The sounds of children playing rebound off the old schoolyard walls. Reflections of giggling bobby socked and pigtailed girls and boys quarreling over a catch that clearly was not made. Time has had its way with this sacred tomb. And tittering girls and ball playing boys have long since abandoned this urban field of dreams. But those voices---they remain bound in this hallowed place along with scores of others that I could never hear. Only my own---only those in my time - - - when I stroll by that cavern with cap in hand, remembering so clearly that one handed catch I made near the old stain glass doors.