1. Mr. Ukulele Goes International

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    May 13, 2014 by admin

    Today was hot, with blue sky and puffy white clouds. The spikey blossoms on the chestnut tree have opened a creamy white. I was happy to see Arlen and Meta by the fountain, so I could move on to the shade of my maple by the path. Throughout my 90 minute set, it dropped its little helicopter seeds.

    But the big news at my location was the sighting of a bay-breasted warbler in a nearby birch. Birders were there when I arrived, and just kept coming with their cameras equipped with close-up lenses as long as your arm. Tight-beaked bunch, these birders. When I asked what they were looking at they ignored me, or answered coyly, “Birds.” Any particular bird? “Just birds.” Finally, one guy clued me in to the bay-breasted warbler. “What’s really unusual’s how low in the tree it is, and it’s so cooperative.”

    Before long a middle-aged couple from Brazil stopped to hula. “How much?” the man asked, gesturing toward my CDs. For $10, he had to have one.

    Later, a couple from England stopped to chat, a 50-something man and a much younger, exotic-looking woman. He loved my act, said if he went home to London tonight it would have been worth the trip. I think he was showing off for his girlfriend, naming various places he’d been to in the city over the last 30 years, for the best of this or that, then calling on me for confirmation: “Am I right?” Finally he came right out with it. Taking in the lovely day with outstretched arms, he said, “You may well be the luckiest man in New York,” then, taking up the young woman’s hand, “next to me.”

    Two CDs sold, I walked out of the park with $22.65. The birders were still at it.

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  2. Rainy Friday

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    May 9, 2014 by admin

    All of NY seemed to be inside a cloud today. Droplets hung in the air, so I wasn’t so much rained on as rained into as I walked to the park. The top of the towers on Central Park South were hidden in fog. I saw an umbrella, then a second and a third, but still most people, like me, were ignoring the weather. The forecast, after all, was for a chance of showers. With any luck, I thought, it will clear, and, if not, I still will have gotten out of the house for a while. And in the back of my mind I thought that harps and dulcimers don’t do well in the rain, so center stage may at last be mine today. And so it was.

    The choir was at it in the tunnel. Rainy days are good for them because people flock to the tunnel for shelter. At the far end of the fountain a man was hitting a stick against a wooden block. Was this another busker? Having never seen him before, I decided not and set up. Within minutes a school group came by. “Does this group have time for a hula?”

    “They’re middle-schoolers,” said a teacher. “Good luck getting them to do anything.”

    With a little cajoling, a group of three donned leis and made a mess of it. “Wait a minute,” I addressed the teacher. “You can hula, can’t you? You’ve got to show them.” I put a lei around her neck and we started again. She showed them all right, with all the right moves. The kids squealed and more of them rushed forward to put on a lei and dance. By the end, we’d done three verses and 7-8 kids had danced. “Where are we going?” I shouted. “To the Hukilau,” came the response.

    Gathering up the leis and spreading them out for the next dancers, I saw that somebody or bodies had dropped a quarter and a penny in my case. The knock-knock of the wooden block was audible behind me. For the next two songs, “Ukulele Lady,” and “Honolulu Eyes,” I tried to ignore it, but it was just too annoying. I’d got my time on center stage, but it was a hollow victory. I could feel the aloha spirit draining from me, so I packed up and moved to my spot on the path, which had the advantage of being under a tree, out of the rain, and out of earshot of the block-knocker.

    Very few people walked by; I was pretty much alone. I took the opportunity to practice a new song, “Down among the Sheltering Palms,” playing it over and over, working through the chord changes. It’s been said that you have to play a song 10,000 times before you know it, so I still have a long way to go. After an hour, with 26 cents to show for it, I packed up and went home. Going out on a day like today maybe wasn’t such a good idea after all.

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  3. Weekday Wednesday

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    May 8, 2014 by admin

    After a morning’s worth of chores, I managed to get to my location by the lake around noon. The park was quiet, even though the weather was delightful, with full sun and a cool breeze. Between the fountain and my spot is a cherry tree with blossoms as big as your fist. One branch is so heavy it rests on the ground before shooting back up toward the sky. It is a favorite spot for bridal pictures.

    Whenever I see a bride and groom I stop what I’m playing and launch into “The Hawaiian Wedding Song.” Most of the time, the couple has no clue what I’m singing, although sometimes an amused bystander will reward me with a dollar and a smile. Today, however, the bride eagerly assented to a hula dance, while her groom stood nearby holding her rose bouquet.

    I was also paid a visit by Maggie, a black scottie with whom I’ve made acquaintance over the years. It is Maggie’s wont to sit right in front of me and listen with rapt attention. This pose attracts the dog lovers walking by who snap photos and question the owner about age and breed. Once or twice a season, the owner will drop a buck or two in my case, but mostly we chat about the weather. I now know a number of dogs and their owners; like the other musicians, they are part of my park experience, familiar faces in the crowd to mark the continuity of the seasons.

    A birthday girl stopped to hula. Perhaps in her 20’s, she and her friends danced around to “The Hukilau Song.” A group from Ottawa stopped to watch, but no one felt comfortable enough to put on a lei and join in.

    On my way out of the park, with $9.67 in my pocket, I spotted the hula-hooping violinist. A thin, young Asian woman with long black hair, she usually set up near the information booth by Daniel Webster, but today she was at the far end of the fountain. I have often admired her showmanship, marking time with her hoop-twirling hips to the strains of Mozart and Bach. As they sing in Gypsy, “You gotta have a gimmick if you wanna get ahead.”

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