But Tempelhof is there. Its airside frontage runs in a continuous concave curve of 3,870 feet. Its canopy is 40 feet high, and cantilevers out 170 feet for that entire distance. On the landside, it is a complex of buildings forming an entire city district. The fat stone eagles on the facade are as crisply detailed as the day they were cut. It represents so much that is contradictory. And - it is a bathetic gesture, but it is all that I can do - I go there, sit and have lunch, and think about it. If I am lucky, a plane arrives and a few people get out. The last time I was there, even that did not happen. It is not dead yet, this airport-coelacanth, this living fossil, but its death is surely close: exactly the lifespan that Sagebiel envisaged.