1. The Competition Heats Up

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    April 22, 2016 by admin

    It’s hard to tell whether the appearance of plant life in the park began while my back was turned, or, overwhelmed by the variety, I just hadn’t taken everything in. How could I have missed the English daisies tucked into a corner at the entrance to the park? They were resplendent with color, not a white one in the lot. The blooms pushed up only a few inches from a knot of ragged leaves; they looked like mutant dandelions. The ferns, however, could very well have unfolded overnight, as could the columbine under the spent magnolia.

    I met Rakeem along the path and he asked about my leg. I showed him the ankle brace I would be wearing for another month. To his look of concern, I responded cheerfully, “If I have to live with this level of pain for the rest of my life, it wouldn’t be the only one.”

    He laughed. And I limped toward center stage, which Rakeem had just vacated. The cowboy was 120 degrees to my left around the fountain, shortly to be followed by the accordion player 120 degrees to my right.

    A tall woman with fire red hair ran up and stood beside me while her husband took a picture. They were from Greece. I mentioned Monemvasia, where my wife and I had visited a few years back. Delighted, they mentioned their home town, which, alas, I’d never heard of. “Kalimera,” I said, taking their dollar, “Mahalo.”

    A middle-aged woman with no English gave me a dollar. I put a lei around her neck and broke into “The Hukilau Song,” but after moving her arms for 4 bars she stopped and awkwardly stood there. She seemed really unhappy. I stopped playing, retrieved the lei and let her return to her seat.

    Three teenagers from Indiana put on leis and did a creditable hula together, along with some rehearsed moves, like holding their noses as they dove underwater, and forming a heart with their fingers at the mention of kanes and wahinis singing songs about love. They each chipped in 50 cents.

    Another trio, this one from Argentina, rocked out in a syncopated rhythm I tried to follow on my uke. They gave me a dollar. Then a duo from Paris did the hula. Theirs was a more languorous dance; one of them seemed almost to fall asleep while the other slid around her. When they were done, I took back the leis and they walked off.

    It was getting really noisy. Since I started my set, a guitarist and his friend playing the wooden crate had set up opposite the accordion player, a soprano was belting out an aria from a niche in the wall forming the western stairs, the one-stringed instrument man was 180 degrees directly behind me, and on the terrace between the fountain and the arcade two guys had taken their pet pythons out of two shopping bags. From a distance, I thought the snakes were balloons; at another time, glancing their way, one of the python’s yellow belly looked like the brass tubing of a sousaphone wrapped around its owner’s body.

    All in all, it seemed like a good time to call it a day.

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  2. The Beautiful Days Roll On

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    April 21, 2016 by admin

    I took a detour to the chestnut tree to get a closer look. Tiny spikes of blossom had appeared, rising an inch or two above the leaves on the lower limbs as well as higher up. Among the blossoming trees, colorful wildflowers and greening canopy, however, the happiest sign of spring was the return of water to Bethesda Fountain.

    A group of boys from the Emolior Academy in the Bronx came by. “You guys got time for a hula today?”

    “Ain’t got no money.”

    “No problem,” I said. “Hulas are free.” Well, the boys were having none of it; they sat down with their classmates on the south side benches. As I continued to play, a boy got up and walked over. Soon he was dancing. Before long, 5 kids were rocking out to “The Hukilau Song,” free of charge, of course.

    A woman from the UK came by to take my picture. “Did you get it?” I said. “Good. Now how about a hula?” And hula she did. When we were done, she gave me a kiss on the cheek, and put a ten-spot into my case.

    Two girls, having finished their lunch, policed the area and tipped Mr. Ukulele a dollar each for their mealtime entertainment. The accordion lady, pushed out of the arcade by the Boyd family, could be heard pumping out the “Theme from the Godfather” way too close to me. I ignored her as well as I could, focusing on the few people in my quadrant. A man gave me a buck, as if to validate my restraint.

    Three young women sat down near me. One of them, Hanna from Westchester PA, told me she also played the uke. Naturally, I handed her mine to see what she could do. She sang a 3-chord song I didn’t know. Her friends named the artist, a name I’d never heard. “That’s it,” she said, handing me back my uke, then digging 2 singles out of her purse. “Thanks a lot.”

    A mom pushing a baby carriage stopped to sit and listen. She took her son out and bounced him around to the music. After a while, she gave him a dollar to give to me. He waddled over, laid down the bill and waddled back.

    Two young men walked purposefully toward me. One of them dropped a dollar. I said, “Thanks, man.”

    “Sure thing.”

    The day had started off cool, but by the time I packed up, with $17 in my pocket, it had warmed into another beautiful spring day.

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  3. Good to be Back

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    April 20, 2016 by admin

    The air was warm, the breezes cool. “What a beautiful day for fishing,” as the Hukilau song says. Spring sprang apace. On my way to Bethesda Fountain, I picked a violet hiding among the myrtle.

    When I got to center stage, I saw Rakeem seated on a bench, saxophone in his lap, talking to a guy with a guitar case.

    “You done here?”

    “I’ve been done for half an hour.”

    I started to set up. “Where’s the cowboy?”

    Rakeem pointed with his chin. Over my left shoulder, by the water, the cowboy crooned quietly. “I can live with that,” I said.

    I organized my paraphernalia, the solar-powered hula girls, the CDs, the big kahuna dashboard doll, a sticker reading “Got Aloha?” that came with my aloha shirt, and leis, lots of leis. All tuned up, I opened with “Making Love Ukulele Style,” then worked through my routine for 30 minutes, before a child ran up to me and put $3 in my case. I never saw her coming. I turned and watched her running back to her father by the water.

    “Have you got time for a hula today?” A boy of 18-24 months agreed to dance. I folded the lei in half and with his mom’s help got it past his sunglasses. He didn’t have a clue. I pointed to the solar-powered hula girls. Staring at them, he started to move his arms and hips. His mother tried to turn him around, so she could get a picture, but he kept turning back to the dolls. By this time a crowd had gathered, always a good sign for a busker. Not only did I get $2 from mom, but a man, who’d gotten up off the bench to take a picture, handed me a buck before going back to the bench to sit down. “You’ve got a good voice,” he told me.

    A little while later a woman took my picture and gave me a buck. Between songs I spotted my West Indies friend, an elderly woman with a proud posture and a bright smile, whom for years I’ve seen walking, east to west, almost every day. “Good afternoon,” I said, touching the brim of my panama hat.

    A 40-something, in business casual, seemed glad to give me a dollar. “Thank you.” “No, thank you.”

    I checked my watch, which I keep propped up in my case so I can see it. Five minutes left. I started in on “Tiptoe through the Tulips,” but didn’t get past the intro. Maggie the dog, and her owner, Marcel, were making their way down the path toward me. Marcel and I chatted; Maggie sniffed at the 8 singles in my case. It felt good to be back.

    As I walked up the stairs at the end of my set, a man seated at the top said, “Princess Poo-Poo-ly has Plenty Pa-Pa-Ya.”

    To which I responded, “and she loves to give them away.”

    High-five. When you play the ukulele in the park, you have to expect this kind of thing.

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