1. Trading Places with the Cowboy

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    October 15, 2015 by admin

    The cowboy was back. I walked past him as he finished “What a Wonderful World” and started in on “Cherish.” As I entered the cool shade of the path, however, I changed my mind. I needed sun, so I went back to the fountain and set up on the west side. At this location, where I’ve never played before, I sang my heart out, with no success. From this vantage, however, I could keep an eye on the cowboy, and when, after 30 minutes, he packed up, I moved onto center stage.

    A large family from Utah walked by. “Have you got time for a hula today?”

    The mother asked the kids, 2 teenage girls and 2 younger boys. They shook their heads no, but mom said, “Well, I want to hula,” at which the girls changed their minds and joined mom. They did a lovely dance, graceful and expressive, especially the younger daughter who pantomimed riding a surfboard and getting wiped out. The father, minding the boys at a distance, dug out a fiver for one of the boys to give to me.

    A Brazilian couple had watched the dance, but would not dance themselves. The man, 30-ish, asked me for a song. I sang “My Little Grass Shack,” and when I sang the lyric about the beach at Hōnaunau, I added, “and Ipanema,” which elicited a big smile and a $3 tip when I finished.

    The afternoon was glorious, even when a roiling black rain cloud blotted out the sun for a while. It was good weather for photographers. At least 3 fashion shoots took place around me, and 3 bridal parties, including a Scottish wedding complete with kilts.

    A 70-something in bicycle gear and an American flag bandanna on his head had been sitting on the bench, adjusting his handlebars and listening to me. After a few songs, as he prepared to leave, he walked up to me with a dollar, saying, “I’ve watched too many people pass you by.”

    A trio of Chinese women stopped nearby. One put some change in my case and asked to take a picture, but that was not the end of it. A little girl had stopped to hula, and the sight had so amused the Chinese women that they assembled another $2 for me.

    A man and woman, dressed in identical horizontally striped polo shirts, sat listening for about 20 minutes before tossing 2 singles into my case and moving on. Soon after, Thoth, the “prayformance” artist who moves into the arcade when the Boyd sacred singers move out, walked by in his loin cloth and face paint. Thoth is best remembered for being arrested a few years back during one of the many busker-sweeps ordered up by the Central Park Conservancy.

    Toward the end of my set, a guy came loping down the path right toward me and presented me with a dollar. “I could hear you all the way up the path,” he said, pointing back toward the Boathouse. “It sounded really cool.”

    At almost the same time, a man turned up the path and put his fingers in his ears. In case I didn’t get the message, he gave me a thumbs-down behind his back. I’d seen that same fingers-in-the-ears gesture from 4-year-olds, but wondered what kind of adult felt compelled to behave that way. An adult with the maturity of a 4-year-old?

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  2. Underneath a Warm October Sky

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    October 14, 2015 by admin

    As I entered the park, the first thing that struck me was the sound of the birds. The noise was everywhere. I looked up, past the squirrels’ nests, to the upper reaches of the trees, but there was little I could see, until, without warning, they took off, great masses moving in graceful coordination, often returning to the same upper branches, as if they’d just left home to pick up the paper and had hurried right back. Some will overwinter, but most, I suspect, are just visiting for a few days before moving farther south.

    It’s been a few days since my last outing; signs of the changing season are evident in the sweaters, scarves and leather jackets people have put on, even though the temperature is above 70. The flowers that have been blooming since August still show color, if a bit faded. A white anemone past Strawberry Fields, however, is newly blooming and is magnificent.

    Due to a late start this morning, the cowboy was already gone, if he had been there at all. After tuning up, I rose to begin my set, and almost immediately a Middle European couple with a toddler strolled by. The toddler was fascinated by the strange man with the uke, so much so that Dad peeled off 2 singles for the kid to give to me, after which they sat nearby and loosely supervised their son while he pushed toy trucks around the fountain’s edge.

    A mother and daughter kicked in another $2, followed by a mom with 2 girls. There was $5 in my case before I finished my second song. A large teenager from London tossed in 60 cents, and after a little soft salesmanship she danced a reluctant hula. Her mom and I discussed real estate in our respective cities. I urged her to look south at the 2 monster erection on 57th Street to see what $90,000,000 will buy.

    An Indiana dad and daughter stopped to chat. The girl had bright red hair in a pageboy cut, like Orphan Annie, and was making great strides in devouring an ice cream cone. She said she too played the uke, but dad and I agreed her fingers were too sticky to show me what she could do. We chatted about ukes and uke music until the ice cream was gone and dad could wipe her face. “Aloha,” said I as they walked away.

    A mom and son sat on the bench in front of me. After a few tunes, I watched the mom root around in her purse. While I always hope that the rooting will produce a buck or two for me, I know not to expect too much. More often than not, it’s a cell phone, or tissues, or water bottle, or map of the park that emerges. On this occasion, however, it was indeed a change purse, and the young boy of 11 or 12 walked over with a dollar. He and his mom were from Berlin and I got a chance to practice my German as we conducted a simple conversation. I asked if they’d encountered very many people in New York who spoke their language; together they answered that I was Der Erste, the first.

    Toward the end of my set, an Asian woman walked by, and, hearing my music, involuntarily moved her hand in a graceful hula-like movement. I invited her to dance, but she declined. Leaving the fountain area, she paused and opened her purse. “Here we go again,” I thought, not even bothering to calculate the odds of 2 purse-rooting tourists coming up with money 2 times in a row. The teenager that was with her brought me $2. “My grandmother was brought up in Hawaii,” he said.

    “Mahalo,” I shouted out to her, to which she responded with a courteous bow.

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  3. A Few Days Left

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    October 8, 2015 by admin

    “This tree is dead,” said the shirtless man on a blanket under the chestnut. He had a picnic basket, a book and a cell phone strewn about, so he probably was not homeless. I was squinting up at the high branches, looking for nuts. Most had already fallen.

    “It starts to brown up like this every July,” I told him. “But look,” grabbing a branch and examining it, “growing tips. Every spring, this tree keeps coming back.”

    “Until it doesn’t,” the man said.

    I stomped on a shiny chestnut, crushing it against the broad ledge of Manhattan schist that rises out of the lawn there. The meat was white and moist. “Still good eating,” I said, tossing him the nut. “For squirrels.”

    Distressed to find the cowboy back at the fountain, I moved on. It was cool in the shade of my maple, and hot in the sun. I found myself moving back and forth between them, trying to stay comfortable. A little kid of 7 or 8, asking his father for money, started me off with a quarter. A white-bearded man in his 70’s tossed 2 more quarters into my case as he walked by.

    Two young women stopped to talk about ukuleles. One of the women, from Brooklyn, had just taken up the uke; she played the 2 chords she knew. The other woman was visiting from Switzerland. They happily danced a verse of “The Hukilau Song.” Afterward, the Brooklynite was very apologetic: she only had 20’s.

    “Aloha,” said I.

    A short while later, a mother of 2 had a dollar for a hula. At the same time, a passer-by stopped to contribute some change. For a moment, there was a veritable crush of people around my case, and then it was over. I practiced my new songs, “My Baby Just Cares for Me” and “Down Among the Sheltering Palms.” In the shade, I focused on the baroque towers of the San Remo; in the sun, the art deco towers of the Majestic came into view.

    Despite the calendar, the busking season of 2015 still has a few more days in it. Until it doesn’t.

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