The Early Years
I was born on April 15, 1921, in Elizabeth, a small New Jersey town about fifteen miles from New York City. Looking back at the early days of my life, it seems that an original melody was always lurking in the back of my mind. I would say that these melodies reflected a sense of restlessness... perhaps a longing, if you will, for something better than where I was and who I was.
In the 1920's, coal, ice and milk were delivered by horse-drawn wagons. Clumsy looking, black-painted, hand-cranked automobiles were just beginning to appear, but were still considered a rarity in our town, partly because of the unpaved roads.
My mother used a corrugated, metal washboard to clean the family laundry. Listening to "Amos and Andy" and the "Goldbergs" or the latest news by Walter Winchell before bedtime was a rare treat. And Sunday afternoons my older brother and I would look forward to hearing New York City's Mayor LaGuardia read the "funnies" on our small, static-riddled radio. At that time there was no television, no electric refrigerators, no air conditioners, no garbage disposals or washing-drying machines and a host of other conveniences taken for granted today.

A Definite “No No”
In 1926, when my brother and I reached the ripe old age of seven and five respectively, our mother dressed both of us to the nines! It was one of those horrible, unavoidable Sundays when we were forced to visit my parents' relatives in the Bronx and Brooklyn, only to be slobbered with hugs and wet kisses. So, after dressing us up, in velvet no less, we were ordered to wait in front of the house.
While waiting there with nothing in particular to do, my brother had a bright idea. "Let's just go to that place right near here where they're gonna build a new house, okay?"
So we did. It had been raining for several days and the excavation where the house was to be erected was filled with water and thick mud. It so happened that someone had attached a long rope with a tire at the end of it...tied to a tree branch directly over the muddy mess. We got hold of the rope and mounted the tire, sitting one above the other. We started swinging back and forth gleefully, without a care in the world. Suddenly the rope snapped and we both fell feet-first into the soup! Somehow we managed to struggle out with each other's help and we sheepishly limped home, looking like two walking mud pies. Needless to say, the folks were not very happy! But we were! The trip was canceled!

Late Twenties and Early Thirties
In 1928 I visited my father's office in the Battery section of Manhattan. There, from a frighteningly high elevation, I witnessed the Charles Lindbergh parade down Broadway. But what I remembered most about the occasion was the music I heard on the office radio. It was "The Rhapsody in Blue", by George Gershwin. I was mesmerized! I mean blown away! What a haunting melody!
I was cursed with uncontrollable bed-wetting until I was eleven years old. It seemed that my mother had some strange idea that I was doing this purposely, just to spite her. Many times I would be afraid to go to bed and fall asleep, lest I'd wake up and find the soaked bed sheet. Every night my mother would storm into the room to check and what she would do next was incomprehensible. She would order me out of bed, grab the wet sheet and rub my face in it to "teach me a lesson!" Luckily, the malady corrected itself in time.

Dad’s Rebellion
That same year (1932) my right knee swelled dangerously. The diagnosis: water on the knee. I had no idea why my folks had to take me to a doctor in New York, but all four of us got in the car and headed for the doctor's office on Riverside Drive.
The doctor drained my knee, using a huge needle. The procedure was exceedingly painful. After leaving the doctor's office, my parents got into a fierce argument while Dad was driving. It seems that my mother disagreed entirely with the doctor's procedure and my Dad countered by saying, “Why did we take him to the doctor in the first place if you disagreed with the way he handled the case?” The argument escalated to the point where Dad obviously couldn't take it any more. He stopped the car and got out, right in the middle of traffic!
My brother and I looked at each other as my mother, saying nothing, got out of the car and took over the driver's seat. It was about time Dad rebelled. Her negative attitude, her bitterness, her hatred of Dad's family (his father and my mother despised each other) culminated in my father's becoming a sort of milk-toast. He arrived home late that evening and they didn't talk to each other for about a week.

Preview of Things to Come
In 1933 our family attended the Chicago World's Fair. It was a difficult and grueling road trip because my mother had a tendency towards car sickness. Every once in a while we would have to stop by the roadside for her to get out and vomit. In fact, my brother and I thought we weren't going to make it to the Fair, since our father threatened to turn back several times. But we did manage to get there and one of the exhibits I remember most vividly was the General Motors scaled model of cloverleaf road patterns predicted for the 1960's and beyond. A tour guide said something at the time that almost frightened me. He said, “Fifty to sixty years from now, when you're traveling in your machines over the highways and byways, you will go great distances without seeing a single human being!”
I also remember stretching my neck skyward when looking in amazement at the newly constructed Empire State Building when we were on our way to visit relatives in the Bronx and Brooklyn.

Seventh Grade Prom
While dancing with my "date" at the seventh grade prom, my eyes locked with those of another boy dancing nearby. He was so good looking that I found myself strangely attracted to him. I purposely maneuvered our dancing positions so that these stares could continue. I asked myself, “Why is this? Why can’t I have the same feelings as other boys in my class...hold hands with girls, a kiss here and there...and talk, talk, talk about members of the opposite sex?” I went to bed that night confused and crying.

The Banjo
I finally gave up begging my parents to buy me a piano. House furnishings, draperies and fancy bedspreads were more important to my mother. My aunt and her family lived just a few blocks away and they had a beautiful baby grand piano in their living room. Whenever we visited them for dinner or cards, or whatever, I was never allowed to play the piano. It was just for show! Quoting my aunt, “George, you might fingermark it and I try to keep the keys nice and clean and shiny!”
What was thought to be a sort of compromise, I received a banjo for my eleventh birthday. Quite a substitute for a piano. Nevertheless, I did learn to play it and, as a matter of fact, in time I became quite attached to it. One day I was asked to play before my fellow junior highschool students in front of a packed audience. I played the very first composition of mine. My brother, two years my senior, was in the audience. Unfortunately, I had never worked out an ending for the piece. With a linking note I kept repeating the melody. I noticed my brother, seated in the front of the auditorium, cupping his hands to his lips, pantomiming, “End it! End it!” I shook my shoulders and was still playing when the curtain closed. What a ribbing I took after that one!
Oddly enough, I did take a fancy to the banjo. I came home one day after school and searched for the instrument. I asked my mother where it was and lo and behold! To my amazement, she said, "Oh, the neighbor boy across the street liked the banjo so I gave it to him.”

The Spirit of the Unknown Soldier
My brother, for his highschool graduation, played the leading role in a rather ambitious school play. He was the head of the World Supreme Court...a very serious play indeed. Along with all the judges in the cast, he wore a somber, black robe. The idea behind the play was to seek out the causes of world war one.
I had a profound role in the play: I was supposed to be the "”Spirit of the Unknown Soldier”. I practiced my part for weeks...to resemble a world war one soldier. I borrowed from a fellow classmate a boy scout uniform which was two sizes too small for me. My English teacher guided me on how to present it in one particular way...another teacher insisted that I go in another direction and to make matters worse, my own mother told me just how to deliver the speech. I decided that I was going to do it my way!
When the great moment came, my 6'-4" teacher was next to me, unseen behind a curtain. I stood behind another curtain on a raised platform. The play was going along well. The auditorium was darkened for the occasion. Members of the cast were not supposed to see me...only hear me. I waited for the cue from my brother.
The cue came. The small curtain opened, exposing “The Spirit”. My first line, delivered in a slow and stately manner, was "I am the s-p-i-r-i-t of the unknown soldier!”
Now everyone knows that when a young man approaches puberty, his voice begins to change. When I got to the word “spirit”, the second syllable suddenly screeched to an impossibly high level. There was a slight stir in the audience. What made matters worse was my teacher next to me. He was tugging at the knees of my boy scout pants, shaking them up and down and coaxing, “START OVER, GEORGE! START OVER!” As my knees shook violently, I did start over and voila!
The same thing happened again; my voice went uphill! This time the entire audience was howling and out of control. My brother, along with the rest of the cast (who weren't even supposed to see me) were in hysterics, slapping their thighs and knees and laughing uncontrollably. I jumped off the platform, ran to the boys’ room and cried my eyes out!
For weeks after that, I was greeted as “The Spirit”.

The Big Race
With the exception of tennis and handball, I was never much into athletics. Competitive athletics such as football, baseball and track never really interested me.
One Saturday afternoon in May of 1936, the school sponsored a variety of outdoor events and just about everybody was there, including (surprisingly) my parents. One of the scheduled events was a free-for-all track event, where anybody could join and race around the trace (I had no idea how many laps). I decided to join up, just for the hell of it!
A whole bunch of us were in a ready-set-go position and just as soon as the gun went off, I dashed forward just as fast as I could.
I did not realize that you have to conserve your energy and take it rather slow in the beginning and just about at the last lap...then you serge forward with all your might, but only then!
So here I was, running way ahead of the bunch, occasionally looking back over my shoulder and thinking, “Hey! This is a cinch! I've got it made!” As I passed the grandstand, I waved at the crowd and there was yelling and applause. I felt like a hero!
Then, suddenly, my legs began to get heavy...heavier and heavier. I was pooped out! Soon I had to go to the sidelines and drop out on the ground, exhausted and terribly embarrassed, as the rest of the runners passed by. Oh well! One of life's many lessons!

My First Job
In 1937, the year before I graduated from highschool, I managed to get a part-time job (Saturdays only) in a downtown shoe store. I fitted shoes, wrapped them and handled the cash register, usually while the boss supervised and looked on.
The only problem was the pay. I spent more for my lunch and bus transportation than I received from the old skinflint. About the fourth Saturday I confronted him about my meager salary. He told me to “eat less and walk!” I was so disgusted that I decided right then and there to get even with him.
The last customer of the day approached the counter with his new shoes. I took his money and gave him his change. After I wrapped the paper around his new purchase, guess what? I did not cut the string! It was on a large spool and as the man walked out and through the revolving door, the spool of string was whirling and spinning wildly. The string wrapped itself around the revolving door and when he was out on the sidewalk, the package flew out of his arms!
The boss was livid! I went up to him before he could say anything and simply announced, “I QUIT!”

My Second and Third Job
After graduating from highschool in 1938, I landed a job in downtown New York City. The job consisted of pre-sorting and delivering credit information to various companies within a given area assigned to me. I was one of about fifteen other boys my own age. After a year or so on the job, we got to know each other and we all became a pretty close knit family, so to speak.
We each brown-bagged at lunch and we would sit together at a long table, munching, laughing and joking. One afternoon the subject of religion came up and each one was asked to tell what church he attended. When my turn came, I said, rather casually, “Actually 1 don't go to a church. Occasionally, I will go to a temple. I happen to be Jewish.”
I might just as well have said, “I have leprosy!” The room became strangely quiet. 1 suddenly lost my appetite and couldn't eat any more of my lunch. 1 rose and left. A conversation with my boss a little later resulted in this:
“Being Jewish, do I have any chances for advancement?”
“To be frank with you, Robb...no. I suggest you just pack up quietly and leave. I'm sorry.”
Monday of the next week I went to an employment agency and I was advised to say I was “Methodist” or “Protestant” or whatever, so long as it wasn't “Jewish”. After a couple of interviews, I got a job at Singer Sewing Machine Company, lower Broadway, NYC, on the basis of my religious pretense.
After several months as a clerk and office boy at Singer, I received a message that there was someone in the lobby to see me. They told me his name and I refused to see him; he had been one of the so-called “friends” in my previous credit office job. The next day he was waiting for me in the lobby after work. He offered an apology on behalf of the other co-workers, but I told him that I refused to accept that apology and that if he felt the way he did, coming to my place of work and wanting to talk, he could have and should have done or said something at the time. Now it was too late!
Sadly and tragically, the late thirties and early forties was the time of the mass murder of Jews in Europe. It was Hitler's time and the anti-Semitism escalated in the States. Our anti-Jewish neighbors across the street where I lived were a constant source of aggravation and harassment (even though one of them owned my banjo).