1. Underneath September Skies

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    September 18, 2014 by admin

    These are the best days of the year, with cloudless skies, seasonable temperatures and cool breezes off the water. White Michaelmas daisies bloom in crowds under the trees, while behind the benches, where the cosmos have been torn out for the winter, white morning glories and pink roses on new red wood reach unobstructed for the sun.

    Center stage was occupied by yet another saxophone, so once again I took up my spot on the path. A young couple rewarded me with a quarter, and shortly afterward an Italian man tossed in another quarter. “Have you got time for a hula today?” While she danced, the Italian woman burst out laughing several times, and, each time she did, her Italian man tossed in another quarter.

    A diminutive 30-something man stopped to listen while I sang “I Saw Stars.” At the end of the song, he thanked me with a dollar.

    A police cruiser inched its way along the path. As it passed I greeted the cops inside with “Aloha, officers.” They seemed amused.

    I had just concluded “Little Coquette” when twang, string #3, the C string, snapped. My tenor uke has 2 nylon strings and 2 wire wound stings. Nylon is indestructible, but wire wound breaks regularly. If I replace them in winter, they will last me all season, but this winter I didn’t do it; so I dug out a replacement from my case and quickly attached it. The trouble with new strings, of course, is that they go flat until they settle down. As a result, I had to re-tune after every song, sometimes even during a song – a quick turn of the screw between strums will do it.

    Maggie the Scottish terrier stopped by. As usual, she got way more attention than I did. When she refused to move on, I suggested we put a lei around her neck. She didn’t like it; after her owner took it off he had no trouble leading her away.

    A woman stopped to listen while I sang “Give Me a Ukulele and a Ukulele Baby.” After a moment she made a phone call, then held the phone up so the person on the other end of the line could hear. When I finished, she gave me a dollar before heading up the path.

    A young couple walked by. “Have you got time for a hula today?”

    The young man looked at his girlfriend. “It’s up to you.”

    She wore a gold letter-T around her neck. “Let me guess,” I said, “Theresa.”

    “That’s close,” she said, delighted. “It does begin with T.”

    She did a fine hula, after which her boyfriend tossed a dollar in my case. As it turned out, her name was Talia, a name that would have taken me all afternoon to guess.

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  2. Busking by the Numbers

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    September 16, 2014 by admin

    It was a beautiful September day. With temperatures in the 70s, cool breezes, and a whiff of fall in the air, the tourists wore sweaters and windbreakers.

    When I got to the fountain, Rakeem, the saxophonist, was playing center stage. This was the first I’d seen him working in years. Small, powerfully built, Rakeem knew how to gather crowds; I once saw him collect $30-40 in a few minutes from a small wedding party. During the Quiet Zone Wars, Rakeem told a reporter he made $125,000/year. That may be so, but he didn’t make it by busking. At 40 hours/week, 52 weeks/year, he’d have to have collected $60/hour, every hour.

    At the top of the path, Yevgeny played Mozart transcribed for bass and violin. The violinist was a young man approaching 40, dressed in dark pants and a white shirt, almost certainly another refugee, like Yevgeny, from the National Philharmonic of Ukraine. I tried to catch Yevgeny’s eye as I passed by, but he was lost in the music.

    I set up at the edges of the umbra of the maple tree, so I could step out into the sun when I felt cool, and back into the shade when I felt warm. A French-speaking Swiss girl was happy to hula. She hopped and jumped and swung her arms with gusto, while her friend got it all on video.

    Much later, a pregnant woman and her husband walked by as I sang “I Can’t Give You Anything But Love.” They stopped about ten yards away to confer. The husband then came back and gave me a quarter, thereby bringing my total for the day to $1.25.

    On my way out of the park, I saw that Yevgeny and friend had joined John Boyd in the Arcade. Rakeem was gone, having made, I presume, his daily quota of $240.

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  3. September 11, 2014

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    September 15, 2014 by admin

    I had no idea what to expect. As it turned out, unlike Grand Central Terminal, where a militarized police patrolled in large numbers, Central Park was free of guns. In fact, the park was beautifully free of crowds altogether. Center stage was mine. An elegantly dressed woman started me off with a dollar, followed closely by a young man in a tee shirt. Neither had time for a hula.

    A group of 5 girls collected 5 quarters; one of them walked them over to me and dropped them in my case. Two young women smoked on the bench directly in front of me. The park is a no smoking zone, but, except for one old lady who routinely tells tourists to snub out their butts, or stands in front of bicyclists on the path to make them dismount, no one enforces the codes. First one smoker came forward with a dollar, then the second.

    “Have you got time for a hula today?”

    “No,” said the man walking by, “I’m not drunk enough.”

    As I packed up, a twenty-something woman handed me a buck. “Thanks,” she said, “I really enjoyed your music.”

    “How about a hula?” I asked, holding up a lei I was about to put away in my case, but sobriety was to reign all day.

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