Organ Grinder,
The
ANNOTICO Report
Italian
Americans have a Love - Shame relationship with Organ Grinders.
On
one hand the Italian Americans loved the tunes played by the Organ
Grinders that reminded them of
On
the other hand, at the time, Most of the Non Italians thought of the Organ
Grinders as beggars, rather than street performers and they were spoken of
derisively by Non Italian adults while being adored by their children.
Beginning
in the 1870's, in NYC the organ grinders used to
come out by the hundreds in the early spring. Most of them came from the same
valley near
Public mention of organ grinders tended not to be complimentary. The New York
Times described them, in 1874, as "indolent and sometimes vicious."
But
few people reserved such special loathing for organ grinders as Fiorello La Guardia, who became mayor in 1934. La Guardia
was the son of an immigrant cornetist, who raised him
Episcopalian, and far from the slums of Five Points. So it was in grade
school on an Arizona Army base when he first encountered prejudice against
Italian Americans.
It
arrived in the form of an organ grinder, leading a monkey in a red cap. "I
can still hear their cries," he wrote in his memoirs, 50 years later. " 'Hey, Fiorello, you're a dago too. Where's your monkey?' "
Organ grinders were already disappearing by the 1930s, crowded out by the
novelty of radio, but La Guardia banned granting or renewing licenses, so in
1935, when the last 51 organ-grinder licenses expired, they disappeared EXCEPT
for One old-timer who insisted that the ban did not apply if the monkey turned
the crank, and kept playing for years. The
Only
10 other organ grinders in the country still use live monkeys — four in
Organ
grinders once associated with poverty, now are in demand at posh Kids
parties, especially those of Italian Americans, where Clowns are loathe to perform because the children can not take their eyes
off the monkey. A few in the crowd — grandparents — looked dreamy
and abstracted. They knew the tune, but were trying to remember the words.
THIS
GIG IS A REAL GRIND
The
only organ grinder left in
And
the money's not bad, as long as the monkey shines.
By
Ellen Barry
Times Staff Writer
May 26, 2006
CHERRY HILL, N.J. — People tend to think it is easy work to be an organ
grinder — basically, turn the crank, count the money — and that
drives Joe Bush crazy. [ Bush's grandfather's
name was Boscio]
When he first got into the business 31 years ago, Bush tied himself to his
monkey every night for three weeks. His wife would say goodnight and shut him
in the family room and turn up the volume on the television.
"Look, this is the real McCoy here, pal, just me and you," Bush would
say to the monkey, a white-faced capuchin named George.
Then the monkey would holler at Bush and Bush would holler at the monkey until
they were both so exhausted that they passed out. After three weeks, they
started to develop a mutual understanding.
The wife left him, and Bush and George performed together for 15 years. When
George died, Bush did not want to ! pay
top dollar for taxidermy, so he had George freeze-dried, and set him on a shelf
in the study, where he still sits today, paws extended in mid-air. That, as
Bush would say, is another story.
Now, with his 65th birthday approaching, Bush is the only organ grinder left in
the
Consequently, Bush can charge a lot for his services. Recently, when someone
from Major League Baseball asked him to appear at a gala in
"You ain't getting my business for less than
$600" is something Bush likes to say. If that sounds opportunistic,
consider his 19th century precursor, who would stand on a corner playing the
same six songs — the six that came with the barrel — until someone
paid him to stop. It's something Bush admires about the lost brotherhood of
organ grinders, whom he refers to, fondly, as "greasy little
hustlers."
"This is all about making a dollar," said Bush, who performs under
the name Boscio, set aside by his grandfather at
The organ grinders used to come out by the hundreds in the early spring, cranking
cold air through the slender pipes of their instruments. Most of them came from
the same valley near
Public mention of organ grinders tended not to be complimentary. The New York
Times described them, in 1874, as "indolent and sometimes vicious."
Monkeys scurried up pipes and disappeared into open windows; bullets meant for
monkeys hit pedestrians. The Times covered the case of Katrina Hensil, a "stout, buxom woman of 35 or 40" who
left her husband for an organ grinder who "sang duets with her," and
of "a Neapolitan and his Darwinian
The music too got mixed reviews. In an 1867 edition of Harper's Weekly, a
sneering poet described:
"the strolling Savoyard
When with grimy little talons he is plucking at the sharp;
Tintinnabulating catgut of his wretched
little harp."
But few people reserved such special loathing for organ grinders as Fiorello La Guardia, who became mayor in 1934. La Gu! ardia was the son of an immigrant cornetist,
who raised him Episcopalian, and far from the slums of Five Points. He was in
grade school on an Arizona Army base when he first encountered prejudice
against Italian Americans. It arrived in the form of an organ grinder, leading
a monkey in a red cap.
"I can still hear their cries," he wrote in his memoirs, 50 years
later. " 'Hey, Fiorello,
you're a dago too. Where's your monkey?' "
Organ grinders were already disappearing by the 1930s, crowded out by the
novelty of radio, but La Guardia banned them outright. At
New York Times music critic Harold Schonberg took an elegiac tone in 1961,
recalling "carols … when the hurdy-gurdy man cranked in the snow,
had a brittle, icicle-like tinkle that was peculiarly right, and the sound
splintered in the cold air."
"I wish I could hear that sound again this Christmas day," he sighed.
When Bush was a young man, he was a bass player in a rock 'n' roll band, a job
that offered bounteous sexual opportunity; he also tried stilt-walking, but his
heart wasn't in it. He wouldn't have become an organ grinder if it weren't for
his mustache, which grew to lush proportions in the 1970s. When the mustache
reached the corners of his mouth, it developed a curl, and his friends teased
him for looking like an organ grinder.
He tried to track down older men for advice — the handful who traveled
the circuit of fairs and flea markets — but they were maddeningly
elusive, and when he found them, they didn't talk. Not to him,
! and not to each other. "They'd say, 'You
want to learn how to do this, kid? Good luck,' " Bush
said. "I never understood why. What's the big secret? I think a lot of
them were gypsies, to tell you the truth."
So he went ahead and bought a monkey, George, from a family that kept him as a
pet. At a parade in
It was the most fun he had ever had. Olive-skinned and saucy, Bush would show
up in a crisp red-and-white striped shirt, with a colorful silk scarf knotted
around his neck and a green feather in his hatband. George kissed rings; he
also kissed ladies. Bush waggled his finger: "What'd I tell you about picki! ng
up women?" George, in an adorable display of shame, hid his face in the
crown of his top hat. He doffed his hat politely and caught balls, holding them
with his long toes.
One secret became clear: There's just something irresistible about giving money
to a monkey. Bush found himself in crowds 10 deep, while George raced to
collect dollar bills from every hand; George I had fast hands, and in his prime
could bring in $40 or $50 in an hour. At one point, when he was working at a
casino in
Bush was sympathetic: "I said, 'I can't stop them. They're not giving it
to me, they're giving it to the monkey.'"
He built a suburban franchise, working private parties, Italian American
societies and corporate affairs. He worked in houses whose ceilings were
painted with murals. Fashion photographers went gaga over organ grinders. He
appeared twice at the White Ho! use.
When he was dating his second wife, Sally, she was ashamed to tell her
girlfriends what he did for a living. "That," he said, with a smile,
"was a long time ago."
According to Vincent Morgan, a crank-organ enthusiast who keeps track of these
things, only 10 other organ grinders in the country still use live monkeys —
four in California, others in Boston, Virginia, Ohio, Texas, North Carolina and
Florida. That number is not likely to grow. Many states take a dim view of
entertainment involving capuchin monkeys, which are categorized as dangerous,
exotic animals.
Violations are taken seriously. Last year, a young man in
"I says: 'Well, you got two choices. You got to
grab your monkey and run like hell, or e! lse
sit there and wait for them to come and get your monkey and euthanize him,'
" Bush said. After a couple of days, two animal control officers showed up
at the man's door. They left with the monkey. The challenge of complying with
state oversight, Bush said, has become "almost insurmountable."
And time has worn on Bush and his monkey. Bush takes medicine for rheumatoid
arthritis that has caused his mustache to thin. George II is 19 and heading
into late life, and Bush has already decided there will be no next monkey.
He'll stop then. It was hard enough, he said, recovering from the loss of
George I. "It's just awful. You lose not only a friend but your
income," he said. Without a monkey, "you are nothing, absolutely
zero. Absolutely nothing."
But for the time being, Bush and George go out as a team.
If organ grinders were once associated with poverty, you would not have known
it at Isabella Masso's third birthday party, held on
a dazzling Satur! day
afternoon in a handsome subdivision outside Camden. The dads wore Teva sandals and khaki shorts; moms chatted about
countertops; green lawn stretched out in all directions.
Bella's father had rented a tent and hired a real hot-dog cart, a cotton candy
machine and a face-painting clown named Beanie. When Beanie arrived — in
floppy sneakers and a yellow fright wig — she peered through the crowd to
see what everyone was looking at, and her eyes widened in alarm. Who could
complete with that?
There was Bush, his mustache waxed into jaunty points and the organ slung
around his shoulder with a leather strap. George perched on his shoulder,
glancing around with an avid expression. Bush cranked the handle and the organ
played "The Sidewalks of New York," that ode to stoop life on the
East Side.
The children could not take their eyes off the monkey, with his ashen face and
long, hairy, mahogany-colored toes. A few in the crowd — grandparents —
looked dreamy a! nd
abstracted. They knew the tune, but were trying to remember the words.
http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld
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