Izzy Young, Founder NYC’S Folklore Center, Dead at 90

Izzy ran his shop on the theory it was a club. It was there so he could see all his friends and talk to them and find out what was going on. He ran his shop so all his friends would know where to find him. He would be at the shop.

He envisioned his position as one of leader, friend, mentor and valiant fighter for Right and Justice. If you worked for him you knew that your employer was Friend of the Underdog, Seer of Future Things to Come, Prophet Without Honor in His Own Time. In short, you were working for a Social Institution and it is a well known fact that Social Institutions do not have to pay their bills like other people.

He had many thoughts about money: ‘It’s not fair,’ he would say, ‘Look at me. I’m a good man. I am healthy. I am full of life. I have been in business five years. I am still poor. My mother has never given up hoping that someday I’ll change my mind and become an accountant. ‘You know, Israel,’ she’ll say, ‘there’s still time.’”

Let me describe the shop. The shop sells folklore in all shapes and forms: books, records, instruments, magazines, gossip. The retail space is about ten feet wide and sixteen feet long with bookshelves and hanging instruments lining the walls. There is also a back room that is about ten feet square.

The back is the most important part. The back has the best toilet on the street and people will sometimes come in for no other reasons than to use the toilet. The back has a fireplace of which Izzy is inordinately proud. We used the fireplace for burning stuff like old newspapers and cardboard boxes, but occasionally for burning stuff like circulars other people had paid us to send out. Two thousand circulars take a long time to burn and make a nice fire.

The mantle over the fireplace is covered with souvenirs and papers and other stuff so important that it can not possibly be thrown away. There are always a couple partially assembled musical instruments, an antique writing box, an attaché case, and two cans full of his special wood dye. On top of all this - wadded up in the corner - is his bedding, because at times Izzy didn’t have a place to live, so when he closed the store he just put the bedding on the floor, threw some more circulars on the fire, and went to sleep.