Lawrence Rothbort
I first encountered Lawrence Rothbort around 1954-55 painting in Brooklyn on the Smith-9th elevated platform
--a strange person painting a strange painting.
He was doing something and to this day I have never seen anything quite like it...
1960
Just married to my first wife, no money, we both had minor level jobs, but I lucked out with a beautiful newly
renovated parlor apartment in a brownstone across from a hospital parking lot with trees and rosebushes,
plus a beautiful landscaped backyard to look down upon--Not bad for a start.
The rent was $85.00 a month. That was considered high in those days, but our combined income was $112 a
week so we managed to actually save a few dollars. I was a naive painter, 26 years old; she was an 18 year
old who wanted to get away from a project environment. We both needed something.
I was painting like like Bob Thompson before "Bob Thompson." I never saw any of his work; this is just what
came out of me--unschooled, untrained, but a "natural." I didn't believe my paintings were valid as they
reminded me of comic book art and I wanted to paint like Corot, Duamier, Raphael Soyer, Delacroix, etc.. I
had little contact with other artists and the few I did know didn't like my work. The first two original paintings
I ever did I sold to an antique dealer for $225 -- Then he came back and bought two others. I was in the
process of destroying for $75... As I look back with the knowledge I have now, 50 years later, they were
pretty good, original, and valid paintings. It's a shame I didn't continue in that vein.
The antique dealer, Oscar Brahinsky, by name was a hustler--not a bad person, but not of the highest character... Shady?
He had just rented an unusual store on the edge of Eastern Parkway (Park Place) that, in its day, was a
thriving middle-class Jewish neighborhood but was in the transition of becoming a Black-ghetto. It was on
the ground floor of a nice residential building that you walked up 4 to 5 steps to enter, but if you turned right,
you would enter his store... It had a large picture window facing the street. It had a matching store to the
left--same set-up and vacant. He figured if he could get me to move into this store, I could live in the rear,
as it was rather deep and I would attract people to his business and vice-versa. It was intriguing, but the rent
was $125 and it would cost $650 to get started. I didn't have the money.
Maybe half. He said he would loan me the rest. He really wanted me next to him. Although I was tempted, I
couldn't see myself doing it without a financial cushion of some kind.
I declined his offer and he quickly proceeded to induce another artist he knew to take my place. This painter
had a wife and two young children, and was someone I had read about in a magazine a few years
prior--maybe 1954-55...
His name was Lawrence Rothbort.
He was proclaimed the "Van Gogh of Brooklyn" and did large paintings with chips of glass and stones along with
some tar, and actually created an interesting but static, decorative effect. He painted with sticks because he
couldn't afford brushes. They were good paintings.
He moved into the store and was living in the rear with his family. He had his paintings in the front window;
the front part of the store was arranged in a gallery format. The next scenario all took place in a matter of
weeks from the time I refused the offer.
This was documented from a story in the Brooklyn Eagle that his wife related in detail to the police.
The family was sitting on the floor in the rear of the store where the living quarters were (they had no
furniture), eating dinner. The front door was never locked as they were hoping for a customer. They had a
little bell that would ring as the door opened. It was a pleasant fall evening so it was dark outside at the
dinner hour.
They heard the bell "tinkle," but they continued eating, thinking no-one would steal a painting, but in time
they would see who was in the outer room... All of a sudden, a giant of a black man busted into their quarters
with a sawed-off shotgun in his hands, proclaiming he would kill everyone if they didn't hand over the money!
The artist said all the money they had in the world was some change in a cup on the shelf, and he was not
giving it up!
The gunman squeezed the trigger and blew him in half with a double blast at close range!
It would be hard to imagine what followed after that... His wife, who was also an artist, had the where-
with-all to compose a sketch of the assailant that was published in the Brooklyn Eagle, and he was caught
from that sketch in a few days!
Shortly afterward, she had a mental breakdown, was institutionalized, and the children were put away.
Obviously Brahinsky moved out immediately and I lost contact with him until 17 years later. By accident, our
paths crossed. The catastrophe was never mentioned.
This is just one of many events in the course of my life where I have been saved from extinction. I'm still
trying to find out what I have been saved for.
1963
Robert Doak '10
--a strange person painting a strange painting.
He was doing something and to this day I have never seen anything quite like it...
1960
Just married to my first wife, no money, we both had minor level jobs, but I lucked out with a beautiful newly
renovated parlor apartment in a brownstone across from a hospital parking lot with trees and rosebushes,
plus a beautiful landscaped backyard to look down upon--Not bad for a start.
The rent was $85.00 a month. That was considered high in those days, but our combined income was $112 a
week so we managed to actually save a few dollars. I was a naive painter, 26 years old; she was an 18 year
old who wanted to get away from a project environment. We both needed something.
I was painting like like Bob Thompson before "Bob Thompson." I never saw any of his work; this is just what
came out of me--unschooled, untrained, but a "natural." I didn't believe my paintings were valid as they
reminded me of comic book art and I wanted to paint like Corot, Duamier, Raphael Soyer, Delacroix, etc.. I
had little contact with other artists and the few I did know didn't like my work. The first two original paintings
I ever did I sold to an antique dealer for $225 -- Then he came back and bought two others. I was in the
process of destroying for $75... As I look back with the knowledge I have now, 50 years later, they were
pretty good, original, and valid paintings. It's a shame I didn't continue in that vein.
The antique dealer, Oscar Brahinsky, by name was a hustler--not a bad person, but not of the highest character... Shady?
He had just rented an unusual store on the edge of Eastern Parkway (Park Place) that, in its day, was a
thriving middle-class Jewish neighborhood but was in the transition of becoming a Black-ghetto. It was on
the ground floor of a nice residential building that you walked up 4 to 5 steps to enter, but if you turned right,
you would enter his store... It had a large picture window facing the street. It had a matching store to the
left--same set-up and vacant. He figured if he could get me to move into this store, I could live in the rear,
as it was rather deep and I would attract people to his business and vice-versa. It was intriguing, but the rent
was $125 and it would cost $650 to get started. I didn't have the money.
Maybe half. He said he would loan me the rest. He really wanted me next to him. Although I was tempted, I
couldn't see myself doing it without a financial cushion of some kind.
I declined his offer and he quickly proceeded to induce another artist he knew to take my place. This painter
had a wife and two young children, and was someone I had read about in a magazine a few years
prior--maybe 1954-55...
His name was Lawrence Rothbort.
He was proclaimed the "Van Gogh of Brooklyn" and did large paintings with chips of glass and stones along with
some tar, and actually created an interesting but static, decorative effect. He painted with sticks because he
couldn't afford brushes. They were good paintings.
He moved into the store and was living in the rear with his family. He had his paintings in the front window;
the front part of the store was arranged in a gallery format. The next scenario all took place in a matter of
weeks from the time I refused the offer.
This was documented from a story in the Brooklyn Eagle that his wife related in detail to the police.
The family was sitting on the floor in the rear of the store where the living quarters were (they had no
furniture), eating dinner. The front door was never locked as they were hoping for a customer. They had a
little bell that would ring as the door opened. It was a pleasant fall evening so it was dark outside at the
dinner hour.
They heard the bell "tinkle," but they continued eating, thinking no-one would steal a painting, but in time
they would see who was in the outer room... All of a sudden, a giant of a black man busted into their quarters
with a sawed-off shotgun in his hands, proclaiming he would kill everyone if they didn't hand over the money!
The artist said all the money they had in the world was some change in a cup on the shelf, and he was not
giving it up!
The gunman squeezed the trigger and blew him in half with a double blast at close range!
It would be hard to imagine what followed after that... His wife, who was also an artist, had the where-
with-all to compose a sketch of the assailant that was published in the Brooklyn Eagle, and he was caught
from that sketch in a few days!
Shortly afterward, she had a mental breakdown, was institutionalized, and the children were put away.
Obviously Brahinsky moved out immediately and I lost contact with him until 17 years later. By accident, our
paths crossed. The catastrophe was never mentioned.
This is just one of many events in the course of my life where I have been saved from extinction. I'm still
trying to find out what I have been saved for.
1963
Robert Doak '10
