In 1994 I revisited the backyard of the buildings where my parents had an apartment from 1973 to 1982. We lived there from the day they brought me home from the hospital as an newborn until just after my 9th birthday. Though they were older (but rather spacious and well kept) rental apartments when we lived there, they were completely run down (yet still inhabited by renters) and a bit scary looking some 12 years after we left.
The garages had once been turn of the 20th century stalls for horses with hooks for saddles and bridle gear in the walls and rafters. Amazingly, those were still there on this particular visit. As a child, our car sat in one of these garages and I was amazed that even though most of the panes of glass had been knocked out, the rickety folding doors themselves were STILL attached. I can still hear the shrill squeak that those worn-down rollers made when the heavy wooden doors were pulled open and closed each morning and evening.
Next to the back stairs of each apartment, there was a latched door to
a small box for the milkmen of yesteryear to deposit their deliveries.
ABOVE: The backyard directly behind our stairs and next to our garage.
BELOW: Photo by my Dad showing me in this space on my shiny red tricycle in 1976.