Atlantic City, A Rememberance

By Harry Miller

Some memories of Atlantic City in its pre-Casino era. Somewhat autobiographical. The Boardwalk in American culture. Pleasures of the summer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harry Miller
• Release date: Mar 17, 2009

Harry Miller

Mr.Miller grew up in Philadelphia. He does urban planning in the Northeast and Florida. He hold's a Master's in Urban Planning from Harvard University. Married. Lives in Tamarac Florida.

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Atlantic City, A Remembrance

By Harry Miller

About Atlantic City in Its Pre-Casino Era

Published by Smashwords.com

Atlantic City, A Remembrance

By Harry Miller

Published by Smashwords.com

Atlantic City, A Remembrance

By Harry Miller

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2009 Harry Miller

Atlantic City, A Remembrance By Harry Miller

Around The Apollo: This is a picture of the night as viewed from an air gondola. The observer is a hundred meters above the ocean, drifting silently towards the shoreline. Out of the black a cluster of buildings emerges, flood lit in pale and orange and red, by a most intense light. The brightness, of course is from the special heat of the multitude.

I suspect that the painting was a schematic rendered as the Guide by the Master Designer, intended to direct the creativity of Disney’s draftspersons and artisans in creating the landscape and buildings of their Boardwalk area in the woods of Florida.

The picture hangs in the lobby of the Boardwalk Hotel in Disney World, and whenever I look at it, I get that same feeling one gets near the end of a long flight when the plane drops down out of the sky in its final descent, its engines silenced, its wings wobbling through those endless last minutes before it makes its runway approach. I can recognize cities, but only as the creatures of light. There is no substance, only depth, and distance and tilt. The palpable earth does not exist, no trace of dirt, nor leaves of trees, nor the up and down of hills, nor the flowing of rivers in the deep. I am moving but I feel I am stationary. I peer at little period dots of light crossing my window; they are moving much more slowly than me, and my logic tells me they are cars traveling along roads; people are going someplace from somewhere. The feeling causes my mind to wander, and then I begin to imagine myself somewhere else, like in heaven perhaps, looking from above at a big party below that started when the sun went down, and is still going. My watch says it is late.

The painting represents a July night on The Atlantic City Boardwalk. There are hundreds of thousands walking, mostly Philadelphians who have escaped to the seashore for relief from their hot and humid city, sixty miles inland. I know that the content of the painting predates Atlantic City’s Casino era that began in the mid -1970s, and I gauge it in some year, - any year - between 1930 and 1950. The Casino era began with aspiring hopes of rebuilding Atlantic City in just a few years. (Ultimately the new industry ushered in a whole new set of rules on the way the city would be perceived, planned and put together, putting its reassembly on hold for a generation.)

I place the picture’s locale in the vicinity of the Apollo Theater, eventually torn down, near Central Pier in the middle of what used to be the busiest section of the Boardwalk. At the Apollo they play the newest movies so it is the place of choice to take your date. The Boardwalk is all wooden, as wide as a six-lane highway but exclusively for pedestrians and it is crowded on this July night.

The Boardwalk is built on concrete beams supported on concrete piers seated low to the beach, of wood planks laid in a herringbone pattern, spaced a finger-width apart to allow the rain to drain to the sand below. When someone walks on the Boardwalk with leather-soled shoes, the planks give off a sound like from a muted xylophone. A thousand walking produce a whispering chatter that is comforting, as though the boardwalk is talking to you. Down its middle, two paths of wooden strips, formed tightly like household flooring accommodate the wicker rolling chairs. The chairs seat three people across, for those who prefer to take in the Boardwalk scene without walking.

Mainly it is tourists from New York City or the Middle West who ride rolling chairs, although some Philadelphians do use them on occasion, like the stylish people I am observing, the expectant and glowing Sophia, accompanied by her mother, and the newly affianced Marilyn wearing a large diamond ring, seated with her handsome beau Marty. Their rolling chairs inch slowly through the crowd; Sophia and her mother, who is known in our Philadelphia neighborhood as the Duchess Dorothy are in deep conversation; the Princess Marilyn nods and smiles and waves her left hand to everyone she recognizes. She is expecting around Labor Day, my sister says as she and Sophia make eye contact and smile to each other. About Marilyn: That big beak really stepped in shit! I can’t stand her. She’s such a big liar. And

Gloria and I continue walking.

The rolling chairs ride on perambulator wheels and are pushed by lean black men who are locals and have been making a living at this occupation for decades.

The Apollo Theater is a favorite place to take a date. From the Boardwalk ticket booth the entrance walks through a pair of shiny bronze glass doors into a dimly lit foyer/lobby that is carpeted and lined with playbills illustrating romance, mystery, or comedy that are coming soon. It leads into the movie theater where it is very dark when the show goes on. Some movie theaters have darkness in a red hue which is musty. The Apollo is dark in a blue hue which is clean. Clean is good because my date feels comfortable sitting here and I am happy that she is pleased.

When the lights dim before the movie starts two places of light show on either side of the silver screen: a pair of female statues, flood lit in white plaster, nude and idealistic, stark, on their toes with heels raised, upright and erect to the audience, poised to launch. In the center above the screen is a clock. I glance at my radium dial watch and notice that the clock is five minutes fast. My date is oblivious to this, more interested in the movie and my attentiveness as she keeps turning her face to my direction. Anita has a pretty smile, her hair is shiny and black. Her blue eyes… I notice her pale skin and her fragrance. I am nervous. That is a pretty pin. It has a small but brilliant diamond in the middle of a gold clover. Thank you, my mother gave it to me. She collects antique jewelry. It is our first real date, although Anita and I have sat and talked on the beach several times. The movie begins.

I don’t think I had ever seen a bad movie at the Apollo, not ever. Or maybe it was the place that made everyone enjoy what they saw. The girls liked it. It was on the Boardwalk and not on the avenue. The movies were always first rate, like the musical we are about to see about sailors on shore leave, starring Esther Williams the champion swimmer turned actress, and Van Johnson, this year’s heartthrob. It is a relief from all the war news.

The seats in the Apollo are comfortable, and arranged so it is easy to hold hands. The aisles and the ladies room are clean. The girls had nothing to complain about.

Exiting the theater after the movie meant walking into a night with a cool salt air breeze and a sea of people walking slowly along the Boardwalk. The men and women and kids were all dressed up. The men wore sport jackets over sport shirts without ties because it was the summer; their pants were cuffed and razor pressed. It was the style then for men to wear shoes with leather soles and white leather uppers that had to be polished with Griffins All-White to show no scuffs, God forbid. The women wore dresses, and silk stockings with black seams up the back of the leg, and high-heeled open shoes with thin leather straps. Some women wore waist length silver fox chubby jackets. They felt it protected them from the cool wind; the fur made them look soft and pretty. The boys were dressed like the men, the girls like the women, all dressed up.

Everyone conducted themselves like ladies and gentlemen. No one was rowdy or loud spoken or drunk. Regardless of how one made a living in the city, or where families were in the social order, when people walked on the boardwalk in Atlantic City everyone felt like a king and queen.

On the land side of the Boardwalk there was block after block of one, two and three story buildings with retail stores on the ground floor. Many of the upper floors were rented as summer apartments, right on the Boardwalk…expensive… Lucky people! The side by the beach and the ocean was designed with a chest high iron railing and electric lights on high poles positioned twenty-meters apart. Every once in a while the railing was interrupted by a plank stair of a few short steps that led down to the beach.

The railing and light poles followed the Boardwalk over its entire length, which went for miles; their functional purpose, of course was safety and illumination. But more importantly the railing and light poles placed civilization comfortably in juxtaposition to nature and gave perspective and visual stretch to this seaside landscape. Philadelphians responded by never tiring of the Boardwalk, returning year after year.

In the summer daytime a lot of people chose to walk on the Boardwalk to go sightseeing, or shopping instead of to the beach. They often carried cameras. A favorite daytime pose: a couple standing against the railing, squinting from the strong seaside sun, hair flying from the breeze. The foreground was composed of The Boardwalk’s plank stripes. The beach and the ocean were a backdrop. Looking closely into the picture you could see bathers in the distance sitting on the beach or as dots swimming in the ocean. The photos were a proud verification of place, something you sent to your Aunt Fannie and Uncle Herman in Dayton Ohio. (Last summer they sent you a picture of themselves standing at the edge of the Grand Canyon.).

The