Huffington Post: Edith Harris was cornered in her living room, inside her brick house, deep in Canarsie, Brooklyn. Volunteers in green t-shirts swarmed around her. They banged away at new appliances in the bathrooms, studied the interior supports that held up her fragile basement walls. They scurried past one another in the narrow hallway while Harris applied a fresh coat of maroon lipstick and pink eye shadow, looking back and forth from her pocket mirror to the daytime shows that flashed on the mounted television....