Open Mic Night

The wife and I did something a little different the other night. We went to an Open Mic Night at a café in a neighboring town. Personally I was intrigued by the idea of watching people go up to the mic and perform. I always envied the guts it takes to do such a thing.

Well as though it were fate the very first participant proved to be true Blogger-Gold. An old man named Jordan. (pictured to the left) And though my name-prediction of “George” and my wife’s of “Lou” proved incorrect we were not far off in his life story.

Once his saxophone set was complete I offered to buy him some Bubble Tea. He obliged. The next 30 minutes, well, have a read for yourself…

Jordan Ramilovitch was born in the Bensonhurst section of Brooklyn in 1927. Raised by Polish immigrants in a Jewish household with an “iron fist”, his mother was a housewife and his father a “plumber by day and plumber by night.”

As Mr. Ramilovitch says, “My father was the hardest working man I’ve ever known….he worked his tail off to put food on our table. And let me tell you, young man, they don’t make men like that these days.”

Noted Mr. Ramilovitch.

Mr. Ramilovitch had 3 elder sisters and this played a role in shaping his personality at an early age. He often found himself playing with instruments on the front stoop of his rowhome for the local kids. He was known as a loner who sought attention through music. His 3 sisters received most of the attention from his mother, Gladys, as she groomed them to follow in her footsteps. Something Mr. Ramilovitch seems to say with a little tinge of bitterness.

“Yeah I guess Mom had a plan for my sisters the whole time. Me – well, not so much.”

Alas it was this feeling of loneliness that made him who he is today. He enjoyed success with instruments but fell particularly in love with the alto saxophone.

I can now attest for that particular skill. He played his sax that night as though the two were Butch & Sundance robbing a bank – effortlessly.

It wasn’t until December 7, 1941 when he was a 14 year old “in need of something a little, umm, relevant” that he truly “became a man.”

You see, Pearl Harbor was the 9/11 of his generation and 3 years later Mr. Ramilovitch found himself in a Battalion taking up camp in France not long after D-Day. He wasn’t leading the men into battle, per se, but he was doing something arguably just as important during times like that.

He was entertaining them.

“It was just like old times,” He says. “Only at that time I had a purpose. I wasn’t doing it to escape. I was doing it so others could escape like I did as a young boy.”

Powerful.

He takes a moment and repeats as if to truly emphasize what he said, “…so others could escape.”

Mr. Ramilovitch went on to fight in WWII and lived to tell about it.

He didn’t win any medals. He wasn’t involved in the liberation of Paris. He didn’t get mentioned in Tom Brokaw’s book, The Greatest Generation. He didn’t go home and tour the country rehashing his heroics.

What he did do was go home and meet the woman who would father his only child. Something that seems particularly appropriate knowing Mr. Ramilovitch.

Not long after returning from The War, he met Grace Levinson in a music store after moving to Newark, NJ.

“If you asked me what the name of that store was I couldn’t tell ya’, sonny. I could tell you that she was wearing a light blue dress and a matching blue headband in her hair and, well, the rest is, well….”

I’ll spare the details of their life but needless to say they are romantic and the stuff great author's write about. Unfortunately, Grace died several years ago. Mr. Ramilovitch had sadness in his eyes that were as obvious as they were stoic and yet he sat there and sipped his tea as though he’d had this conversation many times before...only with his journal.

Mr. Ramilovitch still lives in Newark. Still lives in the same house he purchased after returning form Europe. Is still a loner. His only son, Jacob, moved on long ago and “lives west.” Not much has changed in Jordan Ramilovitch’s life since his days as a lonely boy in Bensonhurst.

As we sit there at the table having our tea one thing stands out to me. After all these years Mr. Ramilovitch still revels in the idea of performing for others. He stands up behind the mic and plays his saxophone for local kids just like he did for 17 and 18 year old “kids” during The War.

And he does it, “because lets face it. We all need to escape. Whether we are fighting in the hills of France or the tough roads of everyday life….We all need to escape.”

Yes we do, Mr. Ramilovitch. Yes. We. Do.

Then again, maybe we didn't sit down with Jordan after his set. Maybe we pondered the life story of this old man who showed up to open mic night, alone, with saxophone in hand, and played his heart out...so we could escape?

Maybe. Just maybe.