South Chicago U. S. A. is the area my grandparents chose to settle in, nearly one hundred years ago, when they emigrated from Poland. It is the neighborhood where my parents were born, grew to young adulthood, met each other and married, and the place I returned to, many years after the first generation had died. Like them, I too, came here for work; my grandfathers in the giant steel mills along the banks of Lake Michigan and I to record the demise of those mills as part of a film crew.

This book is a personal thanks to the place of my own birth and childhood memories, thanks to a neighborhood where much has been taken by outsiders and little returned for those who have remained.
Occasionally there are problems in taking photographs of strangers. That is an understatement. At first, people become more self-conscious with a camera around, except, of course for children. Shouts of ‘Take my picture!’ and ‘Don’t take my picture!’ fill the air, whether at a senior citizens banquet, a park baseball game or a street gang meeting. As with the medium, the feelings on this subject are in black and white. People either like or don’t like having their picture taken, and those I have taken have let me know which side they are on. Unless the photograph is of a nature that can’t be captured again, I often comply with the wishes of the subject. I don’t like having my picture taken, either.
Time often helps out in situations where people are uncomfortable with a camera around. Once a man wielding a camera becomes somewhat commonplace, people and habits return to normal. The novelty wears off and the shouts turn to ‘When can I see the pictures?’