The Memorial Wall

His dyspeptic morning show helped make WBAI-FM in New York a vibrant, eccentric, alternative radio haven. “I was the first angry man in morning radio,” he said.

Larry Josephson, a cranky practitioner of free-form radio on noncommercial WBAI-FM in New York who helped shape the station into a vibrant, eccentric, alternative radio haven, died on Wednesday in Manhattan. He was 83.

His death, at a nursing facility, was most likely caused by complications of Parkinson’s disease, said his daughter, Jennie Josephson.

Mr. Josephson, who later in his career produced and hosted public radio programs, mixed personal confession, satire, political talk, phone calls, music and puns in his morning program. He was considered a pillar of the station, along with his fellow hosts Bob Fass and Steve Post.

“But I was the first angry person in morning radio, and it was genuine,” Mr. Josephson told Newsday in 1989. “I couldn’t get used to getting up at 5 a.m., so, on the air, I’d slam down the telephone, throw fits, be late and be guilty that I was late.”

He added: “Today, Howard Stern is doing a bad imitation of ’60s me and getting a million dollars a year for it. I am getting nothing for ’90s me.” (He never earned much in public radio and died with very little money, his daughter said.)

Marty Goldensohn, a former news director at WBAI, said in a telephone interview that Mr. Josephson had been an independent thinker who “was not simplistic in his embrace of progressive ideas.”

“He didn’t go for rightist or leftist claptrap,” he said.

Soon after Mr. Josephson began hosting his show, “In the Beginning,” in 1966, The New York Times radio and television critic Jack Gould described him as “really less a disc jockey than an aural happening.”

He was inspired, for example, to play the Beatles song “Lady Madonna” over and over for two hours after its release in 1968, and to spend two days playing every available recording of “Celeste Aida,” from the first act of Verdi’s opera “Aida.”

Mr. Josephson opened one of his shows in 1967 with a version of “The Darktown Strutters’ Ball” and declaring over it: “From the Chutzpah Room of the Hotel Sinai, it’s the music of Gamal Abdel Nasser and his Orchestra. How ’bout that, peace fans!”

Frank Millspaugh, a general manager of the station in the 1960s and ’70s, said listeners had empathized with Mr. Josephson’s eternal grumbling about waking up early. But some board members of the Pacifica Foundation, which owns the station, were displeased with the countercultural tone of Mr. Josephson, Mr. Fass and Mr. Post.

“They wanted a more serious, more respectful sound to the station,” Mr. Millspaugh said in a phone interview. But when they understood how effective those hosts were in raising money for the station, “they softened their criticism.”

In the mid-1970s, Mr. Josephson served for two years as the general manager of WBAI, which routinely operated on a shoestring. During one urgent financial crisis, the station turned to listeners to raise $56,000 to meet its monthly expenses. Within four days, $25,800 had poured in, most of it cash.

“We will survive,” Mr. Josephson told The Daily News in 1976. “We have to raise more money and spend less. It’s just like New York City,” which was dealing with a much larger financial crisis of its own at the time.

Norman Lawrence Josephson was born on May 12, 1939, in Los Angeles. His father, Adrian, at one point owned a woodworking company; his mother, Marian (Tyre) Josephson, was a homemaker.

Larry had loved radio since childhood but did not initially pursue work in it. Instead, he enrolled at the University of California, Berkeley, and studied linguistics, then went to work for I.B.M. as a computer engineer in the New York area. (He did not finish his bachelor’s degree until 1973.) He began volunteering at WBAI in the 1960s and was hired to host the morning show in 1966 because, he said, the station couldn’t find anyone else who would wake up that early.

“I’m a night person myself,” he told The New Yorker in a short profile in 1967, “and the only conscious position I had was to be Against the Morning. What I didn’t realize was that there was a tremendous audience out there — I don’t know how many millions — with a tremendous need for someone to be natural, to be grumpy.”

He left WBAI in 1972 and hosted a program at KPFA, a Berkeley radio station also owned by Pacifica, before returning to WBAI in about 1974. He stayed for several more years, hosting “Bourgeois Liberation” on Sunday mornings before becoming an independent producer.

Mr. Josephson helped revive the comedy team of Bob and Ray by producing their syndicated “Bob and Ray Public Radio Show” and their Carnegie Hall shows in the 1980s. He also produced audiocassettes and CDs of their best routines.

“We’re doing this because I think they should be on radio,” Mr. Josephson told The Associated Press in 1984. “It’s as much for radio as for Bob and Ray. They need each other.”

Over the next two decades, he hosted and produced “Modern Times,” a national call-in show that was distributed by American Public Radio; “Bridges,” on which he interviewed conservatives like Milton Friedman, Charles Murray, Ralph Reed and Norman Podhoretz; and “Only in America: The Story of American Jews,” an eight-part documentary series whose guests included the Supreme Court associate justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg.

Mr. Josephson produced nearly all of his post-WBAI work from a radio studio that he built in the third bedroom of his Manhattan apartment. He derived income by renting it out to others with projects to pursue, among them the BBC, the Boston Radio station WBUR, Al Gore, Samuel L. Jackson, Garrison Keillor, the CBS newsman Ed Bradley and the Rolling Stones.

The actor Alec Baldwin wrote in an email how pleased he had been to find a studio one block from his apartment. “I recorded countless projects there,” he said, including his podcast, “Here’s the Thing,” “and found Larry to be not just a great historical resource of all things related to radio but a lovely man as well.”

In 2012 Mr. Josephson performed a one-man, one-performance show, “An Inconvenient Jew: My Life in Radio,” at the Cornelia Street Cafe in Greenwich Village.

In 2018 he fractured a vertebra and needed spinal fusion surgery, prompting him, because of his precarious finances, to start a GoFundMe campaign. It raised nearly $28,000 to help pay for a home health attendant.

In addition to his daughter, Jennie, he is survived by his stepdaughter, Rebecca Josephson; his stepson, Gregory Alker; his sister, Susan Josephson; and two grandchildren. His marriages to Charity Alker and Valerie Magyar ended in divorce.

Mr. Josephson said in 1989 that public radio had let him say nearly everything he wanted.

“When push comes to shove,” he told Newsday, “I’d rather work for nothing and do exactly what I want without any interference from vice presidents or format experts.”

Richard Sandomir is an obituaries writer. He previously wrote about sports media and sports business. He is also the author of several books, including “The Pride of the Yankees: Lou Gehrig, Gary Cooper and the Making of a Classic.” 

Closing up one night in 1961, workers at the Original Spanish Kitchen on Beverly Boulevard set out silverware, saltshakers and napkins at each table and neatly stacked the chairs.

And there the settings and chairs remained, unmoved for more than a quarter of a century.

A “Closed for Vacation” sign, hung outside that night, gave no clue that the restaurant would never reopen.

So what happened?

One rumor held that the owner had been shot to death inside and that his wife had wanted the place left undisturbed until the killer was caught.

Some believed the restaurant was haunted. There were stories of knives flying in the night.

The TV show “Lou Grant” set a murder mystery there.

But there was a quieter explanation.

“The truth is,” The Times reported in 1989, “that this decaying building has simply frozen in time a moment of happier days in a love story of an elderly woman who has shut herself off from the world . . . “

The woman was co-owner Pearl Caretto. She and her husband, Johnny, had opened the restaurant in 1932, and it became a favorite of stars such as Bob Hope, Linda Darnell and John Barrymore. Mary Pickford, who had a special booth near the door, would bring in recipes.

Then in 1961, the husband was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease and Pearl closed the restaurant to take care of him in their residence on the second floor. He died a few years later, and she could never bring herself to reopen.

“Isn’t it sad how so many people never find their one true love?” she told writer Michael Szymanski, who tracked her down in 1989. At that time the restaurant was still closed, tables still set. “And always, always, it ends in heartbreak. You’ll see.”

Caretto, who has since died, was living in an apartment by then, having moved away from the restaurant after it was vandalized. The family sold the property in the late 1990s.

All of this was a long time ago, and yet the restaurant’s mystique lives on.

Its sign is still standing, though it’s partly covered so that only the “Spa” in “Spanish” can be seen. Perfect for the upstairs occupant, Ona Spa.

“The neighbors wanted it left up,” explained Fabienne Dufourg, co-owner of Ona as well as Prive hair salon, which now occupies the former Spanish Kitchen space. A cafe there shut down.

When Dufourg reopened the building eight years ago, the rumors of ghosts were still alive.

“I am very grounded -- I don’t believe a word about ghosts,” she said. “My husband, he’s an artist. He believed it.”

But she converted one day in August. “It was very hot,” she said, and she was standing inside the building when “I felt like my legs were freezing.”

And, so, she said, “We did a clearing.” In other words, she hired a psychic from Arizona to check for poltergeists.

The psychic found five ghosts. “The ghosts were coming after my mother-in-law -- oh, it’s a long story,” Dufourg said. “There was a nasty one. I think he was a sort of killer from the ‘50s.”

The psychic, who charged $70 an hour, chased out the spirits in an impressive time of 30 minutes. These days, the building is ghost-free, more or less.

“Sometimes I wonder,” said Lane Lenhart, a manager at Ona. “Funky things happen once in a while, lights going on and off...”

Aside from the “Spa” sign, the old place’s name has survived in other ways.

A rock group christened itself Spanish Kitchen and posed by the building for a website photo. The group later dropped the name, but not because of ghosts. It seemed that people kept asking if it was a salsa band.

Meanwhile, a new Spanish Kitchen restaurant materialized on La Cienega Boulevard.

“I wanted to capture some of the romance of old Hollywood,” explained owner Greg Morris, no relation to the Carettos.

He didn’t inherit any ghosts, but he did meet a link to the Original Spanish Kitchen.

“The owner’s daughter came in and gave me a great paella pan with the name stamped on it,” he said.

Morris knows the real story of the old restaurant but enjoys listening to versions told by his older customers.

“I’ve heard stories that there was a Mafia killing there,” he said. “Or that the owner was a bullfighter, and his wife was a flamenco dancer and he killed her because he didn’t like her dancing.”

Morris added: “I never correct any of the stories.”

Restaurateur, owner of Antonio's Mexican Restaurant. In the 1970's, he changed the perception of how people thought of Mexican food, beyond tacos and burritos, and started a trend that continues to this day, where more traditional dishes were brought to the mainstream as Mexican Cuisine. He was born in Monterrey, Mexico in 1937. The fifth child (of seven brothers and three sisters) to Maria and Antonio Sr. In the 1950's, he came to Los Angeles not yet able to speak the language, but eager to learn and make his dream of owning his own restaurant a reality. He worked in almost every restaurant and nightclub in town, as a dishwasher, busboy, and eventually when he learned enough English, as a waiter. He met the love of his life Yolanda, and together they raised five children. In the early 1960's, he worked in the commissary of Warner Brothers studios. As a waiter, he took care of Frank Sinatra, Jane Fonda, Barbra Streisand, Francis Ford Coppola, and even took care of the head of the studio Jack Warner. When having asked Mr. Warner advice about him opening a restaurant, Mr. Warner told him "don't go into the restaurant business! You won't make any money!" After working at the studio,he'd come home, have a bit of dinner, take a short nap and then get ready for his second job as a waiter at "The Chianti" a popular Italian restaurant on Melrose Avenue. He would often times, come home very late and very tired. Next day, he'd start his routine working at the studio. He did this for ten years, until he saved enough money to open his own restaurant. In 1970, on April 6, he finally opened his restaurant "Antonio's" on Melrose Avenue, only a few blocks away from The Chianti! The same day he opened his restaurant, his youngest child was born. A son, named Antonio Jr. After many years of hard work and struggles, his dream came true, and people loved the cuisine, and many celebrities enjoyed it as well. After 50 years in operation, his restaurant closed. He had been in declining health because of Parkinson's disease and dementia. He passed away peacefully, at home, surrounded by his loving family who cared for him till the end. He is survived by his wife of sixty plus years Yolanda, and their five children. The youngest having died in an auto accident at the age of twenty. He is also survived by his seven grand children and five great grand children. He was an incredible human being, very much loved, and will be truly missed by all who knew him.

Maurice Leon “Mel” Opotowsky, a former newspaper editor and tenacious free press advocate who was known for helping to advance 1st Amendment rights, has died.

Opotowsky died April 18 at Claremont Manor retirement community, where he lived with his wife, Bonnie Opotowsky, according to their son, Didier Opotowsky. He said his father’s cause of death is not certain, and that he had Parkinson’s. He was 92.

Opotowsky was a top editor at the Riverside Press-Enterprise when the paper brought two cases before the U.S. Supreme Court that resulted in landmark rulings advancing the public’s right to view certain legal proceedings. He was later a founding board member of the First Amendment Coalition, a nonprofit dedicated to protecting the free press and preserving access to government records and meetings.

“I don’t know that there’s another single person in California who had such a positive and long-lasting impact on open government in our state,” said David Snyder, executive director of the First Amendment Coalition. Opotowsky remained an active board member until his death and had emailed Snyder suggesting work the organization could take up just weeks ago, he added. “His longevity, his persistence and his tenacity are the stuff of legend.”

Opotowsky joined the Press-Enterprise in 1973 after working as an editor at Newsday. He was known for fostering a culture that emphasized hard news and accountability journalism, said former columnist Dan Bernstein, who worked at the Press-Enterprise from 1976 to 2014.

Back then, the news organization put out two papers: the morning Enterprise and the afternoon Press, which were later merged. Opotowsky eventually climbed the ranks to become managing editor of the combined edition.

“He was pretty much on everybody’s shoulder as they wrote and reported stories, because he was a very tough and aggressive editor who was skeptical of government and skeptical of politicians,” Bernstein said. “And none of us wanted to be left not asking the question that he would have looked for immediately.”

In January 1984, the paper won the first of two Supreme Court rulings that are still often cited by attorneys seeking access to court proceedings.

“He was reputed to know as much about constitutional law as a lot of lawyers did,” he said. “Whether it was government meetings, courtrooms or records, he was pretty much adamant that all records should be open and all courtrooms should be open.”

Opotowsky retired as editor of the Press-Enterprise in 1999, becoming an ombudsman, tasked with investigating and responding to reader complaints. In addition to his open records advocacy work, he taught at Cal State Fullerton.

He was rightly known for being unsparingly direct, said Kris Lovekin, a former education reporter at the Press-Enterprise. She recalled one story in which Opotowsky demanded that a reporter unmask a donor to UC Riverside who wanted to remain anonymous, figuring that a public university must be required to disclose its backers. After he resolved to get an attorney involved, the Press-Enterprise’s then-publisher, Howard H. “Tim” Hays, was forced to disclose that it was he who had, in fact, made the donation, Lovekin said.

At the same time, Opotowsky was also kind and compassionate when warranted, she said. A keen chronicler of the world around him, he was creating journalism up until the end of his life, she said.

“He was still writing stories about people in Claremont Manor, about the people he lived with,” Lovekin said. “He would post it on Facebook and we would read about the other residents.”

Opotowsky was remembered for his dry wit that at times leaned acerbic. He had a soft spot for practical jokes and an even softer spot for his grandchildren and great-grandchildren, his son said. He loved horseback riding, fox hunting and trying different restaurants, he said.

Opotowsky was born in New Orleans on Dec. 13, 1931. His mother was ill, so one of her sisters-in-law filled out the registration card and submitted it to the city to produce a birth certificate, Didier Optowsky said. The sister-in-law named him Maurice Leon after their father — contrary to a tradition among some Jewish people that dictates babies should not be named after living relatives, he said.

“My grandmother was so furious she refused to call him Maurice, refused to call him M.L.,” Didier Opotowsky said. “So she called him Mel.”

His father did not learn his legal name until he was drafted into the Army, Didier Opotowsky said.

True to his roots, Opotowsky was also known to make enormous batches of red beans and rice — enough to feed the entire family for weeks, his son said. “They were good,” he said. “But we would get tired after the fifth day or so.”

He is survived by his wife Bonnie; son Didier; daughters Joelle Opotowsky, Keturah Persellin and Jamie Persellin; 18 grandchildren and many great-grandchildren. He is preceded in death by a daughter, Arielle Opotowsky, who died as an infant.

Norm Zeigler had no secret fishing spots.

Inventor of one of the most used flies in the history of fly fishing, Zeigler was known for passing on his free fishing knowledge in a sport that's often thought of an exclusive extension of angling reserved for the rich and retired.

The famous Sanibel Island angler and businessman died early Monday at his partially rebuilt home on Sanibel Island from complications related to Parkinson's.

Born on July 10, 1948 on Cape Cod, Zeigler, 75, worked as a travel and outdoors writer and editor for most of his life, and he was known locally as the forefather and big promoter of fly fishing for snook, especially from beaches like Sanibel Island.

"He was so king and big-hearted and that's why he was so successful," said his wife of 39 years, Libby Grimm. "He believed in no secret spots, even before he opened the fly shop."

He is survived by Libby, son Travis Zeigler of Sanibel, daughter, Katrina Sherman (Hunter), and three grandchildren, of Austin, Texas. He is also survived by his sister and three brothers, and many nieces and nephews.

Zeigler spent much of his professional life as an outdoors and travel writer and editor for Stars and Stripes, a military publication based in Germany.

There, he roamed across much of Europe, hunting and fishing some of the most beautiful landscapes the continent has to offer.

Zeigler came down with Lyme disease, and in 1994 his doctor advised that he move to an area like Florida for its temperate climate and clean air.

He did, but he also lost trout fishing, which had become an obsession over the decades.

"He was so sick he would cast from the beach, and then he realized he could catch snook from the beach," Libby said. "Then he wrote the book that revolutionized the fly fishing industry because you didn't need money to pay for a guide."

Norm Zeigler's Fly Shop opened in 2009 along Periwinkle Drive, and the fly fishing atmosphere there inspired a generation of guides in Lee County to follow Zeigler's lead.

He sold the shop in 2021 after being diagnosed with Parkinson's.

"He didn't make it three years and (Hurricane) Ian didn't help because we lost everything in the world," Libby said. "It was a 6-minute walk to the Gulf, and it was a great house until Ian."

Hurricane Ian made landfall on their 38th wedding anniversary, Libby said.

Daniel Andrews, co-founder of Captains for Clean Water, worked at Zeigler's fly shop for several years while he was in high school.

"I met Norm before I had my driver's license," Andrews said. "I must have been 13 or 14 years old."

He said Zeigler was an advocate for fly fishing and he fought to break down economic barriers that keep many people from enjoying the sport.

"The thing about Norm was he was incredibly empowering to people: Anybody can pick up a fly rod and you don't need the fanciest setup out there," Andrews said. "The most notable thing about his is he worked to remove boundaries and he wanted people to find the peace and connection to nature."

Andrews described Zeigler as a serious fisherman who wanted his friends and guests to experience the joys he had come to know on Sanibel.

"When you were on the water with him, he had a sense of seriousness and there wasn't a lot of words said," Andrews said. "He just wanted you to have the same experience he did. The real drive for that was the peace and serenity that he had while fly fishing the beaches."

Long-time friend and fellow fly fisherman Bob Brooks said Zeigler's shop was key to starting a unique fishery on Sanibel.

"There were a few people who were doing it but they were very quiet about it," Brooks said. "Norm was the one who started writing about it and developed the Schminnow and he was probably the first people who really went after it and told people about it. Then people started to come to Sanibel just to do that and they still do."

Zeigler was featured in a recent Flyfisherman.com article on his life and passing.

Calusa Watekeeper and fishing guide Codty Pierce, 33, worked at Zeigler's shop as a teenager, and he credited Zeigler with making Southwest Florida waters famous.

"He's really the one who bridged the gap and told normal people they could sight fish for tropical gamefish on Sanibel Island," Pierce said. Sight fishing is a visual method where fish are spotted and then cast to. "Not only was it his business but he went out of his way to give casting lessons and encouraged people to go out and try it. He founded the Sanibel Fly Club and they really are a staple of the community." Pierce said Zeigler was a leader in the fishing community and just a genuinely good person.

"What started as hanging out on a dirty old couch turned into a group that got together for fly fishing because we were passionate about it, but that turned into more beautiful things like helping Boy Scouts and doing work inside Ding Darling and that was all the brainchild of Norm," Pierce said. "His book was a gamechanger for this area because it really put us on the map. The only thing that's rivaled his book is the tarpon fishing at Boca Grande."

But Zeigler's health failed him in the past few years.

"He certainly had his share of health issues with the chronic Lyme disease and the prostate cancer and this Parkinson's was more than enough, but fly fishing was his Zen, his yoga and his religion," Libby said.