Moe Moskowitz
Morris Moskowitz was born July 11, 1921 in New York City to Louis and Celia Moskowitz. He spent most of his youth in Queens, eventually settling in the East Village while studying painting and art history at Cooper Union and philosophy at Queens College.
From a young age, Moe acted on what he believed in. He walked out of his own Bar Mitzvah because he didn't believe in rituals. He joined the Young Communist League and attached himself to anarchist circles. He protested World War II as a pacifist and was arrested a number of times.
Moe was usually broke, but he still managed to maintain his interests and passions. He practiced on his violin everyday, his mother believing he could one day be another Isaac Stern. While he was in the merchant marines, a shipmate emphatically explained to him that he wouldn't be by grabbing his violin and tossing it overboard. He frequented the jazz clubs around Manhattan and went to the opera when he could afford to. He was a demon at pool. He was an actor in Experimental Theatre and performed in Ubu Roi, by Alfred Jarry, with the Living Theatre. Judith Malina, a leading figure in experimental theatre once wrote, "Moe Moskowitz, the anarchists' Isis, is our Ubu."
Moe had many skills, but none were very marketable, so he survived by painting houses, selling ice cream from a cart, or working in a pocketbook factory in the Bronx. Eventually, in the early fifties, he apprenticed as a picture framer. In 1955, he took that skill and followed some friends out to Berkeley, California.
He met and married Barbara Stevens, a woman with ideas of her own. Disliking the traditional education public schools were offering, Barbara, with an anarchists collective, helped found The Walden School, a primary school with a bent towards individuality and social justice. She was fascinated by Moe and his many ideas and in 1959 helped him realize one of them by opening The Paperback Bookshop on Shattuck Avenue, the first store that offered a fair price for paperbacks.(To be on the safe side, he also made picture frames in the backroom.)
From the beginning, Moe sparred with the city council about a kiosk, the first of what would be many run-ins with them. Using his gift for words, Moe told them during a meeting, "I'm not asking for a Turkish Pavilion." (If still unclear on his wit, look up "kiosk" in the American Heritage Dictionary.) He later prodded them to help beautify the streets, saying, "the city should provide the necessary order and the individuals will provide the equally necessary variety." His combination of civic-mindeness, belief in individuality and whimsy would serve him well when he moved the store in 1963 to Telegraph Avenue, the fast approaching nexus of the Free Speech Movement, the Vietnam protests and People's Park.
Moe had moved his store to Telegraph just as the Free Speech Movement began in Berkeley. Though he agreed with many of their ideas, being a pacifist his entire life, Moe disagreed with the tactics some FSM leaders and then anti-war organizers used in goading the authorities into reactive responses that occasionally descended into violence. Still, he supported the people, even keeping his doors open during curfews, because he believed in an open society, not one run by authoritarian rule.
During those periods of relative peace, Moe continued to indulge in his many interests. He still frequented Jazz clubs, and playing records in the store. He went further, starting a used record section. Beginning with jazz and classical and quickly branching out into other genres, it was popular hangout for students and collectors, some from as far as Japan. He bought a pool table and kept it in his basement for friendly games with friends and staff. He saw movies with great regularity, especially at the small repertory theater down the street with liner notes written for a time by Pauline Kael. He helped bring New York Style bagels to Berkeley. He and Barbara also had two daughters, Katherine and Doris.
At the store he held court, or center stage, working seven days a week, taking only every other Sunday off. He bantered with customers, debating at the front counter history, or politics. He belted out arias when operas were on the turntable, or danced when the mood struck him, all the while puffing on his cigar, usually a Macanudo or an Upman.
In 1973 Moe suffered a heart attack, which caused a reassessment of his lifestyle. He began exercising and eating healthier, mostly avoiding fried foods. But he wouldn't give up his cigars. This caused some problems later in the decade when the city council passed a no-smoking ordinance in public spaces. Moe and the city fought about this off and on for the next fifteen years with Moe declaring, "My store is not a public place. People can leave if they don't like it."
The eighties were mostly boom times for the store and Telegraph in general, but events and problems on the street and during the nineties made Moe view other options for the store. The biggest event was the Rodney King verdict and aftermath, which caused copycat rioting and looting on Telegraph a few days later. An anarchist parade later in the year got out of control causing more broken windows and an overturned Coke truck. The final straw was the police solution to troublesome teens and their occasional thuggery on the weekends. Aggressively ticketing and towing any car on Telegraph after nine p.m.on weekends, they chased away the teens within a few months, but continued the practice for the next three years, effectively killing any evening business on the street. Pleas from businesses to stop fell on deaf ears, and many stores shortened their hours. Moe tried drawing people back with evening sales, but they were only marginally effective.
Then a staffer talked to Moe about the idea of selling books online in the nascent internet community. Moe saw an opportunity to create a completely new store to draw in new customers and OK'd the project. Moe's became one of the first used bookstores in cyberspace.
Moe died in his home on April 1st, 1997. By that time he had divorced and remarried, had stopped smoking cigars, had cut back working to only five days a week, and had been designated a city icon.
The city proclaimed a day for him and poets and old friends spoke about him to a large crowd on the street in front of the store which had been closed for the occassion. Each one tried in his or her way to capture a bit of the man, to explain why they loved or admired him. In the end, one could see a man who held firm his core beliefs and in the last forty years of his life found his place in the universe.
From a young age, Moe acted on what he believed in. He walked out of his own Bar Mitzvah because he didn't believe in rituals. He joined the Young Communist League and attached himself to anarchist circles. He protested World War II as a pacifist and was arrested a number of times.
Moe was usually broke, but he still managed to maintain his interests and passions. He practiced on his violin everyday, his mother believing he could one day be another Isaac Stern. While he was in the merchant marines, a shipmate emphatically explained to him that he wouldn't be by grabbing his violin and tossing it overboard. He frequented the jazz clubs around Manhattan and went to the opera when he could afford to. He was a demon at pool. He was an actor in Experimental Theatre and performed in Ubu Roi, by Alfred Jarry, with the Living Theatre. Judith Malina, a leading figure in experimental theatre once wrote, "Moe Moskowitz, the anarchists' Isis, is our Ubu."
Moe had many skills, but none were very marketable, so he survived by painting houses, selling ice cream from a cart, or working in a pocketbook factory in the Bronx. Eventually, in the early fifties, he apprenticed as a picture framer. In 1955, he took that skill and followed some friends out to Berkeley, California.
He met and married Barbara Stevens, a woman with ideas of her own. Disliking the traditional education public schools were offering, Barbara, with an anarchists collective, helped found The Walden School, a primary school with a bent towards individuality and social justice. She was fascinated by Moe and his many ideas and in 1959 helped him realize one of them by opening The Paperback Bookshop on Shattuck Avenue, the first store that offered a fair price for paperbacks.(To be on the safe side, he also made picture frames in the backroom.)
From the beginning, Moe sparred with the city council about a kiosk, the first of what would be many run-ins with them. Using his gift for words, Moe told them during a meeting, "I'm not asking for a Turkish Pavilion." (If still unclear on his wit, look up "kiosk" in the American Heritage Dictionary.) He later prodded them to help beautify the streets, saying, "the city should provide the necessary order and the individuals will provide the equally necessary variety." His combination of civic-mindeness, belief in individuality and whimsy would serve him well when he moved the store in 1963 to Telegraph Avenue, the fast approaching nexus of the Free Speech Movement, the Vietnam protests and People's Park.
Moe had moved his store to Telegraph just as the Free Speech Movement began in Berkeley. Though he agreed with many of their ideas, being a pacifist his entire life, Moe disagreed with the tactics some FSM leaders and then anti-war organizers used in goading the authorities into reactive responses that occasionally descended into violence. Still, he supported the people, even keeping his doors open during curfews, because he believed in an open society, not one run by authoritarian rule.
During those periods of relative peace, Moe continued to indulge in his many interests. He still frequented Jazz clubs, and playing records in the store. He went further, starting a used record section. Beginning with jazz and classical and quickly branching out into other genres, it was popular hangout for students and collectors, some from as far as Japan. He bought a pool table and kept it in his basement for friendly games with friends and staff. He saw movies with great regularity, especially at the small repertory theater down the street with liner notes written for a time by Pauline Kael. He helped bring New York Style bagels to Berkeley. He and Barbara also had two daughters, Katherine and Doris.
At the store he held court, or center stage, working seven days a week, taking only every other Sunday off. He bantered with customers, debating at the front counter history, or politics. He belted out arias when operas were on the turntable, or danced when the mood struck him, all the while puffing on his cigar, usually a Macanudo or an Upman.
In 1973 Moe suffered a heart attack, which caused a reassessment of his lifestyle. He began exercising and eating healthier, mostly avoiding fried foods. But he wouldn't give up his cigars. This caused some problems later in the decade when the city council passed a no-smoking ordinance in public spaces. Moe and the city fought about this off and on for the next fifteen years with Moe declaring, "My store is not a public place. People can leave if they don't like it."
The eighties were mostly boom times for the store and Telegraph in general, but events and problems on the street and during the nineties made Moe view other options for the store. The biggest event was the Rodney King verdict and aftermath, which caused copycat rioting and looting on Telegraph a few days later. An anarchist parade later in the year got out of control causing more broken windows and an overturned Coke truck. The final straw was the police solution to troublesome teens and their occasional thuggery on the weekends. Aggressively ticketing and towing any car on Telegraph after nine p.m.on weekends, they chased away the teens within a few months, but continued the practice for the next three years, effectively killing any evening business on the street. Pleas from businesses to stop fell on deaf ears, and many stores shortened their hours. Moe tried drawing people back with evening sales, but they were only marginally effective.
Then a staffer talked to Moe about the idea of selling books online in the nascent internet community. Moe saw an opportunity to create a completely new store to draw in new customers and OK'd the project. Moe's became one of the first used bookstores in cyberspace.
Moe died in his home on April 1st, 1997. By that time he had divorced and remarried, had stopped smoking cigars, had cut back working to only five days a week, and had been designated a city icon.
The city proclaimed a day for him and poets and old friends spoke about him to a large crowd on the street in front of the store which had been closed for the occassion. Each one tried in his or her way to capture a bit of the man, to explain why they loved or admired him. In the end, one could see a man who held firm his core beliefs and in the last forty years of his life found his place in the universe.
