"I spent my first thirteen years in Washington Heights, a block from Fort Tryon Park and the Cloisters. It was more like a small town then. Across from our six-story apartment house was a vacant lot on which was the remainder of a well, which we used as the den for our games. Everyone knew one another, there were very few red lights, and no parking restrictions. Ices were either three cents or a nickel from the Good Humor truck. Our area was mostly Jewish, so it was a pretty insular place. The assistant super, who was black, lived in the basement with his family. His son was sent by the local principal to a school in Harlem, so it wasn’t completely idyllic."

- Steven Schrader