1. Right Back out There

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    May 30, 2016 by admin

    It was 90 degrees on Thursday, more like August than May. The spring flowers were largely gone, while the dog-roses flourished in the heat. Green spears of day lilies have shot up from the lush foliage; they’ll soon be here.

    The cowboy owned the fountain, so I walked toward the boathouse, not without trepidation. The caricaturist was setting up. And no sign of the chameleon. I might have set up in the shade of the maple, but I saw a place to the left of the staircase, under a bush for shade, and along the main path to the boat rental, water fountain and restrooms. I’ve played this stage many times over the years.

    A young couple, both of them short and overweight, tossed in a pair of Susan B’s. They were from Maine. We had not chatted long before I had leis around their necks and we were hula-ing at the Hukilau. There was something sweet and childlike about them, I thought they might be newlyweds. After the dance, the young man put a folding dollar in the case too.

    Three cyclists stopped near me in the shade. They were from Argentina. “Have you got time for a hula today?” Only one of them spoke English. Straddling her bike, she watched, a little bored, as her mother and sister danced to “The Hukilau Song.” When they returned their leis and rode away, she tossed a dollar in my case.

    A young woman walked briskly by and floated a fiver my way. “Thanks a lot,” I said, happy to have shed the curse of the chameleon.

    An old man shuffled past, accompanied by a young man, as I was singing “Honolulu Baby.” The young man held back to listen. “Do you know this song.”

    “Never heard it before. But I love the way you sing it.”

    “It’s from a Laurel and Hardy movie, ‘Sons of the Desert.’ Ever hear of Laurel and Hardy?”

    He thought for a moment. His eyes darted down the path, to where the old man had slowly made his way. “I think I have,” he said, “Gotta go.”

    Another young man sauntered by, took a dollar out of his wallet, and set up for a selfie of himself and me. “Snapchat,” he said.

    The old man’s aid walked back to me and gave me a buck. “What was that movie? King of the Desert?”

    “Sons of the Desert.”

    I ended the set with a lovely hula by a Lebanese woman living in Cambridge, who kicked in another fiver to bring my take to a respectable $17.

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  2. Mr. Ukulele KO’ed by Chameleon

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    May 26, 2016 by admin

    At the Imagine Mosaic, the guitarist asked the tourist, “Where are you from?”

    “Finland.”

    “I’m from Finland too,” said the scruffy young man, with blond ponytail and uneven teeth, whom I often saw bumming cigarettes from the guitarists. People resting on benches craned their necks to see who was talking, because they were all from Finland. Imagine.

    It was hot. Sunbathers were spread out on blankets on the lawn to the south. Pedicab drivers cruised for fares. From the mall I heard the rhythmic clapping for the acrobats.

    Over by the path, where the cowboy often played, was chameleon boy, surrounded by his handmade signage, straight from the high school science fair. There was twice the distance between us than Friday — and I do so like center stage — so I gave him a wave of Aloha and went into my act.

    After 30 minutes, nothing. At 60 minutes, a man in a panama hat sprinkled change into my case. There were 3 pennies and a quarter. When I packed up 30 minutes later, I found a nickel and another penny under a couple of leis.

    Meanwhile, chameleon boy was cleaning up. He had a pretty patter and played tricks on little kids and old ladies, having the animal pull off hats and hang upside down from a squeamish teen’s outstretched arm. He at once delighted and terrified. Parents watched their kids overcome their fears, they took pictures of the critter on Susie’s shoulder or Bud’s butt, and learned a little bit about the bathroom behavior of reptiles. More than one couple on the bench in the shade, who smiled at my lyrics, or so I thought, or tapped their feet to my music, or so I thought, after packing up their things walked over to see what all the hubbub was about instead of walking over to me with their money.

    On the bright side, over the many years Mr. Ukulele has been crooning in the park, never has 90 minutes gone by without someone expressing their enjoyment somehow. Should that day come, as I know it must, I only hope it will not be at the claws of the chameleon.

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  3. It’s a Zoo Out Here

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    May 25, 2016 by admin

    Friday was warm and beautiful; the park was teeming with life. The first wild roses were opening at the entrance. At the Imagine Mosaic they sang “Here Comes the Sun.” The catalpa tree had begun to leaf out. A few split pods a foot and a half long dangled seedless from the upper branches.

    Bethesda Fountain was occupied by the cowboy, the bubble man, and the Boyd Family Singers, so I kept walking to the maple. Across the path on one side was the caricaturist, on the other a pet owner who had set up poster board signs encouraging passers-by to meet his chameleon. The animal was the size of a small dog. “Does it make noise?” I wanted to know.

    “No, it doesn’t, but I do sometimes,” and then he bellowed like a barker calling everyone into the tent.

    “Fine, I’ll be making my noise over here,” I said, and I set out my gear.

    After a while, a group of junior high kids crested the hill. I located the leader. “Has this group got time for a hula today?”

    Indeed they did. They were from Rochester, NY. I lined them up and sent them to the hukilau. Those that did not dance drifted over to the chameleon. Then a dancer drifted too. After one verse, I’d lost their interest. No one tipped me. For the second time in a week, I was bettered by a reptile.

    A young couple from Bucks County, PA, stopped to dance. They were having a wonderful time in New York, and were up for anything.

    A grandfather, minding a baby carriage, leaned against the wire fence and listened to a few songs, while grandma went to the restroom at the Boathouse. When she came back, he gave me a buck, saying, “You’re very good.”

    The caricaturist had already moved. The pet owner made too much noise. Thinking the cowboy would be gone by now, I packed up my stuff and set up again by the fountain. A mother with a toddler gave me a buck. A girl on a bicycle gave me one too. A teenager from Arizona stopped to hula; she gave me $2.

    The bubble man had moved down from the terrace. He created huge bubbles from a rope web tied in 6-inch squares. The wind carried them high and fast all around the fountain. A dozen or more kids, only some of them supervised as far as I could tell, ran wildly around trying to pop them. One of them ran down a toddler; another ran right over my case and into me.

    Singles flew in all directions. The kid was apologetic. He helped me gather everything up. “You should tip the man,” I heard his friend say. “You messed up all his stuff.”

    “I don’t have any money,” said the kid, “I gave it to the chameleon.”

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