White Boy A Rock and Roll Story: A Rock And Roll Story

By Glaser Stephen and Grachuk Andy

My wife Lyne suggested a short explanation as to the motives behind writing this; let’s call it a time capsule. The first reason is that this is a slice of the story that is Stephen Glaser, to be shared by our four children, ten beautiful grandchildren, friends, and anyone who is curious about the start of Rock and Roll. Just so they know

• Language: English
• Publisher: SamZan Music LLC
• Release date: Oct 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9780998286716

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

THE BEGINNING

Ok, where do I begin? It all began under the covers in my bed on a Sunday night on a hot Sunday night. It was the summer of 1953. School had just recessed and we had moved from Brooklyn to the Sedgwick Projects in the Bronx.

My dad had given me a portable radio. I think it was a guilt gift for taking me away from my Brooklyn. It was a red and silver plastic window into the wonders of Rhythm and Blues. On Sunday night at 11:00, the Voice of Jock O* (aka: Douglas Henderson) and his show Ace from Outer Space could be heard. The music that came out of that little plastic box shook me to my core. I was hooked, and at the age of twelve, the road to my future shone brightly before me.

Before we continue the Bronx part of this story, let’s go back to the beginning. I was born in Hackensack, New Jersey, May 16th, 1941. At the age of one, we moved from my Grandmother’s house in Englewood, New Jersey, to Brooklyn. Bensonhurst was predominantly a White/Jewish/Italian neighborhood of Brooklyn, just south of the Verrazano Bridge. The first person of color I saw was in public school when I was nine years old in 1950. I remember him walking into the classroom; the chatter and conversations suddenly stopped as he took his seat. The chatter started again, but the subject matter had dramatically changed. I remember going up to him after class to say hello. To me he was just another kid to befriend. I think it was the same for me when forming the Satellites and Cavaliers. It was the voice that mattered, not the color of your skin.

The block that I lived on - Bay 28th Street (my house number was 27), had two synagogues; one Reform and one Conservative. I discovered my voice and the passion for music in the Synagogue and Temple I attended.

Believe it or not, I was very religious as a kid. My parents, who were not at all religious, insisted I go to Hebrew school three times a week, Monday, Wednesday and Sunday Morning. Boy did I hate going on Sunday morning after going to school Monday to Friday. My best friend Stevie Scheiman and I would go to services together. When the Cantors would sing I was mesmerized; I wanted to be a Cantor. Truth be told, I just wanted to sing. I sang at synagogue, at school, in the shower or along with the records my father would bring home. I would sing along with the radio and with musical artists on our 25 black and white TV. I remember Your Hit Parade". It was a TV show that had 50’s white singers perform cover performances of the top 10 records on the charts that week. I thought it was very funny to watch and listen to white middle aged singers try to sing black rhythm and blues songs. I would laugh my ass off… peals of laughter could be heard from my living room while watching that show.

I remember clearly the excitement when Dad would bring home albums of classical music and Broadway shows, as well as some popular records of the 40’s and 50’s. We would gather in the living room and listen to the latest records. I remember trying to imitate Perry Como, Vaughn Monroe, Frankie Lane and Bing Crosby. I even tried my hand at being a ventriloquist. My parents got me a Jerry Mahoney hand puppet. I would put on shows for my family and think I was pretty good at it, but I always went back to singing.

Throughout this book I will talk about some well-known and not so well-known people that I met along my journey. Some were just a passing encounter and some had a profound effect on my road through life, especially the singing part.

During a conversation with my Aunt Shelia recently, we were discussing this book, and my cousin Freddie reminded me of an incident I had long forgotten. When I was twelve or thirteen, I would visit my Aunt in Brooklyn. The houses were close together and there was a small back yard where we would play. On one occasion, I was playing in the backyard and I got into an argument with the girl next door. She was kind of cute but I did my best to rile her up and she ran back into the house in a stew. Many years later I found out that girl was Carly Simon…THE Carly Simon. She would be driven in a limo from Manhattan to visit her aunt, right next door to Aunt Shelia’s in Brooklyn.

Aunt Shelia was the first professional singer in our family. Opera was her music of choice. Once she got married and had my three cousins to raise (Freddie, Phillip and Richie), her singing career came to an abrupt halt. My Uncle Max was a violinist; he died of pneumonia in his early 20’s as a result of getting sick after attending a baseball game at Yankee Stadium. Grandma Anna told me that… and that’s how I got my middle name, Maxim. Both my Cousin Fred and I believe, cousin Max’s ghost still resides in the attic of Grandma’s house in Englewood, New Jersey… but that’s another story.

Sons of Israel on the corner of 21st Avenue And Benson

Photo by: Richard Harris

CHAPTER TWO

THE BRONX

OK back to the Bronx for the rest of the story.

In 1953, my family received an eviction notice telling us we had to move from our Illegal basement apartment. Truth be told, it was not a healthy environment for any of us. The place flooded whenever there was a bad rain storm. I developed asthma while living there. Nevertheless, when the news came that we were leaving Brooklyn, I was devastated.

We were refugees from Brooklyn. My family moved to the Sedgwick Projects in June, 1954. It was a hot summer day, we left the moving van at Bay 28th, boarded the BMT subway train at Ocean Parkway station. I remember looking out the window of the subway car, trying to soak in my last view of the old neighborhood, with tears running down my face.

The apartment we moved into had no air conditioning (not even a fan) and only two bedrooms. I now had to share one with my brother, ugh. The Projects (that’s what we would say whenever they came up in conversation) is in the University Heights section of the Bronx bordered by University Avenue and Undercliff Avenue (east to west) and 174th street and the Cross Bronx Expressway (north to south).

From my bedroom window, we had a view of the Expressway being built and witnessed the heart of the Bronx being torn out as they demolished whole neighborhoods to make way for the new highway. Many a morning I would be shaken out of a sound sleep by the sound of explosions from below as new roads were carved out.

The Bronx, Yankee Land, Ugh. The Bronx in the 50’s was a breeding ground for musical talent; Dion and the Belmonts, Carly Simon, Bobby Darin, Eydie Gorme, Phil Spector, and The Earls, just to name a few.

The ethnic population of the Bronx was predominantly Jewish and Italian but there were some Irish as well. Sedgwick was one of three new Urban