From the Daily News, a moving memorial from Brooklyn College professor Ron Howell. I was particularly struck by the measured tone, choice anecdotes and the timeliness to our own Leffertsian story. Below, reprinted without permission, though I guess I'm publicly asking for it now, Mr. Zuckerman and Mr. Howell. Lemme know, 'kay?
The legendary urban planner Robert Moses once said he'd like to - quite
 literally - rip America's ghettos and their residents from the map. "The first prescription for slum dwellers in the ghettos of the big 
cities is total, immediate, uncompromising surgical removal," he wrote 
in his 1970 book "Public Works: A Dangerous Trade."
At the top of his list of tumors was Bedford-Stuyvesant.
"I have recently seriously proposed a workable, uncompromising plan, 
involving at the start 160,000 people, to raze the central Brooklyn 
slums [and] move residents" to the Rockaway peninsula in Queens, he 
wrote. Wow.
Sadly for him, happily for my family of Bed-Stuy natives, Moses's idea 
went nowhere, and he died leaving behind the public perception presented
 in Robert Caro's classic book, "The Power Broker," of a man 
contemptuous of blacks, and all those without political clout.
But recent economic trends have been doing what Moses could not do. The
 2010 Census showed a 700% increase over the previous decade (astounding
 even in these gentrifying times) in the number of whites moving into 
Bedford-Stuyvesant. 
Travel to the corner of MacDonough St. and Lewis Ave, and you'd have to
 bet that the trend has only accelerated since. The neighborhood's 
brownstones are being renovated at a rabbit's pace. And as part of the 
process, thousands of blacks are being priced out of the neighborhood 
they once proudly called their own, seeking more affordable spaces in 
the more eastern parts of Brooklyn, like Canarsie or Brownsville; or the
 Poconos, Georgia or the Carolinas.
An increase in the black population of the Rockaways suggests some 
Bed-Stuy blacks may even be moving to where Moses originally wanted them
 to go. I and countless others of darker hue who called Bed-Stuy theirs have 
been lamenting of late, sighing in exasperation - because it has 
diverged too much from the humble place we once knew, and because it is 
now just too damn expensive.
And it's not just the disrespect of a person's heritage that causes the
 seething in the chest, but also the seeming impunity with which real 
estate forces have their way with Bed-Stuy and other black neighborhoods
 over the course of modern history.
One thing that those of us who feel this way about Bed-Stuy have agreed
 upon of late is this: The gentrification war waged by realtors and 
their silent backers in politics and at the banks is over. The natives 
have lost. "Bed-Stuy, do or die," we used to say. And oh yes, it is dying.
As we pick up the pieces, we must ask: Along the way, as the story of 
the disappearing blacks of Bed-Stuy runs its course, can we not work 
together and try to ensure that some of the things so special to those 
of us still living and caring are respected?
It is right and proper to bemoan the death of a place that once loomed 
so large in our minds. For we in Bed-Stuy survived through a northern 
version of the pre-civil rights era, when murders or rapes didn't 
warrant coverage in the local newspapers unless a white person was the 
victim.
I grew up there, in that heart of the Republic of Brooklyn, in the 
1950s and 60s, and Bed-Stuy was our place where American Dreams come 
true. More than any other locality in the country, it was an early 
meeting point of Great Migration blacks from the South and of immigrants
 from the Caribbean. Back then - before the post-1965 explosion in Caribbean immigration - 
we second-, third-, and four-generation blacks were not conscious of 
natal differences between us. We spoke Brooklyn. We played on Little 
League teams, and we went from street to street challenging others to 
stickball games, without the topic of ancestry from the South or the 
West Indies ever coming up.
Yes, there was a down side. Back in that day, cops did not see Bed-Stuy
 as we residents did, as a place worthy of respect and dedicated 
protection. My grandfather, Bertram L. Baker, in whose Jefferson Ave. 
home I was raised, was the state assemblyman for Bed-Stuy from 1949 to 
1970 (he was the first black person elected to any office in Brooklyn). 
And in the mid-1960s, he achieved what was then a significant 
distinction, as he was chosen to be majority whip of the Assembly 
Democrats.
I recall distinctly, as a teenager, walking behind two white police 
officers, one of whom looked at my grandfather's car and license plate, 
with its number 5, and said, "Must be somebody's chauffeur." Now the insults of yesterday are expressed in backdoor actions of the 
monied class seeking to monetize buildings and, in the process, send the
 chauffeurs fleeing to other quarters.
And so, you see, this gentrification scenario is provoking a righteous 
anger, having to do with the thousands of black longtime tenants in 
Bed-Stuy who have been seeing their rents rising beyond their capacity 
to pay; and, worst of all, they are continually being hit with schemes 
of greedy new landlords using any means to get them out of the 
buildings.
Richard Flateau, raised in Bed-Stuy and now the owner of Flateau Realty
 Corporation, notes that many of the renters in the neighborhood live in
 brownstone houses with fewer than six units, which means they don't 
have rent stabilization protections. What's more, says Flateau, who is 
also is chair of the Economic Development Committee of Community Board 3
 that covers Bed-Stuy, such renters are especially in trouble when such a
 property changes hands.
The new owner merely tells them to leave. And this has been going on 
frequently in Bed-Stuy, as investors purchase homes as bundles, much 
like the subprime packagers of earlier in the century. "It's basically about people who have more money," he said. And in this land of income inequality that has as much to do with race 
as anything else, where money talks and the person without it walks, 
Bed-Stuy's is placing get-out-of-here mats outside the apartments of 
those who once felt so welcome.
Two weeks ago, I received an email from Serene White, a former 
Brooklynite who is now a nursing student in Alabama. She wanted to tell 
me about her 94-year-old grandmother Willie Mae Greene, who White says 
is being harassed by the new landlords of her building at 952 St. Marks 
Avenue. White says the new owners are wrongly asserting that the grandmother 
hasn't paid rent in two years, and they have changed the lock on the 
doors, among other things. The grandmother has been staying with 
relatives, and the landlord's actions are clearly an effort to get the 
elderly tenant out so they can rent to a higher-paying new tenant, White
 said.
Lo and behold, the very recent morning that I began writing this 
article, I received an email from Public Advocate Letitia James. It was 
about the "worst landlords" of the city. I plugged in Greene's address 
and sure enough one of the "worst" was the owner of 952 St. Marks Ave., 
which has hundreds of violations. I sent an email to the woman listed as the head of the ownership group,
 a Karen Pasek, head officer of 952 St. Marks Avenue HDFC, but have so 
far not received a reply. (The attorneys for Greene say they have not 
yet received the family's permission to speak publicly on their behalf.)
Betty Staton, a former family court judge who is now president of Legal
 Services' Brooklyn programs, said that rising property values are 
leading landlords to offer tenants cash to vacate their apartments, 
perhaps a few thousand dollars. "If you're poor, it may seem like a lot," she told me. "But it's a 
small amount of money compared to the valuable asset they have (the 
apartment). They may move to a new location, where the rent is more than
 two or three times it was at where they left."
It is critical that elected officials and others do what they can to 
out and, yes, punish abusive landlords, as well as protect renters who, 
without help, will be forced to leave Brooklyn, the land they have loved
 for so long. One of the sadder moments of recent months for me was coming out of a 
café that opened recently on the east side of Throop Avenue between 
Jefferson Ave. and Hancock St. As I exited, on my way to visit my 
mother, who is homebound on Jefferson Ave., I stopped to chat with a 
group of black men, senior citizens all, sitting on folding chairs on 
the sidewalk opposite the café. "Can I ask you a question?" one of them 
said.
"Sure," I answered.
"How much was that coffee?"
I was for the moment stunned that the new place had been opened for 
months and, despite being coffee drinkers and despite gathering 
regularly right near the entrance, they had not had the opportunity to 
ask anyone about the price.
I confess that I could not bring myself to tell the truth.
"Two dollars," I said. They were stunned. Why, they wondered, would a working person go there 
when they could stop at a bodega owned by an Arab or Latino and pay 75 
cents? We spoke some about their homes, and about the people they knew who once lived in Bed-Stuy but could no long afford it. Quietly, below the surface, there sat a truth that all of us in our 
hearts recognized: that in perhaps two years they would all be gone 
also, living in the South or wherever they felt, emotionally and 
financially, at peace.
Truth be revealed, regarding these men and other Bed-Stuy renters 
headed for the back door, I harbor similar feelings as many do about the
 Native Americans who once roamed the broken land of hills and slopes 
that would be called Breukelen. Yes, they were overcome. But this phenomenon is happening before us now
 and we must each, those who care, find a way of responding to it, with 
concern for the powerless, with respect for the past.
Howell is an associate professor of journalism at Brooklyn College.