John Doherty nearly made me cry with his sad goodbye to a scruffy chunk of a scrippy-scrap city: It's always been a park by default. It's an empty lot next to the Newburgh Ministry soup kitchen, where for decades those clinging to the bottom rung of Newburgh's ladder have gathered. It's a stretch of weeds right off Broadway where wanderers passing through the city rest a bit, cadge a swig of Thunderbird wine, maybe spot a familiar face. "We sit down, we drink our beer," explained Edward Morales, 43, yesterday, shrugging. "We've always been here. We don't bother nobody."
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