Real Music & Real Estate . . .

Yiddishe Cup’s bandleader, Bert Stratton, is Klezmer Guy.

He knows about the band biz and – check this out – the real estate biz, too.

You may not care about the real estate biz. Hey, you may not care about the band biz. (See you.)

This is a blog with a gamy twist. It features tenants with snakes and skunks, and musicians with smoked fish in their pockets.

Stratton has written op-eds for the Wall Street Journal, New York Times and Washington Post.



I skipped third grade. Let me put that out here right away.

I was the shortest kid in my class and got the crap kicked out of me regularly.

I remember Colavito hit four homers in a row against Baltimore in 1959.

I did juggling, tennis, ping pong and music.

I got beaten up by Italians, in particular. I was 4-foot-7 in seventh grade. However . . . I made the junior high basketball team. I didn’t see a minute of play, but I could sink 20 free throws in a row.

I was a Life Scout, not Eagle, just like musician Irwin Weinberger.

I worked summers at a drugstore, stocking shelves for $1.25 an hour. I got one free Snickers per shift.

My dad often dozed in the upholstered chair in the front room. He had The Cleveland Press in his lap. My mom was a homemaker and did all the normal Donna Reed stuff.

In high school I placed in a national math contest and attended a summer workshop at the University of Rochester, where I got schooled by true math geniuses. After that I became modest, except here.

I went to some big-name rock concerts. I saw the Byrds, the Band. Everybody. Janis Joplin. James Cotton opened for her.

I attended Michigan, U. of.  Then I went into real estate. Is there anything else to do? Not that I know of.

I got married in 1978. My wife has a degree in physics from Ohio State. Never used it. She taught gym. We have three adult children and 11 grandchildren — more than some Orthodox Jews.

I skipped a grade. Did I mention that? Sandy Stein did too. He was also short.

[fake profile]

You want to read something true? I wrote about Santa Claus and small-claims court for the Wall Street Journal last week. “Never Throw Out Santa Claus”

Triple play. I made a 1:45-minute video. “Deli Jews, My Dad, and the Browns.”

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1 Kenneth Goldberg { 12.29.21 at 9:43 am }

When I lived at the Mayflower in 1973-4 I would hear Cedar Center referred to as “Little Tel Aviv.” One line in this rant seems a little off; it’s near the end….

2 Irwin Weinberger { 12.29.21 at 10:29 pm }

I’m a little jealous about that job you had stocking shelves. I was a paperboy but your job seems more glamorous. A free Snickers each shift would be all the incentive I would need. Do you think they are still hiring?

3 Mark Schilling { 12.31.21 at 12:16 am }

My first real job was stocking shelves in a drugstore, run by a deacon of the Presbyterian church we attended. I mopped his floor as though I was swabbing the deck in a Popeye cartoon (lots of water and wrist motion) and squeaking and streaking as I cleaned his windows with a squeegee. He probably wanted to fire me after one week, but held off because he and my dad were acquainted. I actually wanted to be canned — my dreary parttime job cut in on my sacred goofing off time — and finally succeeded. Still have the SS card I needed to become his employee…

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