Before Rock Magazine had national distribution, a staff of writers, or even a dependable financial future, two New York music enthusiasts were carrying its first issues through crowds, hoping to attract readers. One of the men who eventually helped finance their experiment did not own a record company or concert hall. He sold diamonds on Manhattan’s 47th Street.
His name was Lee Runsdorf, of Runsdorf Jewelers. His connection to the magazine began with a friendship with music agent Ira Blacker, not a formal presentation across a corporate conference table.
Years earlier, Blacker had purchased an engagement ring for his first wife, Jean Prodan, from Runsdorf. The jeweler allowed him to take the ring for an independent appraisal before completing the sale. A friend of Blacker’s named Abe examined it and confirmed that the price was right on the wholesale money.
That transaction became a friendship. Blacker frequently stopped by Runsdorf’s shop when he was in the Diamond District, sometimes making additional purchases, sometimes simply visiting.
Blacker’s journey into music publishing had been equally unconventional. While attending Hofstra University, he and his friend Larry Marshak spent their spare time searching record stores for obscure doo-wop singles. Their expeditions sometimes carried them across the Hudson River into New Jersey, where forgotten records could be purchased for nickels, dimes, and quarters.
The two eventually began producing local rock-and-roll shows. Blacker went on to manage Hank Cardello and the Emeralds, and his success booking groups into New York clubs attracted the attention of major talent agencies.
He eventually joined Joe Glaser’s Associated Booking Corporation, where he worked with important musical artists and gained firsthand experience with the machinery behind the entertainment business.
By the late 1960s, Blacker and Marshak had another idea. They wanted to publish a rock newspaper that reflected the music, personalities, and rapidly changing culture surrounding them.
They called it Rock Magazine.
The operation was hardly glamorous. The two men wrote the first issue themselves, with Marshak carrying much of the editorial workload. Without a staff of writers, they used pseudonyms to create the impression of a larger publication.
Blacker even wrote an article under the name Linda Kaplan, borrowed from an old college friend. That particular article attracted the attention of CBS radio, which contacted him with an offer to become an assistant program director.
Then came Woodstock.
In August 1969, Blacker and Marshak loaded their fledgling publication into a rented white station wagon and headed for the festival. They also brought toilet paper, an unexpectedly valuable commodity, at an event overwhelmed by the sheer number of people attending.
The drive became an ordeal. Traffic slowed to a crawl, turning what should have been a relatively straightforward trip from Long Island into hours of frustration.
Once they reached the grounds, the two walked among the enormous crowd, distributing copies of Rock Magazine and attempting to establish a readership.
Blacker was already representing artists appearing at Woodstock, including Canned Heat, Creedence Clearwater Revival, and Sly and the Family Stone. Nevertheless, he deliberately avoided going backstage, concerned that promoting his private publishing venture might conflict with his responsibilities at Associated Booking.
Following the festival, he approached Runsdorf to invest in the magazine. The jeweler agreed to contribute $1,500, a meaningful sum, for a small publication trying to establish itself in an emerging market.
The investment was an expression of confidence in Blacker and their friendship.
Rock Magazine eventually expanded beyond its New York beginnings and achieved national distribution. Blacker, however, left the venture after his relationship with Marshak deteriorated. According to Blacker’s account, Runsdorf was never repaid for his investment.
The incident offers a glimpse into an overlooked corner of the music business. Long before an artist appeared on a magazine cover, someone had to finance the publication, produce its stories, distribute its copies, and persuade an audience to read them.
Such experiences are often absent from the best rock autobiographies, which naturally focus on the performers rather than the people supporting the businesses around them.
Yet the human relationships behind those ventures are what give good music autobiographies their substance.
Lee Runsdorf never needed to step onstage or sign a recording contract to become part of rock-and-roll history. His contribution was considerably quieter: friendship, an investment, and $1,500 that helped keep a young magazine’s ambitions alive.
