Most memories of my childhood home revolve around simple pleasures like baseball games at sunset or the smell of hamburgers during family barbeques.  As a kid, I never thought much about the fact that the neighborhood would one day change, but as I’ve grown older I’ve started to see the effects of the years’ gradual modifications.  

It was inevitable, of course, because of the evolving nature of technology and the fact that families change over time.  The tight-knit community I once knew is transforming as children grow up, families move, and the cycle starts for another generation.   This is actually not even the first time in recent years this plot of land has undergone a complete revamping.  The block used to be a farm until land developers spotted suburban gold and turned it into what my neighbors and I would come to know as home.  Some people might view this as progress while others see destruction; I’m sure the farmers and homeowners don’t see eye to eye.

For years, I’ve been hearing similar stories about the neighborhoods my parents were raised in.  Being born closer to the time of their families’ moves to the U.S., they grew up in a community that banded together, sharing in the experience of being in a new land while possessing a common link in the same parent country.  As assimilation occurred, the bond started to disintegrate and families moved out while a new congregation took root.  What were once fiercely ethnic, familial communities have given way to poverty- and crime-ridden areas, much to the disappointment of my relatives, who talk about the old neighborhoods with the same reverence the French royalty must have spoken of Versailles.  

This discussion hit home recently as I live in Manhattan and have become acquainted with the neighborhood around West 70th St. and Broadway, an area perfectly situated with the allure of beautiful city architecture.  Back in 1971, a movie based on the northern end of this very block was released, titled A Panic in Needle Park.  The neighborhood, it turns out, used to be called Needle Park, and not because of its availability of sewing conventions.  

This street corner, which today has turned into one of the more established neighborhoods in Manhattan, was once so full of derelicts, it warranted a movie based around its drug culture.  The fact that one city block could change so much in just 35 years is remarkable on its own; it is also a remarkable example of the changing face of America.  

When Supreme Court Justice Scalia joked, “As you know, all change is presumptively wrong,” he hit upon a deeper concept: everything will change, sometimes for better, sometimes for worse.  Either way, the consequences must be examined. Every time a neighborhood is demolished or its makeup is changed, a bit of history is buried.  

For the sake of growth, we must always remember that change is not necessarily an evil; for the sake of preservation, we must remember to keep our pasts alive.

M R