There Go The Neighborhoods

I was a baby in the 1950s when my parents moved us out of the Park Slope neighborhood of Brooklyn, N.Y. So I have no memory of the glorious art deco apartment we lived in back then. The one directly facing Prospect Park that my folks rented for $75 a month after my father came home from the war in Europe. The place with the details Mom recalls almost with reverence: the hallway as long as a bowling alley, the built-in bookcases, the breathtaking view of Manhattan. Not to mention the playground where I first toddled--and where, today, I watch my own daughter play.

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