The Haymarket of your childhood is still mostly there on Fridays and Saturdays, although the generally non-lamented elevated highway is gone, leaving light in its wake. Also gone is the guy from one of the butcher shops, who would wear a white butcher's jacket with chicken wings sticking out of the sleeve, instead of his own fingers. He would approach passersby saying "Want some meat? Want some meat? Want to shake my hand?" Arthur and I both remember him, separately, from the mid-1970s.
Come to Old North practice some Saturday. You can take beautiful photos of tower infrastructure and then rummage among the mounds of produce and stinky fish.