I was actually born in a house—665 East 179th Street—as children were then. Parents were afraid they would get the wrong baby if they took them to the hospital. Years later, I went to that building, on the corner of Belmont Avenue, and there was nothing there—it was just flattened, an empty lot. They had razed the whole building. I went into the lot and I picked up two bricks and I sent one to my brother in Atlanta. I said, “Here’s a souvenir of our ancestral home.”