Aside from his wonderful playing, I'll mostly miss Erwin's stories and the mischievous smile that accompanied his humorous comments in rehearsals.
My favorite story from his rich collection of experiences was the time he had provided a band for a Cleveland wedding that was mostly to be attended by people from New York. Being told (or assuming) that they'd prefer the popular dance-music of that era, jazz , Erwin assembled a band made up of Cleveland's finest jazz musicians.
When the big day arrived, and the band was onstage, poised to play for the reception, Erwin was shocked to discover that what he assumed to be a very cosmopolitan, "hip," jazz-loving crowd from the Big Apple was actually a large group of orthodox Hasidic Jews from Brooklyn, who wanted to hear only traditional Jewish folk music and klezmer tunes.
The band suddenly found themselves "gefilte fish out of water," as Erwin said. Between all the members of the band, they could only manage to recall a song or two, so thinking quickly, Erwin asked those making requests to "hum a few bars." After the black-garbed audience started singing, the band would gradually join in, picking up the tune and "playing by ear" to fake their way through it. And so the went the entire gig.
I said to Erwin, "That must have been the hardest three hours of your musical life," and he corrected me, "It was FOUR hours!"
"Did they like it?" I asked.
And Erwin replied, "They paid us to do another hour!"
Rest in peace, my friend. Your memory and your music will live on! Zichronam liv'rachah.