Loading...
That Old Beach Magic article ., ",-- It was an open horizons kind of place, a pleasure" mall with figurative swinging doors. ---- -' d- ~b ) \...- - LC T C\ cQ ,.... volunteers looked' down 'on Indian Creek sparkling to one side and the ocean gently. bowling in waves on the other, just'like the brochures prom- ised. We could hardly hear the' sirens, . saw. not a single: drug bust or shoot-out, and. there' was, no sign. anywhere of the fabled Beach, dis-' courtesies _ of yesteryears. Some seemed disappointed. The neighborhood' ran 'opposite to the philosophical scale of South Bea'ch - 'frugality was less universally admired, for example ,-, but there remained the same compact offering of a contained, comfortable urban world with a possible buffet of adventure only a block..or two away. Miami Beach, they say, have you seen it lately? The beach is wider than in the 1950s, the buildings,taller, and the. old' folk seem younger,' but the soft, evergreen edges remain. Mavbe the surface'and the sound sal appreciation "of frugality made ,even the' tightest budget a matter.of honored struggle, one that, did' not need explaining. That was the extreme urban expe- rience - no car, tight apartment living with an international range' of chatty and kind neighbors, all of them brought. closer together by common fears. ; All the' necessities of life, save the cemetery so poetically lacking on the Beach, were held, within three com- pact. blocks. By venturing a little ,farther, retirees could broaden their world 'geometrically with each addi" tional block. This' year, in effect, the circle closed. I tried being a tourist again in Miami Beach. This time; I was. there in what might be the best way of all, I suspect - as a conventioneer. Whatever else they might say about Miami Beach, it is a natural and nourishing habitat for conventioneers. touched everything. The hucksters peddled that natural magic, shamelessly. tricked it up with neon 'and sequins and ;whatever else might glitter, but that seemed OK. We thought there was .plenty of every- thing then' and as long as we, had the price it was worth 'the price. That was the nice, oddly innocent way it was.:I have had 'many, and much longer,' exposures to Miami Beach since then, but none quite comparable- to . those early .ones. Making a place match up to memo- ries, 'especially with 35.years or so in between, and 'all' the altered states of taste. and awareness' that means, might not be .fair, but it is fun. , Since then, I have gone' full circle with Miami 'Beach, in all the ways that the adS suggest and more '-' not only like a tourist, but also . like a native, and even (in a month-long experiment in 1980 while writing a story) like a' retiree,'and finally like a tourist again. Asa ,native, or area resident, I found it a place geared to" the tourists' pace and proclivities, and mine had changed. Miami Beach, in that period, seemed tough on'the working man's routine and,.on a steady basis, rich for the pocketbook. So the Collins.Avenue'scene drew me only occasionally, when a Sinatra came to town, or when word circulat- ed that stone crabs were- back; signaling time for the annual rite of bracing for the winter season by making a special salute to the palate. agic was the' way it . was. A place always poised 'and expectant. The first 'time, every- thing seemed dis- tinct and sharp and. memorable. The hotel. lights shone like, Christ- mas trees that stood in a. row along Collins' A venue. A' breeze . kept the flags flapping, as though there 'always was a' distant storm brewing; putting an edge on things, promising- happen- ings. The soft touch of humidity put a kind .. of' dew ,on even cool winter evenings, so. that life seemed, pliant and evergreen, its sharp edges cush- ioned by the tropical ambiance. Whatever might come later,'Miami Beach in the 1950s seemed so special a' place that it, would be marked forever in the minds of any who experienced it. It was an open horizons kind.. of place, relaxed and-confident, a plea- sure mall with figurative swinging doors, where an enterprising young fellow could spend an evening in good company walking from hotel to hotel as though he were strolling a new neighborhood. You could drop in almost any door, take a seat and a libation, and listen to anyone from a B-girl to Preacher Rollo to a trio with Sammy Davis Jr., or maybe some torch singer leaning her microphone into the night trying to see whether Walter Winchell had joined' the late crowd.