My latest bit of excitement, a few days late in the telling.

On Friday, I am over in Brooklyn, outside the federal prison where Al Sharpton is being held for his role in protesting bombing exercises on the Puerto Rican island of Vieques.

I'm waiting outside the prison in this industrial neighborhood with two other reporters when, all of a sudden, there's this commotion across the street.

I run over and see this life-sized manequin hanging with its neck through a chain that descends from a giant roll-up gate on a nearby building. The manequin's feet are about 5-feet off the ground, and it is wearing a shirt with a Puerto Rican flag.

Then some correction officers are rushing over, trying to support its feet -- and I realize -- this isn't a manequin, it's a guy!

I hesitate for a moment, trying to decide whether i should try to help, take notes, or what. Then more officers rush past me, and there's no point trying to help -- I'd just be in the way.

I get on my cell phone and call the photo desk, which is really stupid because there's no way they'd get there in time. This woman is crying, "oh God, oh God, please God, save him," and the guards are working hurriedly. The man is conscious, moving his hands around, but not really resisting or helping.

Eventually the officers do manage to boost on of their own up to the guy's level, holding kinda precariously onto his feet. He gets the protester down, and he's lying on the ground crying/screaming, "I wanted to kill myself, I wanted to be with God." The only explanation he gave for wanting to kill himself was, "they made Al Sharpton cry." it was just freaky.