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Leather Jackets and Lost Youth: A Look at the Teen Gangs of New York City in the 1950s

In the late 1950s, Bruce Davidson turned his camera toward a world where most people ignored—teenage street gangs in New York City. At just 25 years old, Davidson approached a gang called The Jokers through a social worker. They were mostly 16-year-olds. He blended in easily, not as a threat, but as someone willing to listen and observe without judgment.

His time with The Jokers wasn’t limited to quick snapshots. Davidson followed them daily. He walked their streets, stood beside them in alleyways, and sat silently during tense moments. His camera captured what words rarely described: the way they stood, the way they looked away, and how they lit cigarettes with blank expressions.

The images were raw. Leather jackets, switchblades, and greasy hair weren’t just part of a style—they were part of survival. In one frame, a boy leans against a chain-link fence, his face calm but unreadable. In another, a young couple stares in different directions, close in body but distant in thought. These weren’t movie scenes. They were moments Davidson saw unfold every day.

What he captured was more than toughness. His photos showed silence between gang fights, the quiet between threats. They showed boys trying to look older and stronger than they felt. Many came from broken homes. Some had dropped out of school. Others had no jobs. The street was where they earned their respect and shaped their identity.

Davidson said he felt their emotions, fear, sadness, anger—because they were familiar to him. That connection gave his work power. It wasn’t just about documenting violence or rebellion. It was about showing what drove it. His photos don’t glamorize gang life. They expose it, layer by layer.

Girls were part of the story too. In several images, they stand beside the boys, smoking, laughing, or scowling. Their roles were complex—part companions, part protectors, part victims of the same world. In one striking photo, a girl stands alone, arms crossed tightly, her glare sharp enough to stop anyone in their tracks.

Written by Wendy Robert

Brand journalist, Ghostwriter and Proud New Yorker. New York is not a city – it’s a world.

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