BOBBY BLOCK ORAL HISTORY

CHRISTA WHITNEY: This is Christa Whitney, and today is March 20th, 2018. I am here in -- where are we exactly?

BOBBY BLOCK: Mount Laurel, New Jersey.

CW:Mount Laurel, New Jersey. And I'm with Bobby Block. We're going to record an interview as part of the Yiddish Book Center's Wexler Oral History Project. Do I have your permission to record?

BB:Of course.

CW:So, I wanted to ask you first about your name. Where does your name come from?

BB:Well, my name is really Oscar. Oscar Robert Block. In Yiddish, it's Osher Reuven. Oscar was not a very common name when I was growing up, so I used Robert 1:00-- and not Robert, but Bob. So, for the longest time, I was -- of course, in the family, they still call me Oscar. I always thought Oscar was the name of a horse or something. But I used the name Bob for the longest time. And when I got into the music business, I used the name Bob Block. But it's really sort of a tongue twister; "Bob Block" is hard to say. And then, I decided that Bobby is cuter and warmer and it's a name that seems to evoke, you know, showbiz -- Bobby, Marty, Joey -- so I became Bobby Block, and I've used that name all these years. But I'm really Oscar. I'm really Osher. And my aunts and uncles will always call me -- not even Oscar, they call me Osher -- you know, because we all spoke Yiddish. Yiddish was my first language. So, when I started going to school, I spoke 2:00English with a Yiddish accent. (laughs) It was a bit of a problem.

CW:Do you know who you're named after?

BB:Well, the Osher is my grandfather. There are a lot of Oshers in my family. There were a lot of Oscars. So, the Reuven, I'm not sure. I'm not sure. I have to check with my older sister.

CW:And where did your family come from in Europe?

BB:My family came from a little town called Pruzhany. Pruzhany was Belarus, on the borderline between Poland and Russia. So, sometimes it was Poland. When it was under the Polish regime, it was called Prużana; when it was under the Russian regime, it was called Pruzhany. Both my parents are from there. They 3:00were engaged in Europe, and they married when they got to the United States. So, that's what happened. So, they're from Pruzhany. And there was a little neighboring town called Shereshov. And so, in the United States, we had the Pruzhany-Shereshov Beneficial Association, which was a landsmanshaft [association of immigrants originally from the same region] thing. And they had dozens, hundreds of these groups that would form to welcome the landslayt [plural of landsman (fellow countrymen)], so to speak, when they came from Europe -- helped them get started and all of that. And the Pruzhany-Shereshov Beneficial Association is still in existence. I happen to be the president. The organization is about 125 years old, and I'm very proud of it. And we have a lot of very prominent people in the Philadelphia area that were from this little town of Pruzhany. It's --

CW:Do you have a sense of what your parents' early life was like in Pruzhany?

BB:Well, Pruzhany was a shtetl [small Eastern European town with a Jewish community], so my people were shtetl people. They were little townspeople. Very primitive. Everything in their lifestyle had to do with the synagogue; it was like the community center of the town. Everything surrounded the synagogue. I don't know what business or profession or type of work my parents did. Our name was not Block; it was Blakher. My mother's maiden name was Geier. And when that family came to the United States, Geier became Golden, and Blakher became Block. And my mother had a brother in the United States that brought her over. And also, the other members of the family -- he was the patriarch of the family. My 5:00father had a sister in New York, and she brought my father to the United States. However, at that time, there was a quota system, and you couldn't always get into the United -- my mother did, but my father instead went to Argentina, to use Argentina as a stepping stone. So, you would create a residential status in Argentina -- you had to stay about a year or so -- and then you could apply for a visa to America. Many of the Jewish people that couldn't get into the United States ended up going to Canada, which is probably why we have so many Canadian Jews, and many, many of them went to Cuba. And I had family in Cuba, as well. So, that was the procedure of how my father ended up in the United States. And -- you want to hear more about that story?

CW:Well, I want to ask if you know anything about your grandparents.

BB:No. They never got here. And I think my grandparents were gone before the Holocaust. We did have other relatives that we lost in the Holocaust, but I don't think my grandparents ever got that far. So, I really know nothing about them.

CW:So, there's more to the story about Argentina and your father?

BB:Well, except for the fact that when my father got to Brooklyn, which is where his sister lived, here he was already engaged to my mother from Pruzhany, so he would work during the week in the garment industry, and every weekend, he would come to Philadelphia to see my mother. And this went on for quite a while, until finally -- the story I'm told -- my uncle, my mother's older brother, sat him 7:00down one day and said, "Listen, Moishe. What's going to happen here? You're going to keep coming in every weekend? What's the end? Are you two -- are you going to get married?" And my father said, "Well, I don't know." And he said, "You're going to spend the rest of your life working at a sewing machine. Come to Philadelphia, marry Molly. I'll make the wedding. I'll find you a little business to get into, and you'll establish your married life in Philadelphia." And that's what happened. He found him a little grocery store. My father ended up having that store for forty-five years, the same location.

CW:And where was it?

BB:It was at Eighteenth and Reed in South Philadelphia. And that's where we grew up. My two sisters and myself lived at the store. We lived in back of the store, on top of the store. And everything -- and there was a synagogue about six 8:00blocks away. My father took his religion very seriously. And so, we went to synagogue, Hebrew school, Sunday school -- so forth and so on. And my parents arranged -- at that time, Yiddish theater, of course, was Second Avenue in New York, but Yiddish theater traveled, and so those shows would come to Philadelphia. My parents worked it out so that they could afford to expose their children to Yiddish theater. So, we couldn't all go at the same time, because somebody had to stay in the store -- the store was open morning, afternoon, and evening. So, one of my parents would take me, one of my parents would take my sister, and that's how we were exposed to Yiddish theater. And I fell in love with Yiddishkayt, with the theater, with the music. And to go on deeper as far 9:00as the music goes, one day in school -- I guess I had to be about eleven years old at the time -- one of my teachers said, "Oscar" -- 'cause that was before Bob or Bobby -- "I need to speak to one of your parents." So, I came home and I told my parents, "Mr. Tablitsky said he wants one of you to come to school." And my father said, "Why? What did you do?" I said, "I didn't do anything. I don't know what he wants." And so, my father went to school. And Mr. Tablitsky -- after school, classes were over -- he said, "Mr. Block, this kid has to play music. All he does all day is sing and tap his fingers on the desk and sing. He loves music. Get him an instrument and let him play." And we came home and that was the beginning of it. There was a music store a few blocks away from where we lived. It was a brass store. They didn't sell strings or rhythm; they sold brass. And we walked in. The owner was Mr. Dell'Osa, an Italian gentleman. He 10:00came out to ask what he can do for us, and my father said, "The kid wants to play an instrument. And Mr. Dell'Osa -- and I can remember it now as if it were yesterday -- said, "What do you want to play?" I said, "I don't know. I want to play the drums. I like the drums." Well, they didn't sell drums. And he said, with his Italian accent, "Why do you want to play the drum? Bang, bang, bang! Give your mom a headache. I got a nice saxophone." My father said, "How much is it?" He said, "Twenty-five dollars." My father turned to me, he says, "You want a saxophone?" I said sure. If he said a tuba, I would have said sure; if he said a trumpet I would have said certainly. And that's how I ended up with my twenty-five-dollar saxophone. You could get free lessons on Saturday mornings, and so I started going to school Saturday mornings and taking free lessons. And 11:00that evolved to a point where I started taking private lessons. I ended up buying a real -- a much better saxophone -- 125 dollars -- with a deal where I would get private lessons and pay it off. And that was the beginning of it.

CW:I'm curious what you remember about Yiddish theater -- you know, the experience of going to Yiddish theater when you were growing up.

BB:Yiddish theater, to me, was a -- it was like going to the movies. Because living where I lived -- it was a poor neighborhood, mostly black and Italian. The only Jewish people were the shopkeepers, because Jewish people always got into business -- the candy store, the tailor shop, the grocery store. And so, where I lived, if you wanted to see a tree you had to go to a park. There wasn't -- it was city life. And so, when we would go to the Yiddish theater and see 12:00this live in front of you, I thought it was just fantastic. And I had a good sense of -- I could remember all the lyrics. I'd come home singing the songs. And I just fell in love with Yiddish theater. And the Yiddish theater had to struggle. They'd come into Philadelphia for a week, and during the intermission, the manager or the director or producer or whoever would come out and speak to the audience. And he would tell them, in Yiddish, "M'darf hobn a yidishe teater, do in filadelfia. Zog ayer fraynt, zog ayer kreyvim, zey zol undz kumen un zen. [We need to have a Yiddish theater, here in Philadelphia. Tell your friends, tell your relatives, that they should come and see it.]" Because they were struggling to keep this thing going. Tell your friends, tell your neighbors, tell your relatives to come to the theater. And they would sell sheet music, the 13:00songs from the shows. And I still have some of that sheet music. And I saw people like Jenny Goldstein, Leon Fuchs, Menasha Skulnik, Aaron Lebedeff -- all of the big names of Yiddish theater.

CW:Did you have a favorite?

BB:I liked Leon Fuchs, because he was double-jointed and he did all these different funny things. Molly Picon, of course, was just wonderful. Jenny Goldstein was more of a dramatic actress, not Yiddish musical things as much. Molly Picon, of course, was all musical. Menasha Skulnik was very funny. He wore a little hat and a little coat. He had his own theatrical persona. I just -- I loved 'em all. I loved 'em all.

CW:And where would they play?

BB:Well, before my time, I was told that they would play at something called the 14:00Arch Street Theatre. But as I was growing up, they would come to the Walnut Street Theatre, which was the oldest-running theater in the United States, and is still in operation today -- not Yiddish, of course, but in those days they'd come into the Walnut. Later, they went to a place at Broad and Lombard called the Lincoln Theatre, which was an old vaudeville house. They would call that the (pronounces with a Yiddish accent) Lincoln Theatre, you know, and I would go to see shows there. Also, Town Hall at Broad and Race. I know those streets mean nothing to you, but to me, I grew up with them. And so, Yiddish theater was very important. I never got to New York to see Yiddish theater, but Second Avenue was the hub. I was told at one time I think they had twenty-three Yiddish theaters running at one time. And that must have been out of this world.

[BREAK IN RECORDING]

CW:Well, before we talk more about your music career, I'm curious to know a little bit more about the home you grew up in. How would you describe it?

BB:Well, how would I describe it? My parents both worked in the store, early morning to evening. It was a kosher household. We had a kosher butcher shop not too far away. They would deliver. We had it worked out so that their son would deliver our kosher meat order. That was his last stop, which worked out perfectly, because he came by bicycle, and I would get on the bike with him, and he would drive me over -- ride me over to synagogue in time for Hebrew school. I'd come back on the trolley car. So, when I was twelve I joined the Boy Scouts 16:00at the synagogue, Sunday school. My sister did the same. And we were a very close family. My mother had three brothers -- later, a fourth one that was in Cuba moved to the United States and Philadelphia. My father had relatives here. Sunday, the store closed at about one or two in the afternoon, so that was like having a day off, and we'd go and we would visit. At one point, we got prosperous enough for my father to buy an automobile, and that was really something. And we were able to really go out -- or go to the park on Sundays. Go to the Pruzhany lodge meeting -- that was important. And that's what we did.

CW:Can you describe the landsmanshaft meetings?

BB:Well, how can I describe it? They ran the meetings -- I'm trying to think of 17:00the name of that procedure -- Robert's Rules, I think it was called. You know, you had your president, vice president, secretary, treasurer, advisory board. We had cemetery ground -- that was very important. So, when you belonged to the lodge, you got a free plot, so you had cemetery ground. We even had a family corporation, where if someone wanted -- needed money to buy something and they didn't have it, you could borrow from the lodge at a very, very, very good rate. And so, that was part of our family, too. Most of the people that my father bought his goods from -- the meat people, the fruit and produce people -- they were all Jewish, so they became part of our family, as well. And so, we were all 18:00very, very close. It was a good life. It was a good life. We enjoyed it. Saturday afternoons, my parents would give me a dime or twelve cents and we'd go to the Saturday afternoon matinee. And we would see a movie. That was something to look forward to. We had a radio in those days -- this was way before television -- so we could listen to our favorite movies -- rather, radio shows.

CW:Was there a Yiddish radio show?

BB:There was a Yiddish radio station, WDAS. WPEN. That was very important. Whenever they were on during their time slot, my mother would make sure that we were listening to the radio show. There was even a newscaster, Nathan Fleischer, who gave the news of the day in Yiddish. And on Sunday afternoons, there was a 19:00show -- it was a Jewish soap opera is what it was, and my mother would listen all the time. And they also had a show where people would write letters for advice. And that was terrific. And they'd play all the different Jewish songs. And all the sponsors were, of course, Jewish businesspeople. And I remember the radio show -- we would call it a sketch -- the stories. That was sponsored by Planters Hi-Hat Peanut Oil, which was a kosher oil. And I can still remember the commercial, which would be, (sings) "Planters Peanut Oil, Planters Peanut Oil, gut tsu kokhn, gut tsu bakn, gut far alesding tsu makhn [good for cooking, good for baking, good for everything you're making], Planters Peanut Oil, Planters" 20:00-- (laughs) -- and I learned that, you know? And of course, my parents would go nuts. And when company would come over, they'd say, Oscar, sing that song (laughs) -- Planters Peanut Oil. And we had a lot of fun. And my mother's oldest brother, who was in business in Center City, Philadelphia, and did very well -- he was quite successful -- bought a farm, a gentleman's farm-type place about twenty miles out. And on Sunday afternoons during the warm weather, the whole family would go out to the farm. And we would look so forward to that. And all the landslayt would come. And he grew corn. We'd go out in the field, pull the corn, boil it up -- you know, serve herring and potatoes and all the different things that Jewish people love to eat. And we had a wonderful time. A wonderful time.

CW:What were the languages you heard growing up?

BB:Only Yiddish. A little English thrown in. My parents probably knew a lot of Russian. No Polish. They spoke a little bit of Russian here and there, but for the most part it was always Yiddish.

CW:Can you tell me about what kind of Yiddish accent they had, what kind of dialect they spoke?

BB:Well, you know, my older uncle was married to a woman that was not from Pruzhany, so she was a Litvak -- Lithuanian. So, she spoke with a little -- and then I had another uncle that married a woman, aunt Evelyn -- I forget what her dialogue was like, but it was different. But we all -- the rest of us were all from Pruzhany, so we all spoke the same way. And that was the Yiddish that I 22:00learned. And I only learned it by being exposed to it. It wasn't anything we learned in a bo-- we didn't learn Yiddish in Hebrew school; we learned Hebrew. But that was biblical Hebrew -- you know, not conversational Hebrew. So, I could read it; I really did not understand it. And when I would go to services, although they had children's services, my father did not approve of the children's services. He said, "All they do is kid around and fight and play games. You sit next to me. That's the only way you'll learn." You know, "And be quiet. Don't make any noise." And I remember I would tell people -- and I would say to him, "Why do I have to be so quiet?" And he'd say, "Because there are other people trying to sleep." (laughs) But I learned to love the cantorial pieces. And to this day, I say the only way to really know Yiddish music is to 23:00have sat in a synagogue and listened to the khazn [synagogue cantor] -- the khazonish shtik [cantorial bit] that they did. That rubbed off on you. Because Jewish people, when they pray, they're praying to God, they're pleading with God for certain things. Let me be safe. Let me be healthy. Take care of my wife. Take care of my children. And all of those prayers are tearful. They're tearful. In Yiddish, that would be called "troyerik [sad]." And so, Yiddish songs were like that. I feel that Yiddish music is really a derivative of the music that you hear in the synagogue. And I play that -- I play with that feel, because I grew up with it. And I remember hearing a radio interview with Hankus Netsky, 24:00who is really responsible for the revival of klezmer music, and when he teaches one of his classes in Yiddish music in Boston -- I forget which school -- he plays a recording that I've done, one of my albums, and he says, "Listen to Bobby Block play this song. This is the way Yiddish music is supposed to sound." And I am so flattered to have someone like Hankus say that. The song, incidentally, is called "Yidishe nign," which means "Yiddish Song." (sings) "Di yidishe nign, eybik vil dos zayn." That means, "The Yiddish song, forever it will be." "Eybik" -- "ever." So, I learned all these things. And although when I went to high school, which was then not just my neighborhood -- these were other Jewish children, and some of them had American parents that were Americanized 25:00and didn't speak with an accent -- but I would not have exchanged my parents for that experience in growing up. It was wonderful. It didn't take much to make us happy. We could be happy with simple things.

CW:Did you have a favorite yontev [holiday] growing up?

BB:Well, I guess my favorite yontev had to be Passover, because I loved fried matzah. I loved the foods. The experience of having to change the dishes and all that -- you knew something different was going on. The whole house was different, you know? I liked Pesach. Purim was fun, because we did things at the synagogue, but nothing like Passover. And to this day, that's important. The 26:00seders were important to us. Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, of course, were -- that was heavy duty. They were very serious. They are the High Holidays. And so, that was -- no monkey business (laughs) when you went to synagogue during Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Those holidays had their purposes. But the others could be fun. Hanukkah -- of course, Hanukkah. Why not, you know? We lit the candles, and every night you looked for a little gift. Terrific.

CW:So, you mentioned the khazones [Jewish liturgical music]. Did you have a good khazn at your shul?

BB:To me, he was. Yeah. Yeah. His name was Cohen. Although I had no one to compare him with -- he was the only one I heard. But he did have a beautiful 27:00voice. And I realize the value of a good khazn to this day. Fortunately, I got the opportunity to hear some wonderful khazn -- and today we have so many female khazns, because it's -- at one time you -- I grew up not Orthodox, but Conservative leaning towards Orthodox. When we finally moved out of Eighteenth and Reed to Northeast Philadelphia and when my father retired, he became the gabbai [synagogue caregiver] at his synagogue. And all his life, he dreamed of being available to go to shul every day in the week, which he couldn't do when he had to make a living for his family. So, he was the one that ran the whole synagogue. It was like his second home. And we got to the point where women were 28:00participating more and more in shul. And they said, Mr. Block, we would like to get the women to come up and -- Oh, that's a no-no. Absolutely not. Can't do that. One time, my father went to Atlantic City for vacation. While he was gone, they called a meeting and they approved -- they voted to let females come up on the bimah. That destroyed my father. He swore he would never go get up on the bimah with a woman. But finally, he accepted it. He did accept it. And women were invited to participate as part of a minyan. And they all loved Mr. Block. My father was the most loved man I've ever known. He was just loved. The congregants were crazy about him.

CW:What was his first name?

BB:Morris. Morris. And my mother was Mollie.

CW:So, looking back on that time, what did you learn from growing up in that kind of environment?

BB:Well, my parents were people of great integrity. I learned to be a good person -- which isn't hard to do. It's easy. My parents were just good-hearted people. And it rubbed off on my sister and myself. And my sister's that way -- absolute angel. She's ninety-two years old. Fortunately, she's in good health and all. We are all very, very close.

CW:Biz hundert un tsvantsik [May she live to be 120].

BB:Thank you. Thank you. And then, of course, we moved to Northeast Philadelphia. We still had the store. I'm moving ahead now. I went to high school. There was a guy that I got friendly with -- I belonged to a Jewish fraternity -- he played drums, I played saxophone and clarinet. Let's have a band. We formed a little band. I was the leader. His father -- his name was Joel Shinder. His father Dave had a bunch of cronies -- great guys -- that used to frequent a Jewish nightclub on Saturday night. This was nothing but Jewish music. And they had a little band there. And one day, his father said to the owner of the nightclub, "I want you to give my son a job. He plays drums, and his friend plays saxophone and clarinet." (laughs) Well, it was one of those 31:00things where the owner couldn't say no. This was a group of guys that came in every Saturday. And so, one day Joel said to me, "Guess what? We've got a job! We're going to play at the Pine Plaza every Saturday night!" And I said, "What?" I didn't even know how to blow my nose, let alone blow the horn. But we got into that band. The leader of the band had been the conductor of the Arch Street Theatre. And I learned to play Jewish music. And we played Jewish music from nine o'clock at night till two o'clock in the morning every Saturday night. And that's where I really learned Jewish.

CW:So, what was the scene when you first got into it?

BB:Well, people would come there. They'd have dinner. They would dance. We had all these songs that I had never heard of -- waltzes and polkas and mazurkas and 32:00even Jewish rumbas and tangos -- these were during the Second World War days -- well, afterwards -- early '50s. And I worked in my father's store and played music on the weekends. And little by little, we started booking weddings and bar mitzvahs. And the next thing I knew, I was in the music business, and getting busier and busier at it. And trying to keep up a social life, as well -- the guys in the fraternity and all my friends. And I was dating. And one time I was in Atlantic City one weekend, and I'm on the boardwalk, and I noticed a girl that was a friend of one of my mother's friends. And she said to a friend of hers, she says, "Oh, I know that guy standing there. Let me introduce you." The 33:00girl that was with her happens to be my wife today. And she came over and I met her. We got to talking. I liked her. And I took her number, and I said, "I'll give you a call." And she said, "Yeah, okay." But I was very busy with music, and I really -- Saturday nights, that was the night where I had to go out to play. But little by little, I started dating her. We dated for a long time. We finally became engaged, got married a year later. And we've been married sixty-two years; I think this will be our sixty-third year. We have two sons -- wonderful sons. I have two grandsons -- wonderful, wonderful kids. A lot to be thankful for. And the music business just grew and grew and grew. And one day I 34:00said to my father, "You know, pop, I have to have a day off just to take care of the business -- the behind-the-scenes business, not the playing part. There's a lot to do." And he said, "All right. Take off Mondays. You're tired on Monday anyhow, 'cause you play Sunday nights and the weekends." So, I was off Monday. As I got busier and busier, I said, "Pop, I have to have another day off. You know, I'm going out, seeing people, booking affairs." So, he said, "All right. Take off Wednesday." So, we made a deal: I was off Mondays and Wednesdays, and he would take off Tuesday -- I would open the store on Tuesday morning. And so, my father finally got a day off, too. And this was the way it went. And then, lo and behold, my father turned sixty-five. He was born in 1900, so this was 1965. And I sat him down. I said, "I've got to talk to you." Now, 1965, I had already 35:00been married ten years. We had the two boys. And I said, "You're sixty-five years old. You can retire. I don't want to be in the grocery business. I want to go into music full-time." I said, "You don't have to worry about making a living. You can collect Social Security. You have a couple of life insurance policies. Turn them in, take the cash value. Stay at home with mom. Sell the business. I'm going to go into the music business full-time." And I remember him saying, "Gey, gib avek aza goldene biznes [What, you'd give away such a stellar business]" -- you know, he thought, Why sell a business like this? But he was sixty-five. I talked him into it. He did not sell the business, really. He offered it to the tenants that lived upstairs. He said, "How about taking over the business? I'll stay with you. I'll show you how to run it." And they did. I don't know how long that lasted. But it was the greatest thing that ever 36:00happened, because my father was now able to go to the shul every day. He opened the shul in the morning, he closed it at night. He was the guy with the keys. And I went into the music business full-time. We had a wonderful reputation. And to this day, the name is legendary. At one point, I got together with six other band leaders. We formed an office. We opened an office in Center City, Philadelphia. We had a full-time secretary. We went after all the Jewish country clubs. We didn't do just Jewish work, but mostly. And we tied up all the Jewish country clubs, all the big charity balls -- B'nai B'rith, Hadassah, B'rith Sholom -- you name it, we were doing it. And that went on for quite a while. And then, we moved and opened another office in Jenkintown, Pennsylvania. And here 37:00we are.

CW:So, back when you were first starting out, were there musicians that you admired that you were hoping to be like?

BB:Well, when it came to klezmer music, I told you, there was no one like Dave Tarras. I tried to emulate him. I still do. New York orchestras like Abe Ellstein. And Philadelphia guys that were very, very good. A clarinet player named Joe Borock, who I thought was wonderful. I mentioned Hankus Netsky -- his grandfather had a band -- Kol Katz. And I played for Kol. I played for a few of the other bands, too. But mostly, I had my own band. And I admired a lot of people -- not necessarily people that played just Jewish. I mean, I thought 38:00Benny Goodman was out of this world, and I still do. When Latin music became popular in the '50s and the Jewish people were doing the cha-cha and the mambo, I loved it. I loved it. And I still do. And I'm crazy about Latin music. And a lot of it is very similar to Yiddish music.

CW:How so?

BB:Yeah.

CW:What's similar about it?

BB:Well, first of all, music is written in either major keys or minor keys. Yiddish music is all minor -- usually D minor. D minor is Jewish. If you're playing D minor, it's going to sound Jewish. Well, a lot of the Latin music is in minor keys, too -- songs like "Bésame Mucho," "Green Eyes," "Amor ---" I can't think of them all at the moment. So, they remind me of Jewish music. And 39:00as a result, a lot of the Jewish music, by the same token, can be played with a Latin feel. Songs like -- I wouldn't expect you to know -- "Ikh hob dikh tsufil lib [I love you much too much]," "Gib mir op mayn harts tsurik [Give me my heart back]," "Mayn tayere [My dear]" -- I play them as rumbas. They're beauti-- "Papirosn [Cigarettes]" makes a wonderful tango. "Mayn yidishe meydele [My Jewish girl]" -- (sings) "Mayn yidishe meydele, zi iz azoy sheyn [My Jewish girl, you are so beautiful]" -- we play that as a tango, we play it as a rumba. So, that's a similarity.

CW:So, what makes a good klezmer clarinetist?

BB:This music is a music of feel. It's an interpretation. You can't just give it to someone and say, "Here, play this." You have to play it with -- it's music 40:00from the heart. It's like a violinist -- like, the artificial violin sound you hear on the electric piano is never going to be able to duplicate a violinist drawing a bow across a string. It just doesn't happen. It's heartfelt music. A lot of the Yiddish theater shows were shows of tragedy. Oh my God, there was always something traumatic going on, you know? And the audience -- if you didn't walk out using a box of Kleenex, it wasn't a good show. Everybody was sitting in the audience and crying. And you know, a lot of our people were really very naïve -- the ones that came from Europe -- and they would get involved with these shows. And I've even heard stories -- if they went to see a Jewish movie, 'cause there was a Jewish movie industry, very large, and they saw something 41:00they didn't like on the screen, they'd start yelling to the screen: Hey, leave him alone! (laughs) You know, but you're talking to a screen! And I thought that was hilarious. But they were simple, shtetl-type people, and they weren't worldly about things like that. So, it was different. And if we lose the -- of course, fortunately, we still have a great many Holocaust survivors. And I'm the guy for Holocaust survivors; they all call me. If I'm not available, they'll just change the date. And I love watching them dance. I love looking at the floor. And I get great -- don't tell them I would do it for nothing if I couldn't get paid, but -- I just love doing it. There's so much gratification in playing this music and knowing that you're creating this atmosphere, making these people happy, warming their hearts. I've played for people at retirement 42:00homes that will come over to me with tears in their eyes and say, I haven't heard that since I was a little boy. I had a man take my hands and kiss my hands. How can you duplicate that? How can you put a price on that? It's worth everything. So, I am blessed. I am blessed that I can bring this kind of happiness to people. I'm a doctor. Music is therapeutic. I could go to a retirement home and see people brought in in their wheelchairs and so forth and so on that look like they're, you know, half gone. By the time I finish with them, they're clapping their hands, they're stamping their feet, they're singing along with me. What can I say? What more is there to add? It's worth everything.

CW:So, what has changed over your lifetime in terms of Jewish music?

BB:Oh my God, so many things have changed. But when you live as long as I have lived, how can you not experience change? I'm disturbed by the fact that kosher is not as important as it used to be. I can't begin to imagine how many kosher caterers we had that we don't have anymore. Kosher is not that important, unfortunately. To many people, it is -- thankfully, to many people, it is. But generally, the kosher catering halls are gone. That bothers me. But it's evolution. Let's face it, it's evolution. It's a different world. In the old days, if you lived in a Jewish neighborhood, you lived in a Jewish neighborhood. 44:00If a son or daughter got married, they moved to that neighborhood. Children that went to college -- if you lived in Philadelphia, you went to Temple University; you didn't go to the University of Michigan, you know? You stayed in your area. As a result, we had that -- that feel of being close. That's all disappeared. And now, if you talk to someone and you say, How many children do you have? Oh, I have three. Oh, where do they live? Well, one lives in California and one lives in Boston; one lives in Florida. The families are separated. Is that good? It's a sign of prosperity. People are doing better. You know, that's the good part. But with every advantage, there's a disadvantage. We've lost that closeness. Our cell phones, television. We've lost the art of conversation, of 45:00sitting outside on a summer night with the neighbors. We don't even know our neighbors anymore. That part is unfortunate.

CW:Well, before I wrap up, can you paint a picture of -- you know, what was a summer night like in South Philly when you were growing up?

BB:In South Philly, when I was growing up, people would come over. We didn't have patio furniture. My father was in the grocery business. We took out milk boxes, put a piece of paper over them so you didn't dirty your clothes and put a rubber band around 'em. You sat on milk boxes. You had no one to impress. That didn't mean anything. If company was coming over, my mother would give me a dollar and say, "Go over to the fruit store. Tell 'em to give you a dollar's 46:00worth of fruit" -- she didn't say, "Buy two apples and one orange." "Tell 'em your mother's got company coming over." And I'd go over -- this guy's name was -- well, it was Pop's Fruit Store. I would say, "Pop, my mother said to give you a dollar. We need a dollar's worth of fruit. We have company coming." And they'd come and they'd eat. And of course, my mother would make tea, show off the china. You made a pot of tea, and she would -- made her strudel or sponge cake. And they'd sit around talking. Or they would play rummy. And, you know, they had their (laughs) -- they had their own English language for playing rummy. A king was a "kenig"; a queen was a "lady" -- I'm talking about cards -- a jack was a "yankl" -- (laughs) you know? And I got such a kick out of that. And it seemed like nothing at the time, but now that I can look back, it's so much to 47:00appreciate. Today's kids don't have that. Of course, today's kids have other things. They go to camp during the summer and they take classes in this and classes in that. My wife is from Mobile, Alabama. She grew up in Mobile. And yet, there's a great parallel between our early lives. Her parents also had a grocery store, and a lot of the things were the same. But standards down South were a little different than they are here in Philadelphia and New York or Baltimore. And so, we had a wonderful time growing up. A wonderful time. And I would not exchange it for anything -- for all the money in the world.

CW:Well, I'm wondering if you'd be willing to sing another song for us.

BB:Without accompaniment?

CW:(laughs) Well, I'm just thinking, you know, as you're describing one of these gigs that you do lately, what's a song you really look forward to playing?

BB:Well, I do a song that was written by Molly Picon called "Abi gezunt [Be well]." And I do it for a reason: because it's very philosophical. And I ask the people to listen to it. And then, I ask 'em to translate it with me, so they'll know what the words mean, especially the ones that do not understand or speak Yiddish. And the song is "Abi gezunt, ken men gliklekh zayn," which means, "as long as you're healthy, you can be happy." Well, when I start to say that, I know there are people in the audience that think to themselves, Oh, sure, if you're healthy you can be happy. Not like me; I'm not healthy. I've got this, 49:00I've got that. So, I give them a little pep talk before I sing it. And I say, "As long as you're healthy, you can be happy. But remember, being happy is a state of mind. Don't talk things into yourself." My mother used to say, "Red zikh nisht arayn a kind in boykh" -- "Don't talk yourself into being pregnant. You can't talk yourself into being pregnant." And I tell them, "Some people get up in the morning, they get washed, they get dressed, they put a smile on their face, and they go about their business for the day being happy. Other people cut their finger and they're ready to call 9-1-1 and go to the hospital. Don't be that way. Think of your blessings. We are all blessed. If you talk to anyone else, you'll find that their problems are worse than yours." And so, I sing the song. (sings) "A bisl zun, a bisl regn, a ruik ort a kop tsu leygn; abi gezint, 50:00ken men gliklakh zayn." Which means: "A little bit of sun, a little bit of rain, a quiet place to rest your head; as long as you're happy, you can be healthy." (sings) "A shukh, a zok, a kleyd on lates, in keshene a dray, fir zlotes; abi gezint, ken men gliklakh zayn." "A shokh" -- "a shoe." "A zok" -- "a sock." (sings) "A shokh, a zok, a kleyd on lates." "A kleyd on lates" is a garment without patches, 'cause in the old days, everybody was patching their clothes; they couldn't buy new clothes. "In keshene" -- "in your pocket" -- "a dray, fir zlates" -- "złotys" are "coins" in Polish. "Abi gezint, ken men glikhlekh zayn." (sings) "Der luft is fray, bay yedn glaykh. Di zun, zi shaynt bay yedn eynem, orem oder raykh." "The sun, she shines for everybody, rich or poor." "Di zun, zi shaynt bay yedn --" I can't think of the rest of the word-- wait --

CW:"The air is free" --

BB:Oh, yeah. "The air is free for everyone, whether you're rich or you're poor." And finally: (sings) "A bisl freyd, a bisl lakhn; a mol mit fraynt a shnapsl makhn. Abi gezint, ken men gliklekh." "A little bit of happiness, a little bit of laughter; once in a while, with your friends, take a little drink. As long as you're happy -- as long as you're healthy, you can be happy." And after all, aren't we all healthy? We're healthy. Come on, give me a break! And everybody smiles and claps their hands. So, I think that's a good song.

CW:That's great.

BB:Written by Molly Picon.

CW:Well, are there any other stories you want to share about -- you know, I'm sure you have hundreds of stories --

BB:Hundreds of stories.

CW:-- from your life. (laughs)

BB:Not off the top of my head. I remember one incident many years ago, when I 52:00was a very young band leader. In those days, you didn't have the same guys in every -- in the band. You went to the union and you picked up men and this and that. I had a wedding to do. You would book the weddings over the phone; you didn't get to meet the bride and groom or the parents. They'd call you. Are you available? Good. What do you charge? Send a contract, ba-bah, ba-bah. And I had this one wedding, and I needed a bass player. And I couldn't find a bass player. It was a busy Saturday night in June, which was the height of the season. So, I said to a friend of mine, "Do you know anybody I could get on bass?" And he said, "Yeah." Now, wait a minute, I'm trying to think of the guy's name. Well, whatever. Let's say his name was Marvin. He said, "Call this guy Marvin. He plays good bass." We were all kids at the time. He said, "The only problem is, his father comes to every affair with him, and he tries to tell the guys in the band how to play." So, I became very arrogant. I said, "Well, he's not going to 53:00tell me what to play." You know. So, I called Marvin. I booked him. I told him, "The job's at the Penn Sherwood Hotel. Be there ready for nine o'clock. Wear your tuxedo." I get there that night, and as the guys are starting to come in, a guy comes over to me and he says, "I'm Marvin's father." And I figured, Oh, here it comes -- not knowing this is the groom's father -- the groom's name is Marvin. I said, "Yes?" He said, "Here's what I want you to do tonight. Here's the kind of music I want you to play." And I turned to him and I said, "Now, listen. Don't tell me what kind of music to --" (laughs) -- well, it was a disaster. I didn't know I'm talking to the groom's father. As it turned out, the job went terrific. Marvin's father never even showed up that night. But it was a story I tell a lot of times. Oh, it was like the blunder of blunders. But there 54:00were many stories at the weddings and bar mitzvahs. And they were a lot of fun. Some nights we would spend the whole night just laughing. It was great.

CW:What was your perspective -- how did you feel during the klezmer revival? As someone who had been in -- around -- you know, in Jewish music before?

BB:Oh, I thought it was wonderful. Because, you know, when we started to get into the quote-unquote fancier jobs -- the country clubs and -- there was a stigma to klezmer music. That people would say, Oh, you play those weddings and bar mitzvahs. Like -- it was a putdown, you know? So, we stopped playing it. We weren't playing that; we were playing cha-chas and Broadway show tunes and all that stuff, and nobody wanted to hear this Jewish music anymore. And here comes 55:00Hankus Netsky, and he's reviving all of this. And all of a sudden, it's now fashionable. I think it's wonderful. Now, some of the newer klezmer bands play their music with a feel of rock -- a rock-'n'-roll feel to the klezmer. Okay, I could say, Hey, that's not the real stuff, but I'll take it. I'll take it. As long as it's still being played. I think it's wonderful. And through Hankus, I've been able to play with many younger klezmer musicians, doing concerts with him. And they are just talented as could be. And also, I had the opportunity to do about seven shows for Jackie Mason as the opening music for his shows, and that was a very interesting experience. And -- I'm trying to think of -- Barry 56:00Reisman, who runs a Jewish radio show in Philadelphia, plays a lot of my albums. And one day he had Jackie Mason on as a guest, and he played one of my songs before Jackie came on. And Jackie said, "Is that Bobby Block?" He said, yeah. He says, "Oh boy, he's wonderful. Nobody plays klezmer like him." Well, of course, I fell on the floor when I heard that. (laughs) So, that's a nice thing to have on your résumé, so to speak. It's been a great career. And I've been surrounded by wonderful, wonderful people: friends, musicians, caterers, photographers. The rabbinical community. I've loved every minute of it. And still doing it.

CW:And now, just to finish up, what advice, what eytse [piece of advice] would you give to a young musician nowadays who wants to get into Jewish music?

BB:Well, there was a time -- and we must have had easily, I'd say, forty full-time band leaders in Philadelphia that did nothing but music for a living. You can't do that anymore. Unfortunately, that market is no longer there. Like I said, we no longer have the kosher catering halls. DJs have found a place in music. I'm not talking about just Jewish music. Jewish music, in many cases, has become -- "Hava Nagilah" has become the generic Jewish song. You know, I like to pride myself on being able to play the authentic things. I'm sorry to say that I cannot recommend the music industry as a way to make a living anymore. Because for every one that becomes a star, there are thousands that never make it. But 58:00it's a fun thing to do. And it could be a hobby. And it's becoming more of a hobby with me now than a business. And it was a business. And now, cities like -- Miami Beach in the old days, Boston, Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York -- they had large Jewish populations, and there was a music business. When my wife's family in Mobile, Alabama found out what I do, they said, Oh, well what does Bobby do for a living? And my wife would say, "Well, he plays music. He's a musician." And they'd say, But yeah, what is his real job? You know, 'cause they'd never heard of -- there was no field in those areas like that. I've had the pleasure of being booked to play in Florida. I played a bar mitzvah in 59:00Atlanta, Georgia. I've done an affair in Boston, where they brought the band in. So, that was nice. But as far as advice to new musicians? Music is wonderful. Play it for the enjoyment of it; don't play it to make a living out of it. It's much too hard.

CW:Well --

BB:It's like selling buggy whips for the horse and wagon. There are no horses and wagons anymore. So, don't try to make a living out of manufacturing buggy whips.

CW:(laughs) Well, a sheynem dank [thank you very much].

BB:My pleasure.

[END OF INTERVIEW]