1. We’re All Outlaws Here

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    May 30, 2014 by admin

    A beautiful Thursday in May brought me back to the park. In the deep shade I spotted foxglove, while behind the benches wild roses bloomed beneath the buff-flowered dogwood. At Strawberry Fields, which is posted as a quiet zone, a young man who usually sat on a bench was standing at the top of the Imagine mosaic playing Beatles’ songs on his guitar. As I passed, I heard him say to a retreating crowd, “Thanks for taking advantage of a homeless person.” It was a jarring complaint I hadn’t heard before. I think of buskers as putting out their music for free; to expect contributions is wrong-headed and to complain about it is self-defeating.

    Arlen and Meta were at the fountain, so I moved on to the path. Rhododendron and azalea waved pink and white in the cool breeze. It was a slow day. My first dollar came after half an hour from a 30-something young woman. “Thanks,” I said.

    “No, thank you.”

    After watching a woman gamely hula, to the delight of her friends, two young children who were picnicking with their parents on the rocks behind me shyly wandered up to me. “You want to hula?” They appeared to be from North Africa or the Middle East. “Ask your parents if it’s ok, and we’ll hula.” They returned each with a dollar in hand. The boy chose a blue lei, the girl pink.

    Something new in the park today, a Buddhist monk in saffron robes aggressively begging. At the end of my session I visited with Arlen and Meta, where they were packing up for the day. Meta is always happy to convert Canadian currency for me. She counted out 5 singles, as I admired the Siberian irises, pale purple and white, that fluttered like birds on their narrow stems along the lakeshore. “Did you see that monk?” Arlen asked. “I don’t think he’s legit.”

    “Legit? Really?” We had a good laugh. “We’re all outlaws here,” I reminded him.

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  2. Aloha Conquers All

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    May 20, 2014 by admin

    This week is so heavily scheduled I thought I’d never get to the park, but I saw my chance late this morning and set out into a warm May day. The spring bulbs are over, and the summer flowers are not yet here. The park is in a state of suspense. In the deep shade, solomon’s seal is showing rows of thin white tubes, while farther out in the sun, bleeding hearts hang pink and bulbous, also in neat rows. Except for a few varieties of dogwood, and, of course, the chestnut, the trees too are done.

    Today’s heat may have kept Arlen and Meta away, leaving the fountain to me. Things got swinging right from the start. A couple of little girls did the hula, and a few others dropped change as they walked by, giving me the thumbs-up, since Facebook the universal sign of approval. One of the little girls’ father pulled out a twenty and asked if I had change, which I did not. “Don’t worry about it,” I told him. Something about the glorious day, this glorious space and the distance I’d traveled from the cares of my non-park life put sparkle and joy into my voice, extended my range and filled my available universe with the aloha spirit.

    Wait a minute? Huh, what’s that? I finished the first chorus of “Tiptoe through the Tulips” and answered my phone. Chaos calling, time to go home. I took off my lei and started to pack up when a young man approached and asked me what songs I knew.

    “Mostly stuff from the 20’s and 30’s. Why, what do you have in mind?”

    “Do you know Teen Angel?”

    “No.”

    “Can you sing a nice love song to my girlfriend for me?” He opened his wallet and pulled out a twenty.

    The young woman was shy, probably had little English, but she giggled as her boyfriend translated softly. “I saw stars, I heard the birdies sing so sweet, so sweet, the moment I fell for you.”

    Though truncated, my outing today still yielded a season best $23.18, and proved, once again, that aloha conquers all.

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  3. Erratum

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    May 14, 2014 by admin

    On my way to the park, I ran into Dominic at the 103rd St. subway station. We used to see each other quite often during my first years of busking, but he’s been gone from around the fountain for years. In his mid to late 30’s, lanky and bearded, Dominic was still banging out 60’s rock on his guitar. He looked healthier than I’ve ever seen him. We greeted each other warmly before I boarded my train.

    When I got to my spot on the path, I took a closer look at the tree in which the bay-breasted warbler had attracted such a crowd yesterday. I had identified it as a birch, but on closer inspection it turns out to be a young white mulberry. I could tell from the emerging clusters of flowers, which were identical to the flowers forming on the giant white mulberry between me and lake.

    “If you’re here for the bay-breasted warbler,” I said to a man weighted down with camera equipment, “you’re a day late.”

    “I know,” he said, “I was here yesterday.”

    “Do you know what kind of tree that is?” I asked.

    “No, I wish I did.”

    “It’s a white mulberry,” I told him, glad to make a contribution to the ornithological pool of knowledge.

    “Thanks,” he said. He surveyed the canopy, but didn’t spot the warbler. With a shrug, he turned back in the direction he came in.

    A large group of kids loudly approached. “Has this group got time for a hula today?” Before the adult leader could answer, the kids swarmed around me for leis. We did three verses, between which I had them hand the leis off to the next platoon of dancers. Amid all the tumult, traffic was totally blocked on the path. From the edge of my vision, I saw the leader circle behind me and drop a few bucks in my case.

    Arlen and Meta walked by, complaining of the heat. With the warm weather barely begun, I have a feeling I’ll get my shot at center stage yet.

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