1. Hot, Helpful and Happy

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    July 31, 2014 by admin

    The busker scene is expanding. Another homeless guitar man has joined the rotation at Strawberry Fields. He was singing “We Can Work It Out” as I walked by. I prepared for today’s high heat and low humidity with lots of suntan lotion, a bottle of water, and a hat. I took center stage. No sooner had I started when a slender black woman and her teenage son walked over. I learned in conversation that she too was a street performer, had been rousted out of the subway and wanted to know the deal in the park.

    Her goal was to sing in a tunnel at the south end near the zoo. That didn’t interfere with my routine, so I gave her the lowdown about amplification, busker courtesy, the Central Park Conservancy, NYPD, and other relevant info. She showed her gratitude by dancing a beautiful hula, not her first I should think, and dropping a dollar in my case.

    “What’s your name?” she asked.

    “They call me Mr. Ukulele.”

    For the next hour the magic happened. A young mother and her toddler did a fine hula. A Norwegian girl quit her hula after 8 bars. “Like this,” I showed her. “Move your arms like the sea. There’s lots of sea in Norway.” A forty-something man strode purposely past me, slowed, returned. “What got you?” I asked. He pointed to my CD, “Aloha, New York,” saying, “I got the spirit from you; I’m good to go all day now.” An Arab boy, who had been sitting with his family in the shade, walked up to me during one of my water breaks. “You’ve got a good voice,” he said with a dollar. For another 15-20 minutes, while the family finished their lunch, the boy tried to get his little sister to put change in my case. A dark eyed 4-5 year old, she approached, ran away, came back later, ran again, all the time hearing her brother encourage and mock her. In the end I never saw that money. But I did coax a buck from a man by tipping my hat to him as he walked by.

    The sun moved higher; the benches cleared of people seeking shade. I should have done the same, but with my set almost over, I sang one last chorus of “My Little Grass Shack” and packed up with $14.37 in my pocket.

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  2. I’m Blue Every Monday

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    July 30, 2014 by admin

    Not really, that’s just the opening line to “Sunday.” But Mondays can be slow. With the cool breeze in the shade, however, the lack of an audience afforded me time to try out old tunes: “Don’t Blame Me,” “Whispering,” “When the Midnight Choo Choo Leaves for Alabam.” I watched the Canada geese, together with tourists of all nations, glide over the lake, all sparkly with sunlight.

    I took in 3 and change, all from kids. The first 2 fit a pattern. The kid is curious, slows, approaches. Maybe he has a toy uke at home or has decided at that moment that he wants one. We lock eyes. A thought passes between us. Is it the shared delight in music-making, or the awe of aloha that crosses his face? He runs to catch up, pulls on mommy/daddy’s sleeve. A brief discussion, and the wallet/purse opens.

    The third kid was of a different sort. Young parents, seeking the same breezy shade I do, parked their stroller right in front of me. As I sang, the kid nodded off. Dad had time to make some calls; Mom looked like she was checking email. I sang some quiet numbers so as not to wake the baby.

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  3. Friday’s Record Haul

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    July 26, 2014 by admin

    I got a late start on Friday. My ukulele case, which has been falling apart for the last year or more, needed additional repairs before I could go out. While I wait for a new case to arrive, I keep the old case going with safety pins and wire garbage bag ties. It was well after noon when I entered the park. The usual Beatles repertoire was afoot around the Imagine Mosaic, while on the rock leading away from Strawberry Fields a 60-ish guitarist, with a harmonica holder around his neck, sang “You Know It Ain’t Easy.”

    At the fountain, I assessed the cool breeze, the blazing sun, and decided to start the day on center stage. As I set up, a father and his two sons were tossing coins in the fountain. While little girls make wishes, little boys take aim at the Angel of the Waters. “How about a hula today?”

    With their father snapping pictures, the boys waved their arms and shuffled their feet to “The Hukilau Song.” At the end, he gave them each a dollar to give to me, after which he himself put a fiver in my case. Seven dollars, and I hadn’t even put my own lei on yet.

    The big bubble man put his soapy pail down in front of me. I was contemplating speaking to him about moving farther off when a young woman gave me 2 Susan B’s, and advised me to get out of the sun. So rather than confront the bubble man, I closed my case and carried it up the path toward the boathouse, to my shady spot under the maple.

    A few minutes later, two 50-something men in aloha shirts wandered by. “How’re you guys going on this beautiful day?” I asked. “Have you got time for a hula today?”

    “Of course,” said the shorter.

    “Delighted,” said the taller. “Just last night in our hotel room,” the taller told me when the dance was done, “we were saying that we couldn’t be any happier. Now look. You’ve raised the bar.” I watched as he drew a twenty from his wallet.

    “Hey, thanks a lot.”

    “No, no, thank you.” Off they strolled, their feet just touching the ground.

    At the end of my set, I heard the melodic screech of an electric violin. Walking back toward the fountain, I stopped to chat. “Amplification is not allowed,” I told the young man, “so turn it off, or at least turn it down, or you’ll screw it up for the rest of us.”

    Back at Strawberry Fields, the harmonica-and-guitar man was gone, replaced by the accordion player, enrapt in her soulful rendition of the “Theme from the Godfather.” Another guitarist, from his bench near the mosaic, was singing from the Beatles songbook. Two pm, and the second shift had started work.

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