CROW’S FEET WRITING PROMPT #62: MEMORIES
My Bank Memory
A time when an institution could be trusted
When I was a young boy growing up in Queens, New York in the 1950s, my mother used to take me with her to the bank. It wasn’t just any bank — it was THE bank: Ridgewood Savings Bank.
The bank occupied a prime spot in a triangular plot with no other structures around it, on the corner of 108th Street and Queens Boulevard in Forest Hills, New York. That was the first indication of this institution’s importance since it was a distinct rarity to see any building set off by itself in New York City.
The second indication was the bank’s imposing physical presence. As a little boy looking up at that gigantic clock, set above two large heavy doors, I was awestruck. The building exterior was just as impressive — to me at that age, Ridgewood Savings Bank was no less spectacular than the White House. With the white stone exterior, the bank’s name in capital letters carved into the stone, and the unique rounded entrance fitting so perfectly in that corner site, I knew my mom had brought me to someplace very special and everlasting.
The inside of the bank was even more breathtaking. The first time I gazed up at the enormous rotunda at the entrance, and then the light blue of the interior…
