Visions of Harlem: Morgan and Marvin Smith

New Crisis, The, Jul/Aug 1999 by Parks, Gordon Sr

During the 1930s, '40s, and '50s, Harlem spread itself before the cameras of Morgan and Marvin Smith like a great tablecloth, and eagerly they went about devouring what it had to offer. The twin brothers had arrived from Kentucky at the zenith of the Great Depression, broke but determinedly in search of their goal-photographic journalism. Within that desire was another: to zero in on what was left of the social and cultural enrichment of Harlem's Renaissance. They found mostly poverty, strangely coiled within the structure of a black bourgeoisie. Invisible to a detached white press, the brothers limited their journalistic endeavors to Harlem's black news media: the New York Age and particularly the New York Amsterdam News and the People's Voice. With hope they turned to these black newspapers to help appease their aesthetic appetite. Morgan's words tell us that they were poorly fed: "At times we covered events without being assigned to them-or without being paid for our efforts. If and when we are compensated, it amounted to about one dollar and fifty cents for a picture."

Nevertheless, the brothers' hearts were all future as they knocked upon the door of every major social event as well as those occasions involving problems of the impoverished and dispossessed. With a hunger for success to keep them going, they opened a portrait studio to help sustain them through the lean years. At times all was well; at other times, awful.

I never knew whether the twins were identical, but certainly their natures were: their smiles were genuine, their handshakes meaningful. Caught up in the tensions that existed within the black press at the time, their show of patience was exceptional. The Amsterdam News was intent upon showing Harlem as a Mecca for social life and entertainment. Its competitor, the People's Voice, stubbornly geared words and pictures toward the people's unrest to inspire political action in Harlem. The unenviable task for Morgan and Marvin was to fill the plates of both employers with what they chose to eat. Again, this meant that things at times were fine and, at other times, were very bad. How could they not have been weary of Harlem's editorial cinders falling on them during the burned-out days and nights? Certainly within the confusion the question struck them: "Are we dancing, or crawling on our stomachs for a couple of bucks?"

But then another day would arrive to diminish their despair, and they would go on breathing in Harlem as though it held the fragrance of a rose. Silently, these pages tell us that Morgan and Marvin did what they came to do-and more. They compiled a pictorial record of an era marked by chaos. They caught the smell of the streets, and they showed the social and political change that took place within Harlem's black intelligentsia.

Today the number of photographers roaming the cities is immeasurable. You'll find one in every block. But only a few, like Morgan and Marvin, stand above the crowd. Back then, when Harlem was suffering even rougher storms, they were weathering its most hostile hurricanes.

The Smith brothers were not alone in their problems. I, too, often found myself in the deep well of Harlem's difficulties. Having come there much later than they did, I would occasionally ask advice or a favor of Morgan. A twinkle in his eyes would say "yes" even before he knew what that favor entailed. But once he was caught up in my problem, he never attempted to escape it. Smiling, with a gentle shake of his head, he would suggest ways in which I might rescue myself from my dilemma. Usually he was right. If you didn't have a place to sleep, you knocked on Smith's door, and it opened. That was the true nature of both men. Not once on an assignment did I see either of them attempt to outdistance another photographer. Yet others I knew were constantly shoving and sticking an elbow into a compatriot's ribs.

Morgan loved life, and he wanted no truck with death. But the clock moved on, and with the years fading and falling away, death showed up on his calendar much too soon. A huge silence follows, but his work will keep him alive forever. I would recognize his smile-even in his ashes. Thankfully, Marvin is still moving, and they tell me he is still moving overtime. Bravo, Marvin. Having wandered backward through these photographs. I feel I have returned to the wine of your very best years.