1. Some Rules of the Game

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    April 20, 2014 by admin

    After a snowfall Tuesday night, the temperature stayed well below my busking threshold, then on Saturday I ventured out for another weekend in the park. The flowering pear trees along Broadway are glorious, while in the park apple-white and cherry-pink blossoms brighten the still mostly bare landscape. At the entrance at 72nd St., where the bicycle-rickshaws line up, there are wine-red shoots, 1-2” long, pushing out among the thorns on the green wood of the rose bushes. People are still bundled up in coats and sweaters, but the sun is warm.

    The break-dancers have drawn a huge crowd. Bongo rhythms echo all around the fountain. I stop to ask Arlen, “How can you play your music here.”

    “I can’t,” he said, “not when the rules aren’t enforced.” He was speaking about the noise ordinance prohibiting amplified music in the park. He lit a cigarette. There is another ordinance prohibiting smoking too, but, true to the Aloha Spirit, I let it go.

    At the top of the path, two young teens were softly singing who knows what. One played the guitar while the other drummed on the crate he sat on. I set up farther along the path in order not to interfere with them, complying with Busker Rule #1: Don’t set up against another busker.

    As if today were Central Park Rule Day, who walks by but the Park Service’s Urban Rangers, two women in uniforms of green and brown, complete with Smokey the Bear hats and leather jackets. I recognized the Sergeant from the Quiet Zone Wars of 2012, when Strawberry Fields, Bethesda Fountain and the Boat Pond were designated Quiet Zones by the Central Park Conservancy. With no place to play, buskers ignored the signs and were chased around the park by various uniformed enforcers. One was arrested by the NYPD.

    “Things have been fine since then,” I told her.

    “I’m glad. You’re in a good spot here,” she added, as if the Quiet Zones were still in force, and she was glad not to arrest me.

    After a slow start, a giggling young girl dropped three pennies into my case. I always say thank-you, even when it’s clear that I’m being mocked by these copper contributions. I remember one occasion several years ago when my thank-you shamed a wiseacre into turning around and opening his wallet. It was a $6.54 day today, representing a fair number of hulas, a couple of random handfuls of change and one little girl who, although she wouldn’t wear a lei, rocked out to the Hukilau like nobody’s business.

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  2. Monday, April 14

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    April 15, 2014 by admin

    The park is quieter on weekdays, yet school groups still clog the paths. I was caught in the middle of a pack of teenagers when an adult (teacher? chaperone?) praised one of the youngsters for identifying Daniel Webster as the man who made the first American dictionary. “No, no, no,” I joined in, “that was Noah Webster. Daniel was a Senator from Massachusetts, representing the money interests, and a staunch anti-Jacksonian.”

    “See,” said the adult, “every day is an opportunity to learn something new.”

    Walking past Arlen and Meta, past Nick, I noticed how much more color there was in the trees, the red growing tips visible, giving the whole scene an air of expectancy. At location #3, no sooner had I tuned up than a little girl stopped to dance the hula. My go-to hula music is “The Hukilau Song.” I usually sing the first verse and chorus, and only if the dancers are into it will I sing a second verse. There were 3 dancers in all this day; only the last, an elderly tourist from South America, got the second verse. She, alone among her friends, evoked the Aloha Spirit.

    “Why would I say no to a hula in Central Park,” she told me. “Why would you say no?” she asked her friends.

    Leaving the park, with $7.86 in my pocket, I weaved my way back through Strawberry Fields. Since yesterday, the pheasant’s eye narcissus has bloomed. On a bench, a serious young man sat by his sign, promising he’d make me laugh for a dollar, or my money back.

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  3. Sunday in the Park with Mr. Ukulele

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    April 13, 2014 by admin

    I seldom busk on the weekends, but I made an exception today. The park was teeming with people. Every imaginable instrument was out, African gourds, Chinese one-strings, Randy and his dobro, not to mention several guitars, a violin and a saxophone. There was a mime in striped shirt and beret, and Lady Liberty all in green. The Sunday crowd was augmented by the NYRR Women’s Half Marathon, which seemed to be wrapping up by the time I got to the finish line at Bethesda Fountain. On the western steps a crowd had formed to watch the brake-dancers/acrobats, so I walked down the eastern steps, braved the throngs, nodded greetings to Meta and Arlen, walked past a portraitist, said hi to Nick, the hand-writing analyst, and set up shop across from the boat-rental kiosk, my #3 location.

    The warm weather over the last few days has brought out the forsythia, and the magnolia trees are blooming both pink and white. At lakeside, the willow trees are already turning from winter yellow to spring green. A lot of people are carrying palm leaves this Palm Sunday, so after my opening medley I break into “Down among the Sheltering Palms.”

    New Yorkers take the park back from the tourists on Sundays, and a lot of those New Yorkers seem to be single dads. Both hulas danced today were by toddlers and their dads. Today’s only fiver came from a young Argentine and his daughter. After 90 minutes, $11.35.

    The crowds on my way out were only slightly smaller. Arlen and Meta were packing up. “Too chaotic today,” Arlen complained. “And too hot.”

    “Maybe if I played in the nude,” Meta said, “someone would notice.”

    Later, exiting the park, I saw that new amusements were still pouring in, like the giant soap bubble man and the back massagers, two chairs, no waiting.

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