Louis Armstrong & The Jewish Family: Antisemitism & Antimemetism

Internet memes and viral posts often replace serious scholarship and research, leading to exaggerated or inaccurate narratives. However, attempts to correct these inaccuracies can sometimes result in what I call “antimemetism“—the correction of minor details that distort or discredit entirely an important Jewish story. Such is the case with Ricky Riccardi’s viral post on Louis Armstrong and the Karnofsky family, which he used to promote his book Stomp Off, Let’s Go: The Early Years of Armstrong. While I initially reserved judgment until the book’s release, the issues unfortunately deepened.

The viral post, first seen in 2016 and repeatedly shared, uses a photo of a Black child resembling Armstrong but taken decades later. Emotional storytelling fuels viral content, and while the story contains minor errors, the core of Armstrong’s account remains significant. Nobody should expect the Karnofsky family, an impoverished immigrant family from Russia (now modern-day Lithuania) that employed Armstrong as junk dealers and coal deliverers, to have had access to a good camera and film development technology in 1907. But it tears at your heartstrings to see adorable little Louie and it encourages you to read and share. Should a misleading photo justify dismissing the entire story?

As someone of Litvak descent with a familial connection to Armstrong through my wife Lauren’s grandfather, Dr. Manuel Gottlieb (his longtime dentist and friend), I shared the post and was surprised by Jewish scholars, my friends, dismissing it as “fiction,” “fakelore,” and “BS.” Despite Armstrong’s own words supporting much of the story, many trusted Riccardi’s posts debunking it. One well-known Jewish historian furiously exclaimed, “ENOUGH! The head of the Louis Armstrong Archives calls it nonsense!” Riccardi’s statements and the Armstrong House Museum are credited by Snopes rating the viral version of Armstrong’s story as “Mostly False.”

Riccardi, Director of Research Collections at the Louis Armstrong Archives, is a respected Armstrong scholar. Nothing I say here is meant to diminish his well-earned status as a leading expert, nor is it to elevate myself at all as I’m certainly not an authority on any of this. His books and blog are replete with detailed facts, and his research is thorough. But the original meme was countered by his own viral rebuttals that inadvertently convinced many thousands of people Armstrong’s entire story is untrue. He argues Armstrong “didn’t speak any Yiddish,” “didn’t write a book,” “was never adopted by them,” didn’t sing in Yiddish, and that the Karnofskys’ Jewish influence on his music was exaggerated. Yet Armstrong’s own testimonial contradicts much of this.

Riccardi unfortunately takes it further in his book, correcting Armstrong for saying the Karnofskys were from Russia, asserting instead that they were from Lithuania (Lithuania didn’t exist until 1918.) Worse, he cites Dr. Dalton Anthony Jones’ Yale dissertation, Black Market, accusing the Karnofskys of exploitation, “basically violating every child labor law in existence” and attributing Armstrong’s death to their “superhuman work ethic that clearly contributed to his failing health and the bitterness conveyed in his 1969 deathbed reflections.” (The Child Labor Act didn’t exist until 1938 and Armstrong died in his bed at home, years later, not in the hospital.)

Yet our grandmother, Doris Brickner, who knew Armstrong for over 30 years as the wife of his dentist, confirmed the essence of the viral story to me before her death. She said Armstrong even spoke a little Yiddish. His San Francisco dentist, Dr. Lewis Taich, a referral from her husband, also said, “The two had much in common, and occasionally even spoke to each other in Yiddish.” Riccardi’s claim that Armstrong spoke “not a word” is unprovable and unlikely. A child with a gifted ear, surrounded by Yiddish speakers all day for years, would likely retain some phrases, even in adulthood. Perhaps his knowledge of Yiddish only came out in the right company?

Riccardi downplays Armstrong’s book, calling it merely a “manuscript” or “unfinished document.” Yet the forward to Armstrong & The Jewish Family states, “Armstrong refers to this remarkable document as a ‘book,’ clearly signaling that it be published.” Armstrong called it a book, and though it was only posthumously published in 2001 as a chapter of Armstrong: In His Own Words, regardless of the length, it was intended as such.

No legal adoption would have existed until the Adoption Act of 1938, but Armstrong and his other biographers refer to them as his “second family,” or a “virtual adoption.” Armstrong says the Karnofskys “would start getting ready for work at five o’clock in the morning’ and me, I was right there along with them.” He added, “Working for these people, I learned to be an early riser just like them.”

A Karnofsky descendant quoted in Riccardi’s book, Nick Karno, said in 1992, “We didn’t treat Black people like Black people. They were just people. They ate with us and they slept with us.” Armstrong wrote that even as he got good at the cornet, “I still stayed with the Karnofskys.” Despite his own source’s accounts, Riccardi insists Armstrong never slept at the Karnofsky home. But I think there’s much more evidence to suggest he might have. Can anyone imagine a child waking themselves up every morning to travel to work on their own before 5 a.m.? Jim Crow Laws might have made Armstrong’s story of such an overnight relationship taboo and risky for both parties, a dangerous admission to make during much of his professional career.

Riccardi also dismisses discussion of Armstrong’s mother as a prostitute. He uses Armstrong’s own words against the record, “Whether my mother did any hustling, I cannot say,” and yet Riccardi cites in his book New Orleans arrest records listing her as such at least twice. Discrediting viral posts by highlighting Armstrong’s love for his mother is a distortion, not a correction.

Riccardi says Armstrong began writing his book after hearing Dr. Gary Zucker hum a “Russian lullaby” in the hospital in 1969. Armstrong wore a Star of David necklace much of his life, given to him by Abe and Francis Donen. It was a deliberate conversation piece about his love for the Jewish people. Zucker, Armstrong’s physician and close friend for over a decade, undoubtedly knew the Karnofsky story well.

Riccardi corrects Armstrong for calling the song “Russian Lullaby,” saying the real song was Oyfn Pripetshik. Dr. Jones misses this entirely in his analysis of Karnofsky. I think Armstrong intentionally used Berlin’s “Russian Lullaby” as a dramatic leitmotif. He quoted it four times in his book as he recalled the family of his youth. He knew it was composed by Irving Berlin, born Israel Isidor Balin, a fellow Russian-Jewish immigrant, and this was intentional and actually pretty clever. Armstrong recorded it in 1950 and knew its history well. He quoted this popular song in English instead of a Yiddish song for dramatic effect, perhaps to resonate with non-Jewish readers. Dr. Zucker specifically sang Oyfn Pripetshik to Armstrong since he’d known the story probably since his first hospitalization in 1959. Dr. Zucker confirmed the Karnofskys sang lullabies in Yiddish with Armstrong every night, and yet Riccardi insisted he never sang in Yiddish.

Riccardi says the nickname Satchmo was “given to him by Percy Brooks of Melody Maker.” But Brooks only mispronounced Satchelmouth, which was a nickname given to Armstrong by the Karnofsky Family. Armstrong promoted himself as Satchmo when he found this hilarious, but the original name should be properly credited to the Karnofsky Family as indicated in Armstrong’s book. Despite swirling insinuations responding to Riccardi’s post that these nicknames were given as racist slurs, Armstrong makes it clear that he loved nicknames and there were many of them they lovingly exchanged with one another. He gratefully relates his name to Zucker’s ‘Dr.’s Satchel’ in the hospital. While the parodist Alan Sherman may have Yiddishized “Satchel and a Sek” as it rhymes well with many Yiddish words, it really is a name affectionately given to him by a Yiddish family.

Armstrong wrote: “They could see that I had music in my Soul. They really wanted me to be Something in life. And music was it. Appreciating my every effort.” And, “By the age of Eleven I began to realize that it was the Jewish family who instilled in me Singing from the heart. They encourage me to carry on.” While Riccardi says the viral post exaggerates the Karnofskys influence on his music, Armstrong’s account doesn’t agree. He recalls the family’s intonation and phrasing throughout the book and how much of it shaped his musicianship. “I still remember their phrases.” “The right note, phrases, etc. The Karnofskys always sang good and beautiful.” Their deep impact on Armstrong’s musical development is repeated throughout his book.

The only common mistake the viral post made was not discerning the difference between arranging or interpreting versus composing a song. Many people also don’t realize Louie didn’t write “Hello Dolly” or “What A Wonderful World,” a song I tearfully sang for our grandmother Doris’ funeral. Their musical inspiration is found in his signature phrasing and emotive delivery, so good it made it seem he’d composed the songs himself. As a cantor and singer of Yiddish songs, I hear a unique phrasing in his playing and expressive singing that could be connected not only to the Karnofskys but to an ancient spiritual well shared by Blacks and Jews alike.

Joe Glaser, Armstrong’s longtime manager and father figure, was at the center of Armstrong’s world as an adult, just as the Karnofskys had been in his childhood. Joe played a pivotal role in Armstrong’s career, protecting him from Chicago’s mob as an associate with a dark connection to Al Capone, and securing his lifelong fame as he promoted him at his club, The Sunset Cafe, as “The World’s Greatest Trumpeter.” I highly recommend reading Riccardi’s excellent blog article that debunks the antisemitic falsehoods spread about their relationship in Terry Teachout’s play, “Satchmo at the Waldorf.” Here, Riccardi’s brilliant research serves to undermine the oppressor-oppressed dialectic narrative promoted by Teachout, Dr. Jones and others’ distorted interpretations of their relationship. I only wish he’d made such a thoughtful and well-researched blog on Karnofsky instead of angry viral rebuttal posts.

Contrary to Dr. Jones’ and Riccardi’s analyses, however, I believe Joe’s stroke and subsequent death, in the same hospital and same time as Armstrong’s recovery, may have prompted his book even more than just hearing a song or contemplating his own mortality. These weren’t “deathbed reflections,” as Armstrong began writing just as he was recovering in the hospital, overcoming death a second time, thanks to Dr. Zucker. He dedicates the book to Joe, signing it in the past tense, “his boy + disciple who loved him dearly.” Louie wasn’t merely grappling with his own mortality, he was grieving the impending loss of a dear father figure, the man who never abandoned him as his biological father had as a child.

His close relationship to Joe, coinciding with the segregation era, likely complicated Armstrong’s forthrightness in past written recollections of the Karnofsky story where he either omitted them entirely from his two autobiographies in 1936 and 1954 or replaced the Karnofsky family with a mysterious old Italian man simply named Lorenzo. This, combined with Joe’s passing seems to have inspired Armstrong to finally write the book and to recall his childhood with the Karnofskys much more publicly, on The Dick Cavett Show in 1970, just as he was completing the book. Towards the end of his appearance, he credited his successful “white friends,” kids from New Orleans, for wildly applauding and cheering him, securing his success in replacing a racist MC at The Suburban Gardens in New Orleans in 1931. The MC, who had refused to introduce Armstrong, didn’t expect a house full of well-dressed whites to react so enthusiastically to a Black trumpeter. All of their successes became his success.

My wife’s family’s connection to Armstrong deepens this story even further. My wife’s grandfather, Dr. Manny Gottlieb, was Armstrong’s dentist and close friend for over thirty years. Louie and Glaser, who they called “Uncle Joe,” both visited their Manhattan apartment, where my grandmother-in-law, Doris, entertained them with parties, some with hilarious stories that probably should not be repeated. My mother-in-law, Beth, grew up knowing Armstrong’s humor, warmth, and unwavering loyalty to those he loved. Joe’s unsavory background in Chicago was not known to the Gottlieb’s, but according to Doris, they were very tight friends who were “thick as thieves.” They knew “Uncle Joe” only as a very charismatic, exceptionally well-connected and generous man.

Armstrong wrote letters to Manny and included some audio, like the many reels they keep at the Armstrong House Museum. One reel he sent included a personal letter along with a signed copy of Lose Weight The Satchmo Way, which advocated the daily use of Swiss Kriss herbal laxatives, a product he promoted. While Riccardi and Dr. Jones blame the Karnofsky family’s work ethic for contributing to his death, Armstrong identified it as his key to success. One should recognize a more critical lifestyle factor: Louie wasn’t a great patient who followed sound advice on his health. He smoked cigarettes and marijuana throughout his life, only very reluctantly ever went to the hospital, dismissed his first heart attack as “just a chest cold because of a big plate of spaghetti,” practiced the trumpet against his doctor’s orders, and he even sent his doctors copies of his own dietary advice promoting meals for lunch and dinner where you could “eat whatever you want, as much as you want.” As a musician he kept great time, but when it came to personal health choices, Satchmo marched to the beat of his own drum.

Louie and “Uncle Joe” showered the Gottlieb family with very extravagant gifts like a baby blue Rolls Royce, fur coats, and many wrapped holiday presents every year for the kids as tokens of their deep friendship. My wife recalls one of Louie’s gifts that her mother kept, a pair of real stuffed fur koala bears that he brought back for the kids after a tour of Australia. In exchange, Manny looked after Joe and his numerous famous artists and associates with the best possible dental care. Armstrong’s embouchure that relied upon a strong set of teeth and his legendary big white smile, a bridge that Armstrong said a hammer couldn’t break, were Manny’s handiwork. Joe was the one who referred his favorite dentist and doctor to Armstrong and other artists, and in turn, Armstrong affectionately became part of our Jewish Family.

Armstrong sometimes called Manny before his performances, like the Ed Sullivan Show, telling him he would plan to dedicate a song to him. Manny’s nickname was “Pops,” so if you ever hear Louie saying, “This one’s for you, Pops!” it’s dedicated to him. These personal connections make it impossible for me to view Armstrong’s story as mere exaggeration or “fakelore.” However flawed the viral post, it was real, and it was deeply personal to him and to those who knew him.

Armstrong related his and the Black community’s struggles with systemic racism to the antisemitism experienced by Karnofsky, Glaser and other Jews: “I watched the Jewish people take a lot of Abuse in New Orleans’ ever since I was seven years old. I felt very lucky to get a job working for them. We suffered Agony right along with them. Only worst. They did not Lynch them, but us…anytime they got ready.” He also said, “The Jewish People never betrayed their own people. Stick together yes…Honest, these Jewish people accepted hard times far better than my own people did…I will always remember how the Jewish people living in the neighborhood Advanced and did so much, right under their noses.” Armstrong’s tale, if told in his own words, is a story of interracial resilience that could make an inspiring musical or children’s book.

Instead of relying on viral posts or rebuttals in the online echo chamber, people should read the book in a library, just one short chapter in Louis Armstrong: In His Own Words, for themselves. Riccardi has made a great name writing excellent Armstrong biographies. Perhaps he can lead an effort to republish more of Armstrong’s manuscripts, so the public can access more in his unfiltered voice. Or convince the Armstrong House Museum where he works to feature this and other positive stories of interracial harmony more prominently. He says “the true story is more interesting and inspirational.” But I toured his museum recently and there is no exhibit there featuring Karnofsky or his other warm relationships with his many Jewish associates.

There is one large silver-plated Hebrew bible I recognized sitting on the coffee table in his home, but our tour guide strangely overlooked it after describing everything else in the room in great detail. There was no talk about Armstrong’s visit to Israel in 1959 or Yakov Uriel, the Israeli trumpeter who gifted the Bible to him on his 70th birthday with the inscription, “To Louis Armstrong, whose people made music from the Bible, from Yakov Uriel, whose people wrote it.” I asked if she could open the book so we could take a look, but we were told not to touch anything and quickly ushered along the next part of our tour.

Museums like the Academy Museum of Motion Pictures have made a series of errors in recent years when they excluded and then distorted the very significant history of Jewish influences on American show business. I don’t want the Armstrong House Museum to make the same mistake.

Memes aren’t the best way to tell history, but neither is angrily rebutting someone’s story just because it went viral.