To view the social scene with the camera is a challenge. All too often the photographer brings to his vision a priori judgements of what aspects of the people and their environment to record — so that we see with his mind rather than through his eyes. Or, if on assignment to a magazine, he may be forced to follow a shooting script or a briefing, so that he sees with the mind of an editor.
Conversely, the photographer may be prone to record those aspects of the scene that appeal to his pictorial sense — finding beautiful abstract compositions and novel subject matter which, though appealing, are but sidelights to the main issue.
It is yet more difficult to photograph a small, tight community bounded by two perimeters: ethnic ties and old age. To this challenge David Scheinbaum has responded with sympathy and understanding. he show us what it is like to live in retirement in Miami Beach, Florida.
These photographs explain a situation little known to most of us. We are led along the sidewalks, into shops and gaming halls and the very homes of this community, by a compassionate yet observant and knowledgeable guide, seeing through his eyes.
Beaumont Newhall, Introduction to Miami Beach: Photographs of an American Dream
Soon after my grandmother’s death in 1971, my grandfather moved to Miami Beach. It did not take Grandpa long to shed the immigrant lifestyle that he had been living for sixty years. In one month’s time he was wearing white slacks, white shoes, and wraparound sunglasses. Gone forever were the heavy dark overcoat and wool cap.
Those first years in Miami Beach were his happiest. The American Dream was now a reality. Grandpa took a long-awaited and hoped-for trip to Israel, which he couldn’t do when Grandma was alive because she would’t fly. He even stopped questioning my long hair and jeans. retirement was wonderful. Miami Beach was a land of sunshine, leisure, and safety: it was the land of milk and honey in America.
This is the dream of all American’s elderly: to be able to relax after a long life of hard work, and to have the time to come to terms with one’s own life as it nears its end. For one large group of Americans, American Jews, Miami Beach has long been the place to fulfill this dream. Unfortunately, many of the retired elderly are in fact living impoverished and unhappy lives. The promised land exists for only a handful of people. The $500 monthly Social security check does not get them through the month. Food, housing, and medical costs are all rising, while the check stays relatively the same. Some men and women live together to help each other financially, hiding the arrangement from their children out of embarrassment, unable to marry due to the partial loss of Social Security payments that would result. Many are unable to got to temple for lack of transportation and are unable to take advantage of the free lunch programs offered because the food is not strictly kosher.
I spoke with many people who had innumerable stories to share, stories of leaving the old country, struggling for work, organizing unions, and modifying their religious beliefs. These Jewish immigrants helped to build our America. As one elderly gentleman told me, “This is the last germination of its kind. What we have here is millions of years of experience walking around. Surely, millions of years of knowledge could still make a contribution to American life?”
When my grandfather’s health began to fail he took to staying in his toes room forced to keep his swollen legs raised, often missing his daily pinochle game. I thought that his reclusiveness was the result of embarrassment. It was not. If the management of the hotel discovered that his health was failing, he would be asked to leave. So Grandpa, like many others, spent much of his time in his room, the prospect of a nursing home looming in his future.
When I arrived in Miami Beach, a stranger with a camera, I was welcomed everywhere I went. I was included in card and shuffleboard games and conversations. I was graciously invited into many homes. The company was wonderful, the conversations memorable and revealing, and for an introduction all I ever needed to was answer yes to “Nuu . . . you’re Jewish?”
These photographs record the visits into the lives that I was invited to share.