I n New York City they tear down buildings with alarming frequency. No matter how long you’ve lived here—seventeen years for me—you never fully get used to it. The oth- er week, I ran an errand in a part of town I hadn’t visited for a while, and when I came out of the subway, I was met with a gaping hole where an entire block of low-rise stores and restaurants had been. The big-money people were in the rubble with their cranes and workmen, digging a foundation for a luxury condo. There are no sacred sites in New York, either. Preservationists still carp about the demolition of the old Penn- sylvania Station, in 1963, and it took a former first lady to save Grand Central Terminal. All that grandeur might today be a bank branch with a lobby of glitchy ATMs. ¶ Still, for reasons as ran- dom as they are heartening, some historic build- ings survive on. Even as they go unloved and take up valuable acreage. Such is the case with Forest Hills Stadium.
Photo illustrations of Forest Hills Stadium as it looked in 1923 and 2002. Bill Sullivan 2013
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