Moondog
From Wikipedia: "Louis Thomas Hardin (May 26, 1916 – September 8, 1999), better known as Moondog, was an American composer, musician, poet and inventor of several musical instruments. He was blind from the age of 16. In New York from the late 1940s until he left in 1972, he could often be found on 6th Avenue between 52nd and 55th Street wearing a cloak and Viking-style helmet, sometimes busking or selling music, but often just standing silent and still.
He was widely recognized as "the Viking of 6th Avenue" by thousands of passersby and residents who weren't aware of his musical career. In 1947 Hardin had adopted the pen name "Moondog" in honor of a dog "who used to howl at the moon more than any dog I knew of."
He is included in the Candor historical society pages because he spent a lot of time over the years in Candor in a half-cave/half-leant0 that he built at 230 Slate Rd. in 1956. He lived here thru 1974.
For your listening pleasure, look at the bottom of this page for several pieces of Moondog's music. Also, there is a recording of a BBC radio program about Moondog in New York, which was broadcast on May 31, 2018
He was widely recognized as "the Viking of 6th Avenue" by thousands of passersby and residents who weren't aware of his musical career. In 1947 Hardin had adopted the pen name "Moondog" in honor of a dog "who used to howl at the moon more than any dog I knew of."
He is included in the Candor historical society pages because he spent a lot of time over the years in Candor in a half-cave/half-leant0 that he built at 230 Slate Rd. in 1956. He lived here thru 1974.
For your listening pleasure, look at the bottom of this page for several pieces of Moondog's music. Also, there is a recording of a BBC radio program about Moondog in New York, which was broadcast on May 31, 2018
How Moondog Captured the Sounds of New York
by Amanda Petrusich in The New Yorker December 9, 2019.
"Synchronizing his work to traffic and footsteps, the musician and composer the clamor of street life into song."
"Synchronizing his work to traffic and footsteps, the musician and composer the clamor of street life into song."
The following seven photos were provided by Magie Dominic who worked with Moondog giving poetry readings in 1966 and 1967 in New York City. Dominic also produced Moondog's play, Thor the Noordom. The photos were all taken in 1966 at an outdoor poetry reading where they read on Sunday afternoons, and a theater event produced by Dominic in 1966.
Moondog Mania Hits Candor
By Carol A. Henry
The Candor Historical Society welcomed over 45 guests to Moondog Mania Night on Nov. 15. Those who came to hear stories about Moondog or tell their own tales entered the meeting room to strains of Louis 'Moondog' Hardin's lyrical music.
It didn't take long for the individual personal accounts to begin. Mike Gulachok from Owego started it off with a brief introduction of Moondog. From there everyone jumped in and the entertainment continued. Bucky Moon, Moondog's neighbor while living in Candor explained how in the early 60s when the goldenrod was in full bloom, he watched a man pull an eight foot red oak log that was bound with leather, across the field like a work horse. At that time Moondog was living in a hole in a ravine where he bad 'holed up for the winter.' According to Moon, Moondog declared that it was "warm down in the earth let the wind blow, I'll be fine" Moon helped him dig the hole out and offered to help him build a shack.
"Moondog wasn't a beggar, hut he led a simple life", Moon told the crowd that was gathered. "He had miles of string all over the place with knots in it to help him identify which direction and where things were located by the number of knots he had tied. I had gotten my vacation check of $222 that year and I bought the materials for him to build the small house closer to the road. When I drove by I would toot my horn and if he wanted anything he would raise his broom for me to stop. Usually he would need some provisions. I remember he always wanted Chock-full-of-Nuts coffee and he would make it in a tin can over the open fire and it looked just like tar. I couldn't stand it, but I drank it because I didn't want to hurt his feelings."
Moon recounts one time when it was a nasty, raw, day and he convinced Moondog to go home with him. "He wouldn't sleep in a bed, but put his sleeping bag on the floor." Moon said. "We did a lot of traveling together. He was a real friend. He had a lot of pride he was my kind of man."
Hardin came to Candor in the 1950s when he heard about some land that was available. He came and camped out and eventually owned about 40 acres, and lived in the area for more than 20 years.
For those who don't know who Moondog was, he was a blind musician, only able to see a bit of light and some items very dose up to his eyes, who lived in Candor during the 1950s 1970s and traveled to and from New York City where he hung out on 52nd and 54th Street around Madison Square Garden. His music was considered mostly Classical, but he also wrote poetry. He rubbed elbows with greats such as New York Philharmonics conductor Artur Rodzinski, Charlie Parker, Lester Young, and he even appeared on the Today Show, The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. His music was picked up by labels such as Epic, Angel, and Mars. Janis Joplin recorded his song 'All is Loneliness', which became a hit. He published a CD this past year.
Hardin was born in Marysville, Kansas in 1916. He was blinded at the age of 16 when a blasting cap went off in his hands. In 1933, he attended a school for the blind in St. Louis, and later attended a school in Iowa where he received formal training in music. For awhile he lived in Batesville, Arkansas where he won a scholarship to study in Memphis, Tennessee. Around 1947 he started using his pen-name Moondog in honor of his dog that use to howl at the moon.
Moondog died of heart failure in September 1999 at the age of 83, in Munster, Germany where he had lived for the past ten years. He was married twice, and according to Gulachok, he stopped dressing as a Viking about 15 years ago. "He dressed more as a druid during his time in Germany. It was his way of establishing an identity, as ge had a great appreciation of Nordic culture."
It was also a way of protecting himself in New York City. He felt people would respect him as an individual, and in fact he often had well-to-do businessmen and musicians stop by and chat with him as he stood on the street in front of a well-to-do hotel.
Phil Jordan gave his account of meeting Moondog as a child. "It was a cold, blustery night, with snow and rain and I was going across the bridge, hunched over. I saw cloth covered feet and looked up to find Moondog standing there. I thought I had died and wondered what had happened. He had a cloth knapsack and I remember thinking that that was where he put heads of children. Later, when I was working at Johnny's I asked why he would be out walking alone because I didn't understand at the time that he had no idea what the weather was like because he couldn't see it."
John Hitchings of John Fine Foods in Owego told how Moondog would come into his store with a list in Braille. "He would come into the store and read his grocery list to me and I would get his groceries for him, then call him a taxi. He often invited me to his concerts at his home in Candor. I used to watch him on the Johnny Carson Show."
"When Moondog would get off the bus on his way home to Brink Road," Don Weber said, "he became well acquainted with all the dogs along the way up the road to his house. He navigated his way by the dogs bark, as he talked to them in the dark." Bob Berg, also of Candor, told how he had seen Moondog actually sing with the dogs, getting each of them to howl just right as he strummed out a drumbeat on the thigh. "It was beautiful," he stated, laughing along with the crowd, picturing the site it must have made.
Altbough Moondog was very adept at finding his way around, it wasn't always easy. Bob Weber recalled the day Moondog was dropped off at the wrong intersection. "I was living on 96B at the time and was home for lunch, looking out the window at Martin Hollow (now Ketchum). I saw Moondog heading up the road and knew that he was on the wrong road and would have gotten lost up in the woods if I didn't let him know." Weber told the gathering. "When I called to him, he recognized my voice immediately, even though he had heard it a couple of times before. I brought him back home and offered him lunch, which he declined. I took of picture of him with my son Bobby who was only two years old at the time. I took Moondog home to Brink Road."
Weber clarified that the reason that Moondog had been dropped off at the wrong road was that there must have been a new bus driver that day. Moondog had given the driver directions for the location, but a green house and white house, and a gulf station were situated at both locations. "I saved Moondog from wandering around the wilderness," Weber stated.
Bob Berg told about his involvement with Moondog. "It was the hippie era and he was a great hippie to be around. I was going to Alfred at the time and a historic building the Steinhammer was about to be torn down and we wanted to save it. But we needed the money to do it. When I mentioned this to Moondog, he offered to give a concert."
Berg had no idea at the time what Moondogs musical abilities were, but he told the music department about him and to his amazement, the music department was excited to have Moondog on campus to give the concert.
"His music was organized by the world or mind, as he felt that it was all organized by the same supreme being he was a brilliant man when he went to Germany, they grabbed him up and never let him come back to New York." Berg said.
Bucky Moon stated that Hardin lectured in colleges all over the countryside, and that he knew and played with several hundred musicians that he knew personally.
On another perspective, Peter Silag, who grew up in New York City, knew Moondog from his life there. "In the 1960s he had a corner on 55th 56th in front of a fancy hotel where he would stand from afternoon to evening. He hung out there knowing that a lot of TV personalities worked and would be walking by," Silag said. "I was in high school and my stepfather, who was a Jazz Critic, knew him. I became curious about him and decided to get an album of his from the early 40s or 50s where he actually played the instruments that he had made. Often he would disappear for a few months at a time, (probably when he came back to Candor)."
Silag says that Hardin was never a panhandler on the streets of New York. He was a well-respected musician who did not perform on the streets. Instead, he would talk to people in cosmic tones and recite his poetry and get into real deep conversations. Although Silag had no idea where Moondog spent his nights while in the city, there is mention of it on the inside of his record album from Round The World of Sound: Moondog Madrigals: "Following the writing of 3 up in my hemlock shack, I was back in New York by June 12 at Hippie House, a house full of hippies on West 82nd Street where I had been staying for some time. There I wrote the rest of the new rounds of Book I during the remainder of June. I sometimes wrote as many as six rounds in a day there before I left in August."
In the album, Hardin also mentions writing several songs after a car accident. The accident took place on the way back from the Alfred concert, Berg told of the incident prior to seeing it written up in the album the evening of Moondog Mania.
Gulachok left the crowd with one lasting impression to walk away with, that of Moondog, the blind musician, steering the Susquehanna Queen up and down the river a Viking at the Helm! Of course he was with friends at the time.
The remainder of the evening was spent listening to several pieces of his music that is owned by various members of the Historical Society, those who had come to share, and some that were on loan. There were records, cassettes, and CDs.
Gulachok has written many articles on Moondog over the years, as he was a good friend, and followed his career carefully. Many in Candor never really knew Hardin, or understood his brilliance and music ability. By sharing his stories with the public, the Candor Historical Society's intention was to educate the public on one of Candors great unknowns that bad become world renown.
From the Owego Pennysaver, June 16, 2013
author unknown
Since relocating to this area, nearly 30 years ago, there was a story that I heard often over the years. Maybe someone would mention this story in passing by, or they would engage in conversation about it; either way, this story resonated. It is the story of a man known locally as “Moondog”.
Louis Hardin, better known as Moondog, was the late blind and genius transient-by-choice New York-based street musician who performed and composed his music while standing on the same Manhattan street corner (53rd Street and 6th Avenue) for over 25 years. But Moondog, in spite of his blindness, also made his way, by bus and after earning his fare, to Candor, N.Y. where he had built a log cabin that he could retreat too.
According to stories written and told of Moondog, he built this cabin in the 1960’s, by felling trees and dragging them through the forest using a leather strap around his forehead. This is where Moondog would then escape from his homelessness on the city streets of New York – a place where he had become known as the “Viking of 6th Avenue”.
These same accounts described Moondog’s life in New York City as a necessary evil, where he would earn his money from music he composed. Recognizable, Moondog wore his characteristic wool cape, leather shoes and Viking helmet – all handmade. He would sit on these city streets performing, composing and talking about his music.
In a retreat, he would then head to Candor, N.Y., by bus, sparking curiosity in everyone who saw him, or passed by.
The history of Moondog
In an article written by Mike Gulachok, who became quite familiar with Moondog over the years, he wrote:
“For those unfamiliar with the Moondog saga, let me briefly bring you up to speed. The son of an Episcopal minister and mother who played the organ in the church, Louis was blinded by a blasting cap as a young man. At the Iowa School for the Blind he learned discipline and training in music. In 1943, he journeyed to New York City immersing himself into the polyrhythms and poetics of his surroundings.
In the 1950s he was taken under the wing of conductor Arthur Rodzinski and the New York Philharmonic. No stranger to the jazz and folk milieu of the times, this eccentric genius began producing his own eclectic musical and spoken word compositions entertaining and challenging many. In addition to the creative ferment, Moondog became the most iconic emblematic street figure in the city’s history.
Bob Berg is pictured with an image he drew of Moondog. Berg knew Moondog on a personal level during the periods in which he visited his cabin in Candor, N.Y.
Dressed in handmade leather often depicting a Viking, from 1958 to 1973, Louis divided his time between his hemlock shack in Candor and New York City. In 1974, ‘his long peripatetic life’ sent him to Germany and Europe where he found a good measure of artistic fulfillment and redemptive peace. In Europe Louis was able ‘to see the grand design’ of his many passions reach fruition. He died in 1999, age 83.”
Recollections of Moondog
Recently, and it is not hard to do, we stumbled across some residents in the Candor area who recalled Moondog, quite fondly.
One of those residents is Bob Berg, owner of Thunderbird Atlatl, or spear throwers. Scrambling to find an old sketch Berg had drawn of Moondog, he soon spoke of his memories of the man once known as the Viking of 6th Avenue.
Berg described being in college during the time that he was introduced to Moondog. Back in those days, Berg noted, he hung out with the late Dale Buckthal and Burt Warner, a mutual friend. They would go visit Moondog in his Candor cabin when he was in town.
Berg described Moondog’s cabin as a 20×20 frame built home that rested next to a sod house. Berg noted he had several dogs that lived in the home with him. But it is the story Berg told of the dogs that is most interesting.“The dogs would sing with him,” said Berg of Moondog. He continued, “He got hounds because he liked the way they sang. He would shake a can of nails in a 5-4 or 7-9 tempo, and the dogs would sing!”
As for Moondog himself, Berg described him as a hippy. “He was incredibly talented,” Berg added, “and he had great stories to tell.” Moondog was in his sixties or seventies around that time, and his style is what most recall of their chance encounters with Moondog. According to Berg, Moondog would make all of his clothes out of blankets. He also wore a hat with horns and carried a spear, Berg noted, thus he looked like a Viking.
Because of Moondog’s eclectic fashion, many from the area knew of Moondog, and would talk of him often – even to this day. Locals like Jeanette Ferguson, and Mike Winters recall seeing Moondog arriving in nearby Owego, N.Y. off the bus from New York City. Lois E. Barden recalled him as well, stating, “Moondog used to ride the bus from New York City to Owego, and then hitch a ride to Candor. Moondog was a blind musician. He used to dress like a Norseman.”
Dr. Keith Nichols held those same recollections. “I used to see him in Viking regalia at the smoke shop,” said Nichols. Donalyn Simmons Ketchum knew him as well, and described him as gentle, and interesting.
Inside Moondog’s life
But none recall him as fondly as Berg, as he delved even further into the private life of a once famed man.
Berg talked of Moondog’s fame, and how he would hang out in New York City with a gentleman from the Philharmonic Orchestra, a Leonard Bernstein. While in the city, according to Berg, Moondog would sell songs he wrote and then applied to sheet music on the busy street.
Berg described Moondog as very cool, and unbelievably intelligent.“ Anyone who can play piano, sing, and tap rhythm on drums….,” said Berg, “he was a great drummer.” Berg also noted that the instruments Moondog would play were unusual, like wires. “He could make a car into a musical instrument by tapping,” Berg added.
The stories of Moondog
On a personal level, Moondog was best known for having interesting stories.
Berg described the late Dale Buckthal’s grandmother, and how Moondog would visit her on Fifth Avenue in neighboring Owego, N.Y. According to Berg, “Grandma Buckthal loved his visits.”
It was the early seventies, when Dale Buckthal would pick Berg up in his little Volkswagen, and the two would go up and visit Moondog. They would spend hours. But Berg also noted that some were afraid of Moondog because he was blind, and because of his stature – towering at 6’2” and having wild grey hair. Also, when he lived in Candor, N.Y., he dressed in Army blankets, and later he wore bright white. “Moondog was the first guy I met that wore a kilt,” Berg added.
The music
But the mystery behind the man was his music.
Classically trained, Moondog composed all music in his head and transcribed it using a Braille typewriter hidden underneath his wool coat. It would then take one of his many loyal companions’ long hours to transcribe his works onto sheet. It is rumored that because Moondog was such a productive composer (active for five decades) and because of the highly time-consuming process to transcribe his composition to sheet music, that a large part of his body of work has never been heard.
But it was heard by Berg. While in college, studying German, Berg held a concert featuring Moondog to raise funds to save the Steinheim at Alfred University. According to Berg, Moondog got with the students and taught them everything, including drums. His music, as Berg described, was unique.
But it was shortly after that Moondog went to Germany, and it is there that he came to his own until his eventual death in 1999, and at the age of 83. Now, all that is left of Moondog is sparse recordings of his music, and the memories of those who had the chance to meet him.
Memories remain
“Every now and then I think of him,” said Berg of Moondog. And the cabin, as far as Berg knows, is gone. “It was built on cinder block piers, so it is probably gone,” Berg added.
There are also the stories that remain. Berg recalled how the blind Moondog would collect firewood to heat his cabin.
“You would think he would get lost,” said Berg. But Moondog didn’t get lost. In fact, he would tie a string to himself to find his way back to the cabin, and would tap on trees to figure out if they were dead or alive.
Moondog also wore homemade shoes. Although, Berg added, they stopped in Hornell at one time to buy boots for Moondog as they worked better in the snow.
As for Moondog’s music, Berg and others described it as interesting. “It is good, but a bit edgy,” said Berg. To listen to Moondog’s music, visit moondogrising.com.
Today, there is merely a word about Moondog until the memories are sparked through various stories, such as this.
“Once in a while,” said Berg, “people remember.” He continued, “Back in the seventies he was the talk of the town. He was a very interesting, but odd character.”
As for Berg, an old friend of Moondog’s, he has a life that is a bit eclectic on its own. Before Atlatl, Berg sold furniture out of a catalogue, did mill work and molding too. Then, Berg got into creating spears as a hobby. But that hobby has grown, and last year Berg created 12,000 spears. “I buy logs from local loggers, saw the logs, take the planks and run them through a mill to create the spears,” said Berg. “Things go full circle.”
By Carol A. Henry
The Candor Historical Society welcomed over 45 guests to Moondog Mania Night on Nov. 15. Those who came to hear stories about Moondog or tell their own tales entered the meeting room to strains of Louis 'Moondog' Hardin's lyrical music.
It didn't take long for the individual personal accounts to begin. Mike Gulachok from Owego started it off with a brief introduction of Moondog. From there everyone jumped in and the entertainment continued. Bucky Moon, Moondog's neighbor while living in Candor explained how in the early 60s when the goldenrod was in full bloom, he watched a man pull an eight foot red oak log that was bound with leather, across the field like a work horse. At that time Moondog was living in a hole in a ravine where he bad 'holed up for the winter.' According to Moon, Moondog declared that it was "warm down in the earth let the wind blow, I'll be fine" Moon helped him dig the hole out and offered to help him build a shack.
"Moondog wasn't a beggar, hut he led a simple life", Moon told the crowd that was gathered. "He had miles of string all over the place with knots in it to help him identify which direction and where things were located by the number of knots he had tied. I had gotten my vacation check of $222 that year and I bought the materials for him to build the small house closer to the road. When I drove by I would toot my horn and if he wanted anything he would raise his broom for me to stop. Usually he would need some provisions. I remember he always wanted Chock-full-of-Nuts coffee and he would make it in a tin can over the open fire and it looked just like tar. I couldn't stand it, but I drank it because I didn't want to hurt his feelings."
Moon recounts one time when it was a nasty, raw, day and he convinced Moondog to go home with him. "He wouldn't sleep in a bed, but put his sleeping bag on the floor." Moon said. "We did a lot of traveling together. He was a real friend. He had a lot of pride he was my kind of man."
Hardin came to Candor in the 1950s when he heard about some land that was available. He came and camped out and eventually owned about 40 acres, and lived in the area for more than 20 years.
For those who don't know who Moondog was, he was a blind musician, only able to see a bit of light and some items very dose up to his eyes, who lived in Candor during the 1950s 1970s and traveled to and from New York City where he hung out on 52nd and 54th Street around Madison Square Garden. His music was considered mostly Classical, but he also wrote poetry. He rubbed elbows with greats such as New York Philharmonics conductor Artur Rodzinski, Charlie Parker, Lester Young, and he even appeared on the Today Show, The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. His music was picked up by labels such as Epic, Angel, and Mars. Janis Joplin recorded his song 'All is Loneliness', which became a hit. He published a CD this past year.
Hardin was born in Marysville, Kansas in 1916. He was blinded at the age of 16 when a blasting cap went off in his hands. In 1933, he attended a school for the blind in St. Louis, and later attended a school in Iowa where he received formal training in music. For awhile he lived in Batesville, Arkansas where he won a scholarship to study in Memphis, Tennessee. Around 1947 he started using his pen-name Moondog in honor of his dog that use to howl at the moon.
Moondog died of heart failure in September 1999 at the age of 83, in Munster, Germany where he had lived for the past ten years. He was married twice, and according to Gulachok, he stopped dressing as a Viking about 15 years ago. "He dressed more as a druid during his time in Germany. It was his way of establishing an identity, as ge had a great appreciation of Nordic culture."
It was also a way of protecting himself in New York City. He felt people would respect him as an individual, and in fact he often had well-to-do businessmen and musicians stop by and chat with him as he stood on the street in front of a well-to-do hotel.
Phil Jordan gave his account of meeting Moondog as a child. "It was a cold, blustery night, with snow and rain and I was going across the bridge, hunched over. I saw cloth covered feet and looked up to find Moondog standing there. I thought I had died and wondered what had happened. He had a cloth knapsack and I remember thinking that that was where he put heads of children. Later, when I was working at Johnny's I asked why he would be out walking alone because I didn't understand at the time that he had no idea what the weather was like because he couldn't see it."
John Hitchings of John Fine Foods in Owego told how Moondog would come into his store with a list in Braille. "He would come into the store and read his grocery list to me and I would get his groceries for him, then call him a taxi. He often invited me to his concerts at his home in Candor. I used to watch him on the Johnny Carson Show."
"When Moondog would get off the bus on his way home to Brink Road," Don Weber said, "he became well acquainted with all the dogs along the way up the road to his house. He navigated his way by the dogs bark, as he talked to them in the dark." Bob Berg, also of Candor, told how he had seen Moondog actually sing with the dogs, getting each of them to howl just right as he strummed out a drumbeat on the thigh. "It was beautiful," he stated, laughing along with the crowd, picturing the site it must have made.
Altbough Moondog was very adept at finding his way around, it wasn't always easy. Bob Weber recalled the day Moondog was dropped off at the wrong intersection. "I was living on 96B at the time and was home for lunch, looking out the window at Martin Hollow (now Ketchum). I saw Moondog heading up the road and knew that he was on the wrong road and would have gotten lost up in the woods if I didn't let him know." Weber told the gathering. "When I called to him, he recognized my voice immediately, even though he had heard it a couple of times before. I brought him back home and offered him lunch, which he declined. I took of picture of him with my son Bobby who was only two years old at the time. I took Moondog home to Brink Road."
Weber clarified that the reason that Moondog had been dropped off at the wrong road was that there must have been a new bus driver that day. Moondog had given the driver directions for the location, but a green house and white house, and a gulf station were situated at both locations. "I saved Moondog from wandering around the wilderness," Weber stated.
Bob Berg told about his involvement with Moondog. "It was the hippie era and he was a great hippie to be around. I was going to Alfred at the time and a historic building the Steinhammer was about to be torn down and we wanted to save it. But we needed the money to do it. When I mentioned this to Moondog, he offered to give a concert."
Berg had no idea at the time what Moondogs musical abilities were, but he told the music department about him and to his amazement, the music department was excited to have Moondog on campus to give the concert.
"His music was organized by the world or mind, as he felt that it was all organized by the same supreme being he was a brilliant man when he went to Germany, they grabbed him up and never let him come back to New York." Berg said.
Bucky Moon stated that Hardin lectured in colleges all over the countryside, and that he knew and played with several hundred musicians that he knew personally.
On another perspective, Peter Silag, who grew up in New York City, knew Moondog from his life there. "In the 1960s he had a corner on 55th 56th in front of a fancy hotel where he would stand from afternoon to evening. He hung out there knowing that a lot of TV personalities worked and would be walking by," Silag said. "I was in high school and my stepfather, who was a Jazz Critic, knew him. I became curious about him and decided to get an album of his from the early 40s or 50s where he actually played the instruments that he had made. Often he would disappear for a few months at a time, (probably when he came back to Candor)."
Silag says that Hardin was never a panhandler on the streets of New York. He was a well-respected musician who did not perform on the streets. Instead, he would talk to people in cosmic tones and recite his poetry and get into real deep conversations. Although Silag had no idea where Moondog spent his nights while in the city, there is mention of it on the inside of his record album from Round The World of Sound: Moondog Madrigals: "Following the writing of 3 up in my hemlock shack, I was back in New York by June 12 at Hippie House, a house full of hippies on West 82nd Street where I had been staying for some time. There I wrote the rest of the new rounds of Book I during the remainder of June. I sometimes wrote as many as six rounds in a day there before I left in August."
In the album, Hardin also mentions writing several songs after a car accident. The accident took place on the way back from the Alfred concert, Berg told of the incident prior to seeing it written up in the album the evening of Moondog Mania.
Gulachok left the crowd with one lasting impression to walk away with, that of Moondog, the blind musician, steering the Susquehanna Queen up and down the river a Viking at the Helm! Of course he was with friends at the time.
The remainder of the evening was spent listening to several pieces of his music that is owned by various members of the Historical Society, those who had come to share, and some that were on loan. There were records, cassettes, and CDs.
Gulachok has written many articles on Moondog over the years, as he was a good friend, and followed his career carefully. Many in Candor never really knew Hardin, or understood his brilliance and music ability. By sharing his stories with the public, the Candor Historical Society's intention was to educate the public on one of Candors great unknowns that bad become world renown.
From the Owego Pennysaver, June 16, 2013
author unknown
Since relocating to this area, nearly 30 years ago, there was a story that I heard often over the years. Maybe someone would mention this story in passing by, or they would engage in conversation about it; either way, this story resonated. It is the story of a man known locally as “Moondog”.
Louis Hardin, better known as Moondog, was the late blind and genius transient-by-choice New York-based street musician who performed and composed his music while standing on the same Manhattan street corner (53rd Street and 6th Avenue) for over 25 years. But Moondog, in spite of his blindness, also made his way, by bus and after earning his fare, to Candor, N.Y. where he had built a log cabin that he could retreat too.
According to stories written and told of Moondog, he built this cabin in the 1960’s, by felling trees and dragging them through the forest using a leather strap around his forehead. This is where Moondog would then escape from his homelessness on the city streets of New York – a place where he had become known as the “Viking of 6th Avenue”.
These same accounts described Moondog’s life in New York City as a necessary evil, where he would earn his money from music he composed. Recognizable, Moondog wore his characteristic wool cape, leather shoes and Viking helmet – all handmade. He would sit on these city streets performing, composing and talking about his music.
In a retreat, he would then head to Candor, N.Y., by bus, sparking curiosity in everyone who saw him, or passed by.
The history of Moondog
In an article written by Mike Gulachok, who became quite familiar with Moondog over the years, he wrote:
“For those unfamiliar with the Moondog saga, let me briefly bring you up to speed. The son of an Episcopal minister and mother who played the organ in the church, Louis was blinded by a blasting cap as a young man. At the Iowa School for the Blind he learned discipline and training in music. In 1943, he journeyed to New York City immersing himself into the polyrhythms and poetics of his surroundings.
In the 1950s he was taken under the wing of conductor Arthur Rodzinski and the New York Philharmonic. No stranger to the jazz and folk milieu of the times, this eccentric genius began producing his own eclectic musical and spoken word compositions entertaining and challenging many. In addition to the creative ferment, Moondog became the most iconic emblematic street figure in the city’s history.
Bob Berg is pictured with an image he drew of Moondog. Berg knew Moondog on a personal level during the periods in which he visited his cabin in Candor, N.Y.
Dressed in handmade leather often depicting a Viking, from 1958 to 1973, Louis divided his time between his hemlock shack in Candor and New York City. In 1974, ‘his long peripatetic life’ sent him to Germany and Europe where he found a good measure of artistic fulfillment and redemptive peace. In Europe Louis was able ‘to see the grand design’ of his many passions reach fruition. He died in 1999, age 83.”
Recollections of Moondog
Recently, and it is not hard to do, we stumbled across some residents in the Candor area who recalled Moondog, quite fondly.
One of those residents is Bob Berg, owner of Thunderbird Atlatl, or spear throwers. Scrambling to find an old sketch Berg had drawn of Moondog, he soon spoke of his memories of the man once known as the Viking of 6th Avenue.
Berg described being in college during the time that he was introduced to Moondog. Back in those days, Berg noted, he hung out with the late Dale Buckthal and Burt Warner, a mutual friend. They would go visit Moondog in his Candor cabin when he was in town.
Berg described Moondog’s cabin as a 20×20 frame built home that rested next to a sod house. Berg noted he had several dogs that lived in the home with him. But it is the story Berg told of the dogs that is most interesting.“The dogs would sing with him,” said Berg of Moondog. He continued, “He got hounds because he liked the way they sang. He would shake a can of nails in a 5-4 or 7-9 tempo, and the dogs would sing!”
As for Moondog himself, Berg described him as a hippy. “He was incredibly talented,” Berg added, “and he had great stories to tell.” Moondog was in his sixties or seventies around that time, and his style is what most recall of their chance encounters with Moondog. According to Berg, Moondog would make all of his clothes out of blankets. He also wore a hat with horns and carried a spear, Berg noted, thus he looked like a Viking.
Because of Moondog’s eclectic fashion, many from the area knew of Moondog, and would talk of him often – even to this day. Locals like Jeanette Ferguson, and Mike Winters recall seeing Moondog arriving in nearby Owego, N.Y. off the bus from New York City. Lois E. Barden recalled him as well, stating, “Moondog used to ride the bus from New York City to Owego, and then hitch a ride to Candor. Moondog was a blind musician. He used to dress like a Norseman.”
Dr. Keith Nichols held those same recollections. “I used to see him in Viking regalia at the smoke shop,” said Nichols. Donalyn Simmons Ketchum knew him as well, and described him as gentle, and interesting.
Inside Moondog’s life
But none recall him as fondly as Berg, as he delved even further into the private life of a once famed man.
Berg talked of Moondog’s fame, and how he would hang out in New York City with a gentleman from the Philharmonic Orchestra, a Leonard Bernstein. While in the city, according to Berg, Moondog would sell songs he wrote and then applied to sheet music on the busy street.
Berg described Moondog as very cool, and unbelievably intelligent.“ Anyone who can play piano, sing, and tap rhythm on drums….,” said Berg, “he was a great drummer.” Berg also noted that the instruments Moondog would play were unusual, like wires. “He could make a car into a musical instrument by tapping,” Berg added.
The stories of Moondog
On a personal level, Moondog was best known for having interesting stories.
Berg described the late Dale Buckthal’s grandmother, and how Moondog would visit her on Fifth Avenue in neighboring Owego, N.Y. According to Berg, “Grandma Buckthal loved his visits.”
It was the early seventies, when Dale Buckthal would pick Berg up in his little Volkswagen, and the two would go up and visit Moondog. They would spend hours. But Berg also noted that some were afraid of Moondog because he was blind, and because of his stature – towering at 6’2” and having wild grey hair. Also, when he lived in Candor, N.Y., he dressed in Army blankets, and later he wore bright white. “Moondog was the first guy I met that wore a kilt,” Berg added.
The music
But the mystery behind the man was his music.
Classically trained, Moondog composed all music in his head and transcribed it using a Braille typewriter hidden underneath his wool coat. It would then take one of his many loyal companions’ long hours to transcribe his works onto sheet. It is rumored that because Moondog was such a productive composer (active for five decades) and because of the highly time-consuming process to transcribe his composition to sheet music, that a large part of his body of work has never been heard.
But it was heard by Berg. While in college, studying German, Berg held a concert featuring Moondog to raise funds to save the Steinheim at Alfred University. According to Berg, Moondog got with the students and taught them everything, including drums. His music, as Berg described, was unique.
But it was shortly after that Moondog went to Germany, and it is there that he came to his own until his eventual death in 1999, and at the age of 83. Now, all that is left of Moondog is sparse recordings of his music, and the memories of those who had the chance to meet him.
Memories remain
“Every now and then I think of him,” said Berg of Moondog. And the cabin, as far as Berg knows, is gone. “It was built on cinder block piers, so it is probably gone,” Berg added.
There are also the stories that remain. Berg recalled how the blind Moondog would collect firewood to heat his cabin.
“You would think he would get lost,” said Berg. But Moondog didn’t get lost. In fact, he would tie a string to himself to find his way back to the cabin, and would tap on trees to figure out if they were dead or alive.
Moondog also wore homemade shoes. Although, Berg added, they stopped in Hornell at one time to buy boots for Moondog as they worked better in the snow.
As for Moondog’s music, Berg and others described it as interesting. “It is good, but a bit edgy,” said Berg. To listen to Moondog’s music, visit moondogrising.com.
Today, there is merely a word about Moondog until the memories are sparked through various stories, such as this.
“Once in a while,” said Berg, “people remember.” He continued, “Back in the seventies he was the talk of the town. He was a very interesting, but odd character.”
As for Berg, an old friend of Moondog’s, he has a life that is a bit eclectic on its own. Before Atlatl, Berg sold furniture out of a catalogue, did mill work and molding too. Then, Berg got into creating spears as a hobby. But that hobby has grown, and last year Berg created 12,000 spears. “I buy logs from local loggers, saw the logs, take the planks and run them through a mill to create the spears,” said Berg. “Things go full circle.”
Remembering Moondog: Famous Musician Part of Candor History By Sue Smith-Heavenrich, Feb 6, 2017
On Jan. 25 the Candor Historical Society held a roundtable discussion to share stories and music of Moondog. People quickly filled the chairs set around the tables at Town Hall and latecomers found seats with friends.
Dick Zavatto strode in with a silver boom box the size of a microwave and loaded up a CD filled with Louis “Moondog” Hardin’s music, beats and spoken- word poetry.
“We heard his music played on the radio during our last trip to German,” said Bob Berg as he unrolled a poster.
It was a photo of Moondog standing in front of his hemlock-log cabin, a photo Berg had sent upon request from a museum.
“They called and asked if I had anything I could lend for a display in Cologne,” Berg explained.
Moondog, who struggled to make a living as a poet and musician in the states, was famous throughout Europe. He’d moved to New York by the late 1950s split his time between the streets of New York City and the woods of Candor.
In the city, Moondog made his living writing poems for a quarter – “I remember him selling poetry at the Fourth of July carnival,” someone interjected – as well as composing music for dance companies. He also created and built his own instruments.
Bob Berg described how one of Moondog’s instruments unfolded at the Candor Historical Society meeting.
Had you lived in Candor prior to 1974 you might have seen him: a tall man wearing a Viking helmet and cloaks sewn from army blankets. Berg recalled visiting Moondog in 1970 or 71 with Dale Buckthal to help put shingles on the roof of his house. The tarpaper roof was leaking, Berg said. He was amazed that Moondog, who was blind, was also nailing shingles. At some point the musician discovered there were extra nails in the Maxwell House coffee can, so he put on the lid and began shaking it in a rhythm and singing… “and the dogs joined in,” Berg said, chuckling.
Moondog lived alone and had a system for getting around on his land: he tied lengths of twine from his house out to the woods like spokes. He could then follow these to collect firewood.
He was inventive, fashioning leg-guards from coffee cans so when he chopped wood he wouldn’t slice through his leg. He hauled logs back home using a tumpline that went across his forehead.
“When I was studying at Alfred [University] I got the crazy idea to invite Moondog to perform in concert as a way to raise money for [renovating] the Steinheim,” Berg continued.
Upon arriving, Moondog said he’d need a band, so he spent the day teaching band and choral students some of his music. Somewhere between 400-500 students showed up for the concert.
“There’s not much to do on a Saturday night at Alfred,” quipped Bob.
While he lived simply, his designs for instruments were not so simple. One of Moondog’s inventions was a combination drum and harp that would fold up. Berg tried describing it, using his hands to show how it would fold; as far as he knows it never got built.
Mike Gulachok, who lives in Owego, knew Moondog and kept in touch with him when he was in Germany. He has written a number of stories about his friend and added his own reminiscences including the time Moondog steered the Susquehanna Queen up and down the river.
The “Viking of Sixth Avenue” was so well-known that you could hop in a cab and simply say, “take me to Moondog.”
Some people thought he was a hippie, said Gulachok, but Moondog didn’t dabble in drugs. And even though he spent a fair amount of time outside the smoke shop, he didn’t smoke either.
Gulachok shared some biographical history Robert Scotto’s authoritative biography.
Born in backwoods of Marysville, Kansas, in 1916, Louis Thomas Hardin Junior’s life spanned the twentieth century. His father was an itinerant preacher, moving often, and young Louis lived on a Wyoming ranch and in Missouri.
He went blind at the age of 16 when a dynamite cap exploded in his face. Hardin studied music at the Iowa School for the blind where he learned to write music in braille, and then at the age of 27 went to New York City and began calling himself Moondog.
“How did he end up in Candor?” someone asked.
Roy Yarrington shared an answer from an old article: Moondog found a wooded lot listed in a catalog, came up on the bus and bought the property “sight unseen.”
If you would like to learn more about this iconic character that is part of Candor’s history, check out the stories and photos on Candor Historical Society’s “Moondog” page at candorhistoricalsociety.weebly.com/moondog.html.
The historical society holds meetings on the last Monday of the month at 7 p.m. in Candor Town Hall.
Moondog: Sound of New York, a BBC Radio program examining the life, work and appeal of Moondog who lived and worked in New York City in the 1950s and 60s. Includes rare recordings of Moondog speaking in the 1980s.