A man on a mission

My wife and I have had lots of bad luck living in various neighborhoods in the metro area.

We had a nice, affordable apartment in Park Slope, Brooklyn in the late 1970s. Then Yuppies stormed in with the ability to pay much higher rent – and out the door we went.

Next stop was the quiet, family oriented, predominately Italian, Brooklyn neighborhood, Carroll Gardens. But apparently the family oriented aspect applied to landlords, not tenants. When the lease was up, we were out. Three days after our daughter was born, we were given 30 days to say “arrivederci” to accommodate the building owner’s nephew.

Then we had one more apartment, which was okay for what it was (save for the low-hanging pipe), but which would ultimately prove to be too small for our growing family.

By 1995, I was tired: of gentrification, of long commutes to my job in Suffolk County, of banging my head on the pipe, and particularly tired of paying rent. We absolutely needed a house, preferably a pre-war, two-story in a safe, ethnically diverse neighborhood with good schools.

Baldwin beckoned. Prior to making any offers, I took a series of long walks around the neighborhood. I knew there’d be some trade-offs. The shopping, dining, and entertainment opportunities seemed as sparse as I had expected. I knew this wasn’t a boutique or bistro kind of town. But neither was it big on high-end chain stores, restaurants without drive-in windows, or places with coffee brewed by barista in lieu of a doughnuteer. Still, I had some small consolation in that, just a few blocks away, there was a butcher, a bagel place, and even a music store selling used LP’s.
But seemingly before the ink was dry on our first mortgage payment, the butcher cut out, the bagel guy ran out of dough, and the music store spun out in record time. All along Grand Avenue, the already limited shopping choices narrowed. Vacant stores tended to remain empty longer, with signs more likely indicating "For Rent" than "Coming Soon."