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I have long thought that the East Dearborn neighborhood where we grew up was just about the greatest place in the world for a kid to be raised during the 1950s and '60s.

I can still picture the elms that formed a tunnel over Tireman, the street where I lived, before Dutch elm disease wiped out those beautiful, arching trees. I remember the uniqueness of the neigborhood's grid, with its landscaped "islands" due to Morrow Circle, Oakman Boulevard, as well as Esper and Littlefield, the two streets that ran diagonally through the area because they were built on the runways of an old airfield. And, of course, I have the fondest memories of St. Alphonsus at the heart of it all.

I can still hear the Angelus which rang three times a day from the Gothic spires of the church. I can still smell the old high school, site of legendary tales, with the aroma of sloppy Joes wafting up from the cafeteria. And I can still feel the fright I experienced on day one at the grade school where I was a proud member of the inaugural first-grade class when the doors opened for the 1953-54 school year.

Sometimes I stop to envision how practically everyone in the neighborhood would sit on their front porches in the evening and how we'd run across their lawns and jump the hedges as we headed home when the street lights came on. At night we'd leave the front door open  all the way  in a vain attempt to cool off the house on muggy August nights. And I can still hear the Free Press boy bellow in the dark as he peddled the day's final edition: "Fa-ree Pa-ressssssssssss ...Paaaaa-perrrrr!"

Back in those days it seemed as though most dads got home by five oclock for dinner with the family. Most moms were at home as CEOs of their households. And divorce was practically nonexistent.

I remember how you could walk to Hanses Hardware, where I bought my first baseball glove; or to Shepperds Drugs for a chocolate coke; or Estelles Delicatessen for Polish boiled ham; or Johnson's Milk Depot for the best thirst quencher of all time  their orange drink in a pint-sized glass bottle.

And I'll bet that 80 percent of the kids at St. Al's walked back and forth to school every day. In fact, throughout the grade school years we often did it twice a day because of basketball practice at 6 o'clock in the evening. It could have been three times a day if you "went home for lunch."

The first sports teams I ever played on in the old neighborhood were managed by one of the "big kids" or a committee of pals. And I couldnt count the number of pickup baseball games I played in at Anthony Park, Hemlock Park, Frigidaire or "the island." Same for roundball on the driveway over at the Phillips, Kellys, Conflitties, Rosaliks, Flanigans or Adamses.

When I look back, I realize that the neighborhood where we grew up was a pretty diverse place, although I never thought of it that way at the time. No, you didnt often see black faces on our streets. And Mayor Hubbard did little to dispel his separatist reputation. But we attended school with Germans, Italians, Irish, Scots and Poles with last names as difficult to spell as my own. Over on Oakman lived doctors, lawyers and dentists. While almost every other block had someone who worked in some capacity at the Rouge  either on the line or in a middle management position. And throughout the neighborhood there were small business owners galore  Kenny Electric, McKenna Refrigeration, Wittersheims Service Station and more.

The first time I ever heard the phrase, "It takes a village to raise a child," I thought of the neighborhood where we grew up. Our parents usually had a pretty good idea of whose kid might have stolen the milk money or laid rubber on the street in their dad's car. Although Im not certain they ever found out who first chucked a beer bottle through the window of the high school. The point is that they did a pretty good job of keeping their eyes open for us, right from their doorsteps. And when we got caught screwing up, we paid the price.

Everything is so different now. Sometimes better, sometimes not.

Today, people sit on their decks at the backs of their homes. And with the wide spaces between so many one- and two-acre lots, you can go for weeks without bumping into a neighbor and having conversation.

Almost every household has two wage earners these days, and divorce is commonplace, often creating a less-than-desirable atmosphere for raising kids compared to the household environments most of us knew.

And who walks anymore? In fact, whatever became of sidewalks? It seems as though kids get driven everywhere in this day and age. And no kid today would be allowed to ride his bike from Dearborn to Belle Isle as I once did, or take the bus to Tiger games as we did every summer.

When it comes to kids' sports today, everything is so organized with house leagues, travel teams and coaches who mandate that talented 12-year-olds play their game year-round. No wonder the three-sport, high school athlete is an endangered species.

And it sure seems as though there's less ethnic and economic diversity in neighborhoods today than there was when we were on the leading edge of the baby boom.

Yes, the world is a different place now. And so is the neighborhood where we grew up.

The last time I attended Mass at St. Al's the majority of the people in church had white hair. And there were hundreds of empty seats  unlike the days when there were six Masses every Sunday with people standing in the vestibule at each one.

I may have daydreamed through every 8 o'clock Mass I attended as a child, but what I wouldn't give to be packed into that church one more time on a beautiful May morning, with those stained glass windows cranked open along the side aisle, and Mr. Schroens pounding on the organ up in the choir loft with the whole congregation belting out "Salve, salve, salve Regina..."

Old friends of mine debate the strengths and the weaknesses of the education we received at St. Al's. And certainly there were pluses and minuses. But I dont think many kids felt anonymous in our 400-plus student high school, and you certainly have to admit that there was discipline  ooh, was there discipline -- and accountability for one's actions. I think it had something to do with the way so many of the kids I knew at St. Al's grew up to be successful  no matter how you define it.

I think the sense of community we felt in the old neighborhood emanated from the parish church and school, and that it fostered a special kind of bond among us all  a bond so strong that I still count the boy I walked to school with every day for 12 straight years, Anthony Adams, as one of my closest friends today. And that may point to the biggest benefit of having lived in the greatest neighborhood -- a large network of St. Al's people you can go to for anything from a job lead to help putting in a dock at the lake.

Which brings me to a line Mitch Albom once wrote that really hit me: "I never had friends like the ones I had when I was 12 years old." He meant the kind of friends youd wrestle with on the floor or sit on the curb to debate whether Al Kaline was better than Mickey Mantle. Similarly, although I've lived in a couple of very close-knit communities during my adult years, I've never lived in the kind of neighborhood I lived in when I was 12 years old.