I knew a good bit about Moondog, but who the hell knows anything about him now? As the article explains, the blind musician used to stand generally in the Sixth Avenue area around 54th Street. That is exactly where he is pictured here, and where I first saw Moondog in the late sixties.
The two brothers I was friends with lived in the building pictured in the background of the photo, to the right. In fact, I can pick out their apartment that was on the third floor. One evening, or late afternoon I was walking with one of the brothers and we passed the great Viking. I had never seen or heard of Moondog. My friend looked up, because the Viking was taller than us, and greeted him like an old friend. "Hiya Moondog." I looked at Moondog, realized he was blind, but he returned the greeting.
"You know that guy? He's got a name?"
"You never heard of Moondog? He's there all the time. Years now."
Of course they would know about Moondog. They went past him every time they left their apartment. My friend told me that as kids, he and his brother were somewhat scared of the giant Norseman that stood guard in their neighborhood. And why wouldn't a little kid be a little taken back by a guy with a spear and a horned helmet just standing there? He's not the crossing guard.
The bothers' father went past Moondog every morning because he worked at CBS, the 'Black Rock' building that Moondog would be standing in front of at the pictured spot.
Moondog (Louis T. Hardin) was born in Kansas. Well, he certainly wasn't in Kansas anymore, seen by thousands of people each day as they made their way through the area. And in front of CBS headquarters. He wasn't exactly standing outside a doorway on 11th Avenue.
At some point, there were stories about his avant-garde music and how it was going to be played at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. Moondog had a cultural following, but was as strange as can be.
According to the recent Times piece, Moondag disappeared from the New York streets in 1974 and went to live in Germany. When he was prowling the pavement he lived in Brooklyn, I believe. There was never any kind of service animal seen with Moondog, so how he got back and forth is a story unto itself. My friend remembers hearing Moondog ask someone near him if the light was green so that he could cross the street, on his own. And why not on his own? No good karma could ever come from hitting a Viking with your cab.
New York holds all kinds of characters, but someone as themed as Moondog for years and years is still rare. It is hard to imagine someone getting up in their apartment in Brooklyn and finding their Viking outfit and heading for Midtown.
But, that's exactly what Moondog's day consisted of. Historical photos of Moondog show that his outfit changed over the years, but he was always an easily recognizable Viking, or a lost extra from a Metropolitan production of a Wagner opera.
Moondog sold poems, music and writings to passersby. So, there was some income. Moondog was an early take on a popular Capital One banking commercial involving Vikings.
"Moondog. What's in your wallet."
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