1. A Cool Day in May

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    May 21, 2015 by admin

    With clouds covering the sun, the day started out cool and windy. The heads of all the tulips were blown away, leaving naked stems blowing in the breeze, like masts of a hundred ships in harbor. The guitarist was singing “Let It Be” at the mosaic. I barreled through the crowd, wishing I’d worn a jacket over my rayon aloha shirt. At the fountain, the azaleas had burst forth in thick blooms of white, pink and fuchsia, while Meta huddled against the cold under her shawl on her bench.

    “I can’t take this much longer,” she said. “What time is it?” It was not even noon. “Oh, maybe another half hour, at most.”

    I set up my case under the maple, but spent my busking time farther along the path, in the sun. A young man dropped 38 cents early on, and a guy walking by added a dollar. Three girls from Columbia Prep danced a fine hula, and a man painstakingly took a picture, none of whom thought to contribute. The doo wop group was at it again; I could see crowds form closer to the Boathouse. With 45 minutes left in my set, I threw everything back in my case and carried it back to the fountain.

    Meta was packing up to leave, so I stepped out into the sun, set up again and played center stage for the duration. “Here’s how I spent my winter,” I told her, breaking out into “My Baby Just Cares for Me,” an Eddie Cantor hit from 1930.

    A mob of kids from IS 318 in Brooklyn had time for a hula. Their teacher reached into her pocket – not for the first time, I suspect — and found $2 for me.

    A familiar face stepped forward to shake my hand. “I listen to you all the time and never gave you anything.” The man, about my age, remedied that with a buck. Two men, not at all familiar but also about my age, stopped to chat. “You’re still here,” one said, “and singing out as well as ever. See this guy,” he turned to his friend, “I came to New York 6 years ago and he was standing right here with that ukulele. How about a song for my friend?”

    “Here’s one written by Dean Martin, performed by Arthur Godfrey.” I launched into “Making Love Ukulele Style.” They heard me through, shook my hand and walked off.

    Although the clouds had thinned and the sun shone through finally to warm the day, the wind still blew in cold gusts. At one point, my money blew out of my case; at another, a lei ended up in the fountain. A young bearded fellow who had been sitting along the edge of the fountain with his dog pulled it from the drink. He laid it out on the stone seat to dry. “Do you do parties?” he asked. I told him I’d done a kid’s birthday party at an east side pizzeria once. I’d charged $25 for 30 minutes, but the father gave me $45, saying I was a hell of lot cheaper than a clown.

    “This would be a baby shower,” he said, “on Long Island.”

    I gave him my card and told him to let me know what he had in mind. He gave me a dollar and said he would.

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  2. Another Slow Day

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    May 15, 2015 by admin

    The chestnut tree is in full bloom. The center of each floret on the spiky white clusters is hot pink. For the time being, this tree is a favorite for picnickers.

    Meta beat me to the fountain again, so again I took up my position under the maple, facing the ugly green construction curtain that lines the path to the boathouse. There must be some kind of work going on among the rowboats, although I haven’t heard a hammer or saw yet. The website for the Loeb Boathouse says they will reopen the first week in May. Oops.

    I didn’t have to wait an hour for my first customer. A man paid me a dollar for my picture. Random change from a few young men got me going, then a family from Utah stopped so their little girl could hula. With her elbows against her torso, she flapped her arms like a chicken. As I retrieved the lei I whispered to her, “You can smile, it’s ok,” but she remained stone-faced.

    “Has this group got time for a hula today?” It was a high school group with a leader who looked like he wanted to stop, but, in the end, he said they’d already spent a lot of time with other musicians. I wandered away from my case to investigate my competition around the bend. An a cappella doo-wop group had set up there. Sandwiched between them and Meta, I would have another slow day.

    A scruffy man, perhaps homeless, stopped and flashed a gap-toothed smile as I played. “Have you got time for a hula today?” He took a lei and danced expressively to “The Hukilau Song.” A woman walking by was captivated by the scene. After the man left, she came forward to reward me with a dollar.

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  3. Avoiding Zero

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    May 14, 2015 by admin

    On the lawns, under the flagpole, everywhere I looked as I walked to the fountain, were people dressed in yellow tee-shirts, sitting in silent meditation circles. On the back of the shirts was printed FALUN DAFA IS GOOD. Later in the day, with the exercise finished and the many groups dispersing, waves of yellow shirts passed by me, smiling or giving me a thumbs-up.

    The day was cool and windy. Elm seeds piled up against the curbstone edging the paths. On Cherry Hill, a fuchsia-colored azalea vibrated with intensity, while closer to the fountain, the colors were a more muted salmon and white.

    Meta was at the fountain. She called me over to give me the phone number of Jeff Croft, a colleague of Norman Siegel of the NY Civil Liberties Union. “He might be more responsive than Norman,” she said.

    “He couldn’t be less.” For the moment, all again was well, but I’ll keep the number in case the Parks Department, or the tail that wags the dog, the Central Park Conservancy, shows its fascist face again.

    I played under the maple, its helicopter seeds twirling down around my head. For almost an hour, no one stopped to dance, or noticed me at all. For long stretches, the only people I saw were the yellow shirts, a homeless man, and a middle-aged woman, sitting on the bench high on the hill behind me, taking the sun.

    A gaggle of conservancy workers, in green shirts, walked by. One of them said, “Have you been displaced?”

    “No, the harp was already at the fountain,” I said. “We buskers are self-regulating.”

    Six well-dressed high school girls crested the hill. Finally, someone had time for a hula. As I passed out the leis I asked why they weren’t in school today. It seems they had won a day off by winning a trivia contest. “What was the winning question?”

    “Actually,” one began, “we weren’t even there.” I inquired no further. Two verses of “The Hukilau Song” yielded 2 singles.

    Shortly afterward, a jolly looking man, strolling with his family, added another dollar, to bring the day’s take to $3. I was happy to have avoided a zero dollar day.

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