Postscript: Jimmy Breslin

On a quiet Sunday morning in December, 1999, Jimmy Breslin, a stocky man then in his early seventies, his hair a shock of white, stepped out of a car that had dropped him at a street corner in the Hasidic section of Williamsburg, Brooklyn. He walked briskly up to one of several buildings in the neighborhood under construction. When he spotted a man looking at the building permits stapled to the entrance and taking notes, he started waving and calling.

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