A part of our lives vanished

This article was originally published in the Inquirer on March 22, 2004.

Dust to dust.

As Veterans Stadium fell down and blew away, scattering its ashes over the new sporting palaces that doomed it, a ghostly image appeared. As the dust dispersed, the image came into focus.

It was Citizens Bank Park, the new home of the Phillies. From Hartranft Street, about five blocks due west of the Vet site, the effect was right out of Industrial Light & Magic - the Vet was there, then it was gone, then its replacement materialized through the mist.

The Vet belonged to each of us, and so each of us had our personal history with it. People were drawn to the event like the characters in Close Encounters of the Third Kind, who make their way to Devil's Tower even though they've been told it's dangerous.

At 5 in the morning, people strolled the sidewalks in groups. Friends, couples, families. A man and three teenage girls. A father with a son and the son's best friend. A woman and her two daughters.

It had the same feeling as the Fourth of July, when everyone hustles to find the best vantage point for the fireworks. There was that kind of anticipation in the air.

This section of Hartranft Street runs from Broad, along the north side of the Eagles' practice facility, and ends at 20th Street. The police set up a barricade at 20th, then drove along Hartranft from Broad, trying to clear the street of people. After each sweep, the street would fill again.

A closer look

You had to get close. You had to see this thing for yourself.

By 6:30, the sky was brightening and the wind was up. Someone had a radio tuned to KYW. Information was passed along: There will be a siren 10 minutes before detonation; Greg Luzinski is pushing the ceremonial plunger; I-95 and the Schuylkill Expressway are closed.

Then: two minutes.

Most of us posted behind the barricade at 20th slipped past, torn between the need to get closer and the desire not to wind up in police custody. The need won out, and we kept getting closer and closer, as close as about 18th Street, when the popping noise started.

It sounded a little like a drumbeat, as if one of the dozens of concerts that had rocked the Vet was just getting under way. Maybe it was Max Weinberg or Charlie Watts tapping out the opening rhythm of some classic song.

When the collapse started, the crowd on Hartranft drew a collective breath and held it. This was it. After 33 years, after the long process of getting approval for and then building new stadiums, after the long farewell Phillies season, after the weeks of buildup to this - this was it.

An elegant ending

It took a minute plus two seconds. The sections fell like giants whose knees were buckling, one after the other. Let it be said that the Vet was never elegant until yesterday, when it was erased from the landscape in an artistic bit of choreographed violence.

Tears. Yeah, there were tears.

As the Vet disappeared, it was as if its life flashed before thousands of pairs of eyes. But really, it wasn't the stadium's life. It was each of our lives. Here's one short list:

Sat in the 700 level above left field for dedication ceremony in 1971.

Played soccer for Liberty Bell Youth Organization at halftime of an Atoms game (screwed up and let a ball get by).

Saw first pro baseball and football games there.

Covered first pro baseball and football games there; went on to cover hundreds of events.

A few of us covering the Eagles stayed in the work room after practice one day, then slipped into the press box in time to see U2's Zoo TV tour.

Saw the Stones as a young adult; took daughter to see Stones in 2002.

Watched Dad take the field as part of his Phillies dream-week package a couple of years back.

Personal highlight: Walking out after Curt Schilling's 2-0, Game 5 win over Toronto in '93 and finding the parking lot full of people who just didn't want to leave. It was the last World Series game ever played there, and it was almost as if everyone knew that. The lights were on, it was well after midnight, and the Vet looked almost unbearably lovely.

That's the image and the feeling that will outlive the demolition. Each of you has your own.

The dust drifted off and so did the crowd along Hartranft Street. The Vet was gone. It felt like a fitting goodbye.