June 23, 2009 --

My dear friend has been there, at the southwest corner of 161st Street and River Avenue in The Bronx, my entire life. It was a 17 year-old teenager when I was born; the first year we became acquainted, 1947, it won the World Series, defeating the Brooklyn Dodgers in seven games.

The manager that season‚ 1947, was Bucky Harris, and Mel Allen was the broadcaster, Ballantine beer and White Owl cigars the sponsors. Dan Topping and Del Webb the owners, the centerfield wall was 461 feet from home plate. The center-fielder was my hero, Joe DiMaggio.

I was a Yankee fan, just like my dad and mom - we lived a few blocks away and I probably assumed Yankee Stadium would stand forever, and fly World Series banners most years.

"The Stadium‚" as it was known to us‚ was a neighbor I saw whenever I was on 161st Street - which was on most days of the year.

The view from 161st Street

There was one day when a man in a rumpled dark blue suit, hatless, walked toward me. He had gray hair, his eyes looked downward a bit - the expression on his face was that of a curmudgeon. It wasn't until he walked by me that I realized who it was: Casey Stengel. Wow, I cheered: Casey is on 161 Street, just like the rest of us. (Casey was the Yankee manager, and his wife was Edna.)

From time to time during the mid-April to end of September baseball season, which then consisted of 154 games, for both eight team leagues, I would spot Frank Crosetti in the neighborhood, but he was only the third base coach, so I wasn't that impressed. In those days, there were no playoffs unless the top teams were tied for first at the end of the season. (The American League had a one-day playoff; the National League, a two out of three game playoff).

In 1948, the Cleveland Indians beat the Boston Red Sox in one game for the American League championship. In 1951, the New York Giants won the National League title, beating the Brooklyn Dodgers in the third game on Bobby Thomson's "Miracle on Coogan" Bluff‚ three-run homer. (My Yankees ended that "miracle" beating the Giants in the World Series.) It should be noted that the Giants tied for first place the last day of the season after trailing the Dodgers by 13 and a half games in mid-August.

My passion for the Yankees cooled by the time George Steinbrenner became Boss, but that probably was because I was as old as some of the players, older than others. What remained constant was my close friendship with The Stadium, that solid, comforting figure who came in sight whenever I crossed the Grand Concourse at 161st Street.

The trade of players I took in stride, but the suggestion of a threat to uproot the Yankees from the neighborhood sent me, immediately, to the typewriter to write letters to city officials and newspapers. That threat would also make me uneasy.

Opening Day, 2008, I wept, knowing this would be the last season for The Stadium. This June 14, the Sunday of the Yankees 15-0 win over the Mets, I noticed scaffolding on the wall down The Stadium's third base line. The scaffolding was, to me, like a growth that soon would kill its host.

Beginning of the end

The Stadium became terminally ill in 2005 when test-boring crews appeared in Macombs Dam Park - site of The Stadium's replacement. (A sign on the new structure said to the team "Welcome Home." What? The Yankees "home" was across the street. The sign, I thought, should at least have said "Welcome to Your New Home."

The scaffolding now spreading over the outer wall of The Stadium indicates that the end is near. (see photos below)

The Yankees have not left The Bronx, but for me, they have left the spirit of The Bronx. The Stadium has at times been called "the cathedral of baseball." Sadly this cathedral and its history do not equal an historical landmark. The Stadium is going the way of any old building that has outlived its usefulness. The razing of "the House that Ruth built" is not a time for celebration.

And the day people begin to wonder why The Stadium had to go, I do not expect a satisfactory explanation will come from our entrenched scalpers.