgers improved to 5-2 with a victory at UConn. Six scoring passes for Notre Dame's Brady Quinn. COVERAGE, PAGES 10-11

STILL settling into his new job at AXA Financial, Robert J. McCann was preparing for a meeting at 7:55 on a warm August morning in 2003 when the phone rang in his Midtown Manhattan office. His assistant answered it and told him that Stan was on the phone. Thinking that the call was from a colleague down the hall, Mr. McCann told his assistant to relay that he was on his way. ''It's not that Stan,'' she said. ''It's Stan O'Neal'' -- E. Stanley O'Neal, the chairman, chief executive and president of his former employer, Merrill Lynch.

BACK when I was new at reporting, I would lie awake all night before a big article of mine was to appear. In the darkness and the silence I would become certain that I had gotten it wrong. It was just a short mental hop from there to being sued and losing my job and becoming homeless. That fear faded with time. As the routine of writing and being read became more familiar, my nervousness turned in other directions. My first magazine article actually resulted in an ulcer. My first few speeches led to my first migraine medication. And because you might be eating breakfast while you read this, I won't begin to tell you about the debut of this column and my bouts of intestinal cramps.