Cops: 'Last Supper' cushioned tot's fall from Point Breeze window

A MIRACLE came to Dickinson Street on Wednesday night, thanks in part to Leonardo da Vinci.

A 3-year-old boy named Reginald took a tumble from a second-story rowhouse window and was saved by his grandmother's framed print of the Renaissance painter's "The Last Supper."

"I call him my miracle baby," the boy's mother, who spoke with the Daily News on the condition of anonymity, said last night. "I'm just happy, grateful that he's still here."

Just before 6:30 p.m., the young mom was getting Reginald, her only child, ready for his nightly bath. But Reginald told her that he had to "use the potty," she said, so she placed him on the toilet and left the room to grab his washcloth and pajamas.

While she was in another room, she heard him banging on what she thought was the bathroom door. She thought he was goofing around with her brother, she said.

But when she returned to the bathroom, it was empty. Then she heard him crying.

"I couldn't find him," she said, recalling her panic. "I was looking all over the house and he wasn't around. Then I went back into the bathroom and saw the window was open."

There, sitting on the ground, was Reginald, calling for his mom. He had landed on the framed print, on thick canvas, an oasis in a grassy lot filled with broken glass and other debris, his mom said.

"By the time I got downstairs, he was already walking back into the house," she said.

Last night, Lt. John Hewitt, of the Special Victims Unit - which investigates cases involving young children - said the boy apparently had broken the window while banging on it. Medics took him to Children's Hospital of Philadelphia, where he was treated and released.

The preschooler's only souvenir from his fall in the dark was a tiny cut on his arm, according to his mom.

"The people at the hospital were shocked," she said. "All the X-rays came back negative. They couldn't believe he didn't have anything broken."

When the chaos of the night died down, she learned that the painting belonged to her mom, who had placed it outside, leaning it up against the side of the house.

It was unclear, she said, how it had shifted to a position where it cushioned Reginald's fall.

But she doesn't care about that, nor does Reginald, who slept peacefully nearby as his mom talked.

"He's fine," his mom said. "He's just acting like a normal kid."

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