TALE OF TWO CITIES
New Yorkers begin to buckle under the pressure of scarce housing, accelerated by dramatically increased gentrification
By Adam Matthews/New York Press
Dipan Patel’s elevator opens into a stainless steel kitchen with modern cabinets, a granite-covered island and a custom tiger maple table. The kitchen leads into an airy living room boasting a flat-screen TV, an Eames chair and an audiophile’s stereo system. The deck, just off the living room, features dramatic views of the Manhattan Bridge and the river. From his bedroom, he and his wife, Satya Chedda, can see the brand-new, orange Home Depot sign, which has opened a block away from their Spencer Street condo. In fact, it’s only when they glance downward at the trash-strewn lots that they are reminded that their luxury apartment is in Brooklyn’s Bedford-Stuyvesant.
A 10-minute walk away at Theresa Crawford’s home, it’s the living—not the views—that are dramatic. Crawford’s family occupies the parlor floor of a three-family house at the corner of Madison Street and Throop Avenue. The staircase is loose and there are no lights in the common area. It makes it that much more challenging for her almost-grown, blind son and mentally retarded daughter to navigate their way around the roaches and rats. Residents are responsible for taking out their own trash, much of which ends up on the street.
Patel and Crawford represent the polar opposites of Bed-Stuy living. After decades of red-lining and neglect, homeowners are discovering the beauty of Stuyvesant Heights’ brownstones and the condo bargains on the neighborhood’s northern border, which abuts Williamsburg. The neighborhood, long called crime-ridden and drug-infested, is now being described in a far different way: unaffordable.
After a decade in Harlem, Crawford returned to Bed-Stuy in 1991. Like many African-American families from the mid-Atlantic, her folks migrated north in the middle of last century from South Carolina. She was raised around Fulton Street and Franklin Avenue, a neighborhood where folks watched out for one another. She watched crack take over in the ’80s and a sizable Muslim population revitalize the area.
Patel thought he was buying into a different neighborhood. After renting on the Long Island City/Astoria border, he and Chedda searched for an apartment to buy. He could afford a Manhattan apartment, but the maintenance seemed unreasonable. So in early 2004 they purchased a spacious one-bedroom in The Spencer, a luxury condo on what was billed as the outer reaches of Clinton Hill—even though it sat between Bedford and Nostrand Avenues, seven blocks east of the established green line of Classon Avenue.
“They told us it was Clinton Hill,” he says, laughing. “I used to tell people [we lived in] Clinton Hill, but I stopped that. We call it Fort Stuyvesant. It’s between Ft. Greene and Clinton Hill.”
But after several muggings in 2005—“they were all white guys,” Patel, who is Indian, notes optimistically—residents accepted that they were in Bed-Stuy.
Things have calmed down since then. Spencer residents have mostly settled into their community. Even the block’s youngsters, many of whom are conspicuously attired in red (a troublesome hint at New York’s newly minted Bloods/Crips activity), greet him when he passes. “There’s stuff opening up around and a lot of the Pratt students are moving in around us,” he says.
Patel demonstrates how New Yorkers’ definitions of affordable housing vary. Patel, a tech support manager for a blue chip Midtown law firm, and Chedda, a social worker, live comfortably. But he’s still horrified that their friends recently purchased a condo at Kenmare Street and Lafayette Street in NoLita for just under a million. The place is slightly less than 800 square feet.
Patel and Chedda paid $375,000 for their 1,100 square-foot pad, the result of a $25,000 discount Chedda received from the grad school program she was completing while a NYC Teaching Fellow. Patel is confident in his investment—for now. Owners who are renting their units in The Spencer are now able to cover their mortgage payments, providing a sense of stability all around. “Am I going to lose?” Patel asks. “I don’t see that happening. Worse comes to worst, I’ll keep it and rent it—take the equity out.” He estimates he could sell the unit for $500,000.
But for the time being, that conversation is academic. Like many recently erected Bed-Stuy buildings, the Spencer was built using a loophole that allows developers who claim they’re building a dorm—in this case a religious day school for girls—obtain a variance on the prevailing height restrictions. The two, six-story Spencer buildings tower over the modest one- and two-families that line Spencer, a short street that runs between Myrtle and DeKalb Avenues.
Once the Department of Buildings discovered this oversight, Spencer residents lost their certificate of occupancy, making it impossible to buy or sell their apartments. It’s also delayed the closings for residents who planned to purchase condos in the third Spencer tower. The stress of this has forged a tight community among residents.
Owners recently met with the attorney general’s office and Henry Radusky, The Spencer architect who has become a favorite with Hasidic developers for his ability to circumnavigate neighborhood height ordinances. Patel enjoyed watching Radusky sweat during the meeting. They were promised a resolution in the next six months to a year. “But the problem is,” Patel laments, “there is no or else…”

Theresa Crawford, who is 45 and spent much of her life in Bed-Stuy, has been promised no resolution in her battles with the city. By the time she moved to 438 Madison Street in 1991, the dilapidated three-family was well known to the department of buildings. Since 1982, the building has racked up a whopping 87 violations.
Most recently, Crawford’s rent was $790 per month. “I was giving her $210 and section 8 was giving her $580,” she says of building owner Leona Moore, who lives in Park Slope. But earlier this year, when Moore refused to address her myriad violations, Section 8 stopped contributing their share. Soon after, tenants declared a rent strike. Moore allegedly stopped caring for the building. “She’s just abandoned us,” Crawford says. “I couldn’t believe it.”
While Crawford’s case isn’t isolated, it’s notable how decrepit the conditions in her home have become.
“It’s really chilling,” says Anne Lessy, a Pratt Area Community Council housing advocate who is assigned to Crawford’s case. “There’s lead paint hazards, vermin, roaches and waters leaks,” says Lessy. “No one should be forced live in such horrible conditions.”
As a Section 8 tenant, Crawford has the right to look for new housing, but she faces several hurdles. One of her children, Mark, 18, is legally blind (“he’s supposed to be getting a guide dog soon,” she says optimistically) and 20-year-old Lasinda is mentally retarded. Then there is 25-year-old Trevor, whom she says, “helps out a lot.” Trevor, who has a daughter of his own, was recently laid off from Victoria’s Secret. “It’s a lack of work,” Crawford says honestly. “I am a seasonal worker for NYC Parks and Recreation. It’s only four months out of a year.”
“I don’t want public assistance,” she continues. “I’ve been off it for years. I’m doing good now. It feels good to wake up in the morning and get ready [for work].”
But as Lessy explains, finding housing for low-income, Section 8 tenants in Bed-Stuy has become next to impossible. She’s currently shopping for an apartment and she’s willing to pay up to $1,200 per month. But the office manager’s three kids have become a deal breaker.
“Landlords, are posting signs that say students only,” she says. And while this is a clear violation of the fair housing act, she understands their motive. “Every time someone moves out, they can raise the rent 20 percent.”
Theresa Crawford isn’t opposed to sharing her neighborhood with the newcomers, she just wants to be able to find housing.
“I would like to stay in the neighborhood,” she says. “I really don’t want to move. I’ve gotten so comfortable. I can walk to Fulton Street. If I want to go downtown, they got the 52 bus. I love Bed-Stuy.”