It was 1993. I lived in an all-white, middle-class neighborhood, mostly Italian and Irish with some Albanian-Americans, in Staten Island, New York. I interviewed 22 people in order to rent my two-family home where I lived in the bottom apartment. Applicant Number 23, an Afro-American male greeted me at the door. He said his name was Curtis Black and he was a Wall Street broker. He was wearing a $2,000, blue pinstripe Brooks Brother suit. After the interview I told him I would call him if he was selected. Two weeks later, he rang my doorbell. He asked if I had rented the apartment. I replied in the affirmative. “Sir, I am Curtis Black with the NAACP. You have violated the fair housing law by refusing to rent to a man of color.” “Why don’t you go upstairs and interview the person I rented it to,” I said. I gleefully watched from the bottom of the stairs as he was met by a male even darker then him. Nothing was said as Mr. Black darted down the...(Read Full Article)