Fogel The Chazz'n
Fogel the Chazz’n
In the summer of 1966, I was a resident of the 92nd street Y. I lived on the 8th floor, and my best friend, Eddy Fogel lived in the next room. Rent was $15 a week plus free maid service. Along with residency, came free use of the Y’s facilities. The gymnasium is world famous for it’s four wall handball, and basketball courts. At that time, the New York Knickerboker professional basketball team used the facility to work out.
Canadian born Eddy Fogel and I were cantorial students at the Hebrew Hebrew Union College School of Sacred Music. I had never met anyone quite like Eddy before. While I was brought up in a Jewish “ghetto” in Brooklyn called Boro park, and a graduate of an all boys yeshivah, Fogel the Canadian had no such restraints. Unlike me, he was free in his head, with a rather wild spirit. We had met in ’65, on the day we both auditioned for the school. (He had hitchhiked from Toronto) I was walking down to the coffee lounge, and he was walking up to the 1st floor. When we met half way, for no apparent reason, we both started to laugh. It was if we knew each other. We started talking, and realized we both lived in the Y, but never ran in to each other. We became instant friends. That night we took the “D” train to Brooklyn to my father’s kosher delicatessen, the “S&M” deli. (Sachs and Mendelson) After stuffing our faces with fatty corned beef, (lean has no taste) and singing Cantorial quartets with my parents, my dad set us up with a doggy bag, and sent us to the train.
We were in a relatively uncrowded train for the ride home. I remember sitting in the old rattan seats with Fogel at my side. In the doggy bag was some goodies, including a couple of “midget” salami’s. Pretty soon the smell of garlic was wafting through the subway car.By the time we hit lower east manhattan, our mission was clear. We looked at each other and politely nodded, in the style of Laurel and Hardy. Fogel removed a midget salami from the bag, creating a slight stir in the in the passengers of our general vicinity. Slowly, and delicately, with his pinky raised, he peeled off about 3 inches from the top of said salami, unleashing an even more pungent smell of garlic in the subway car. By this time, we had the full attention of our fellow travelers. With a savage thrust, Fogel bit into the tip, tearing off a generous chunk. He then handed it over to me, and I did the same. The subway car erupted into wild applause, and to this day, I believe that we were the first successful subway artists in the city, which led to an explosion in the ’70’s and beyond.
Now that we knew each other, we decided to play some hand ball at the Y the next evening. Upon finishing, we visited the steam room to have a good “shvitz”. While sitting on the wooden benches sweating away, the doors opened up, and in walks the entire New York Knicks team, fresh from a workout, and naked as the day they were born. I tried to act cool, but five foot five and pot bellied Eddy Fogel dropped his mouth, and with a look of astonishment, whispered (rather loudly) “Who the hell are these guys Jackie; talk about salamis!” I whispered: “Eddy, you’re killing me…” but I have to admit it was an amazing spectacle seeing those fellows up close and personal, ranging from six foot Guard Howard Komives, to seven foot Center Walt Bellamy. Poor Fogel was out of his element, as the national sport of Canada was ice hockey, not basketball.
After the shvitz, we did what all guys do; line up to get on the scale, and see how much weight you dropped. Standing in front of Eddy was six foot four guard Dick Barnett. Barnett climbs on the scale, and Fogel’s face behind him was about as high as his buttocks. Fogel gets on tip toe, and taps him on his lower back. Barnett turns around, and Fogel says in his high tenor: “What’s your name?” Banett repies: “Barnett.” Not wanting to be rude, the ballplayer says: “What’s your name?” Eddy replies: “Fogel.” Fogel asks: “What do you do?” Barnett replies: “I play ball.”Barnett says: “What do you do?” Fogel replies: I’m a Chazz’n!”
