It was a dark and stormy night – it really was, no kidding. After having attended an all-day meeting at the Mutual Insurance Rating Bureau in N.Y.C. a group of us had retired to a restaurant on the West side for much needed vittles and libations. It was a miserable night in mid-December, no moon and a bitter cold wind coming from the Hudson River and blasting through the funnels created by the high rises and office towers of Manhattan. After dinner three of us headed for our hotels by walking east along 53rd Street toward Lexington. With me were Ole Olson from the Sentry Insurance Company in Stevens Point, WI and Gilbert “Gib” Bean from Liberty Mutual in Boston. We had become close friends while representing our companies at a number of different insurance associations and bureaus.
After-dinner drinks and conversation had made it quite late and we were hustling along with our collars up and hands deep in our overcoat pockets in a failing attempt to keep warm. There was no doubt in our minds that snow or sleet was an imminent addition to our state of misery. The block we were in had high rise apartments on the other side of the street and a number of brown stones on our side. Nearing 6th Avenue we came to a section which had a high, black, forged iron fence bordering the sidewalk with large bushes and trees behind it – very likely a mansion of some sort. The lamp post we had just passed dimly lit the walk in front of us but then there was a gap of darkness before another lighted area from the next lamp post could be seen. When we entered the dark patch I noticed what appeared to be a large, lavishly decorative gate in the fence that was partly opened. Just as we passed the gate a huge figure stepped out of the opening almost in front of us. We stopped in shocked surprise. All I remember seeing was that the head of the figure seemed to have horns and in its right hand was a very large spear. So there we stood, bunched together, shivering with our heart beats increasing to a crescendo, faced by a specter out of some medieval past. We later each admitted that we had been scared stiff.
After a moment the figure muttered something that none of us understood and then moved slightly aside. Gib, who was a relatively big guy himself, took the opportunity to sidle past our nemesis and Ole and I quickly followed. The figure didn’t move as we continued on our way at an increasingly faster pace.
It wasn’t until the next day when I stopped to visit our company’s regional offices in the Lincoln Building across from Grand Central that I found on that bitter, cold night before we had met one of New York City’s most famous and interesting characters – Moondog.
Louis Thomas Hardin had been born May 26, 1916 in Kansas. At age five he started playing a drum he’d made out of a cardboard box and later was a drummer for his high school band. At age 16 he lost his sight in a farm accident but, in spite of that disability, continued his study of music, musical theory and composition, partly with professional help but mostly on a self-taught basis. During his early years in N.Y.C. he met many classical musicians including Bernstein and Toscanini and also jazz professionals like Benny Goodman.
From 1940 until 1974 he supported himself as a street musician and could usually be found on the corner of 6th Avenue and 53rd Street. He was notable for his homemade costumes that were based on his imagining how the Norse God Thor would have been garbed and in 1947 he adopted the name of Moondog.
In 1974 he went to Germany and settled in with the family of a German student, Ilona Sommer. Her influence helped his musical career by his creating hundreds of musical compositions. In 1989 he visited America for a tribute and conducted the Brooklyn Philharmonic Chamber Orchestra. He recorded many records and albums and also invented several musical instruments. He died in Germany in 1999.
Listen to one of his compositions here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jSimbyS_YlA
After-dinner drinks and conversation had made it quite late and we were hustling along with our collars up and hands deep in our overcoat pockets in a failing attempt to keep warm. There was no doubt in our minds that snow or sleet was an imminent addition to our state of misery. The block we were in had high rise apartments on the other side of the street and a number of brown stones on our side. Nearing 6th Avenue we came to a section which had a high, black, forged iron fence bordering the sidewalk with large bushes and trees behind it – very likely a mansion of some sort. The lamp post we had just passed dimly lit the walk in front of us but then there was a gap of darkness before another lighted area from the next lamp post could be seen. When we entered the dark patch I noticed what appeared to be a large, lavishly decorative gate in the fence that was partly opened. Just as we passed the gate a huge figure stepped out of the opening almost in front of us. We stopped in shocked surprise. All I remember seeing was that the head of the figure seemed to have horns and in its right hand was a very large spear. So there we stood, bunched together, shivering with our heart beats increasing to a crescendo, faced by a specter out of some medieval past. We later each admitted that we had been scared stiff.
After a moment the figure muttered something that none of us understood and then moved slightly aside. Gib, who was a relatively big guy himself, took the opportunity to sidle past our nemesis and Ole and I quickly followed. The figure didn’t move as we continued on our way at an increasingly faster pace.
It wasn’t until the next day when I stopped to visit our company’s regional offices in the Lincoln Building across from Grand Central that I found on that bitter, cold night before we had met one of New York City’s most famous and interesting characters – Moondog.
Louis Thomas Hardin had been born May 26, 1916 in Kansas. At age five he started playing a drum he’d made out of a cardboard box and later was a drummer for his high school band. At age 16 he lost his sight in a farm accident but, in spite of that disability, continued his study of music, musical theory and composition, partly with professional help but mostly on a self-taught basis. During his early years in N.Y.C. he met many classical musicians including Bernstein and Toscanini and also jazz professionals like Benny Goodman.
From 1940 until 1974 he supported himself as a street musician and could usually be found on the corner of 6th Avenue and 53rd Street. He was notable for his homemade costumes that were based on his imagining how the Norse God Thor would have been garbed and in 1947 he adopted the name of Moondog.
In 1974 he went to Germany and settled in with the family of a German student, Ilona Sommer. Her influence helped his musical career by his creating hundreds of musical compositions. In 1989 he visited America for a tribute and conducted the Brooklyn Philharmonic Chamber Orchestra. He recorded many records and albums and also invented several musical instruments. He died in Germany in 1999.
Listen to one of his compositions here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jSimbyS_YlA
Note.
I first published this page, or one very like it, on this site sometime in 2010. Recently I needed to change the index page for the “Experiences” topic and, in the process of moving the other pieces on the page around, the “Moondog” page and its accompanying picture disappeared – simply vanished. At first I thought that I had inadvertently deleted it but using the “undo” function didn’t bring it back nor could I find it anywhere else such as in the trash bin. “Well,” I thought, “No big deal, I have the entire content of the web site separately saved in files on my hard drive and, since all this activity had taken place on the web site, all I needed to do would be to re-publish my saved “Moondog” page back to the site. Then, to my horror, I found when I opened my saved files it was gone from there too. There is absolutely no reasonable explanation for that.
So, I researched the topic again and have reproduced the site as best as I can remember; even adding more pictures. If the first site didn’t meet Moondog’s approval I hope this one does. I have the feeling he’s out there – somewhere!
I first published this page, or one very like it, on this site sometime in 2010. Recently I needed to change the index page for the “Experiences” topic and, in the process of moving the other pieces on the page around, the “Moondog” page and its accompanying picture disappeared – simply vanished. At first I thought that I had inadvertently deleted it but using the “undo” function didn’t bring it back nor could I find it anywhere else such as in the trash bin. “Well,” I thought, “No big deal, I have the entire content of the web site separately saved in files on my hard drive and, since all this activity had taken place on the web site, all I needed to do would be to re-publish my saved “Moondog” page back to the site. Then, to my horror, I found when I opened my saved files it was gone from there too. There is absolutely no reasonable explanation for that.
So, I researched the topic again and have reproduced the site as best as I can remember; even adding more pictures. If the first site didn’t meet Moondog’s approval I hope this one does. I have the feeling he’s out there – somewhere!
