#488 That Old Beach Magic article 1986
V-
It was an open
horizons kind of
place, a pleasure
mall with figurative
swinging doors.
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 Avenue. A breeze ~ kept the
flags flapping, as though therealways
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.
Miami Beach then, seeing it like a
tourist, had a kind of sheen to it.
Tourist-like, acknowledging responsi-
bility to nothing but pleasure, no bad
points registered, only a glow that
touched everything.
The hucksters peddled that .natural
magic, shamelessly tricked it up v~ith
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.
As a 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 A-venue 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.
Later, as an experimental retiree in
South Beach, it was time to test the
pitfalls of living on a limited budget,
with no periodic lagniappe of relief
possible from any source. But, univer-
S~ ~~~I~
THAT OLD BEACH MAGIC
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 ventu-ring 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.
They still blend into the environment
like native species who take seasonal.
turns.
From high in the Doral Hotel, the
1986 Coastal Management Conference
volunteers looked down ~ on Indian
Creek sparkling to one side and the
ocean gently: bowling in waves on the
other, jest ~ like. the brochures prom-
ised.
we could hardly hear the sirens,
saw not a single drug bust or
shoot-out, and there vas no sign
anywhere of the fabled Beach ~ dis-
courtesies of yesteryears. Some
seemed disappointed.
The neighborhood ran opposite to
the philosophical scale of South Beach
- ~ f rugality 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 tallier, and
the old folk seem younger, but the
soft, evergreen edges remain.
Maybe the surf ace and the sound
effects change, but nothing robs
Miami Beach of that fascinating range
of humanity and that certain natural
magic. They can tamper with it, but
they cannot kill it. ~
~~
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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 ~ven cool winter
evenings, so' that life see~d 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 Waiter Winchell had
joined the late crowd.
Miami Beach then, seeing it like a
tourist, had a kind of sheen to it.
Tourist-like, acknowledging responsi-
bility to nothing but pleasure, no bad
points registered, only a glow that
'THAT OLD BEACH Ml
It was an open
horizons kind of
place, a pleasure
mall with figurative
swinging doors.
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, 1 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.
As a native, or area resident, 1
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 circula~
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.
Later, as an experimental retiree in
South Beach, it was time to test the
pitfalls of living on a limited budget,
with no periodic lagniappe of relief
possible from any source. But, univer-
'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 ne~ssities 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. 1 tried being a tourist again in
Miami Beach. This time, 1 was there
in what might be the best way of all, 1
suspect - as a conventioneer.
Whatever else they 'might say
about Miami Beach, it is a natural and
nourishing habitat for conventioneers.
They still blend into the environinent
like native species who take seasonal.
turns.
From high in the Doral Hotel, the
1986 Coastal Management Conference
volunt
Creek
ocean
other,
ised.
We
saw :
shoot-i
anywt
courte
seemec
The
the ph
- 'ffl
admin
remair
of a
world
advent
Mia
seen it
in the
the. 011
soft, e
Ma)
effects
Miami
of hun
magic.
they Ci
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