1. Kid Ukulele

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    July 20, 2016 by admin

    The dogwood is forming fruit; in the fall they will drop on the button-seller’s head. With the exception of the cleome and the dutiful roses, there is very little floral color. Ferns have spread over the brown patches behind the benches in Strawberry Fields. The chestnut leaves are starting to darken with blight. In the underbrush, purple tradescantia flowers have not yet melted in the sun, and sedum, astilbe and coral bells are forming flowers under the pin oak by the road.

    As I approach Bethesda Fountain, I can hear an orchestra tuning up in the bandshell, the flutes and strings most prominent.

    The ice-cold water man greeted me with, “Today’s a nice one. Sunday was horrible hot.” Spread around the plaza were the two young clowns, begging Buddhists and, in the arcade, the accordionist. I took up my uke at my usual spot, and immediately roped 2 Brazilian girls into a hula that looked weirdly like a samba. After telling me where they were from, they walked away.

    Three young kids danced for a buck. A little later, 3 more young kids danced for a buck a piece. Another young girl of 13 or 14 dropped a penny in my case. “Ok, you’ve paid for it, so how about a hula?” She danced with wild arm waving, while her friend dug into her purse and pulled out more change.

    A woman excitedly dropped a handful of bills, including a fiver, then directed a short video for her friend Julia from Hawaii. The scene opened on my solar hula dancers, while I sang “Tiny Bubbles.” Then the aperture opened to include the two of us singing and dancing. The video ended back on the toys with a sweet G-chord played high on the neck.

    John Boyd dropped by to ask where I’d been and if everything was all right. He still is the unofficial leader of the Central Park Busker Association, Bethesda Fountain Division. I told him I was in L.A. for the birth of my granddaughter.

    Two Long Island girls worked in a quick hula before running off.

    As I pocketed my $12.60 and packed up my uke, an 80-something man slowed to look into my case. “Hello,” I said.

    “How you doin’, kid,” he answered. To go from Grandpa to Kid in a matter of minutes kept the smile on my face all day.

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  2. One Hot Wednesday

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    July 16, 2016 by admin

    The city is simmering. At the mosaic the guitarist sings, “Here Comes the Sun.” Out on the lawn a mob of day camp kids are picnicking in clusters of yellow and blue tee shirts. Back on the path, toddlers squeal when the sprinklers come around to cool their knees and toes.

    The singing from the arcade was really loud, it had to be amplified. It sounded like a rhythm and blues orchestra. At center stage, however, the noise was nothing I couldn’t drown out with noise of my own. Soon three 20-something women showed some interest in the hula. “They’re from Poland,” one of them told me, “they’re shy. I’m Serbian,” she added, “I live in Astoria.” Unlike the Polish women of yesterday, the Serbo-Astorian knew enough to tip a dollar.

    Next some Finnish kids gave me $2. They were out running, and had stopped to listen. As it happened, I’d been reading about Emil Zatopek, the Czech Locomotive, who won 3 gold medals at the Helsinki Olympics in 1952. They knew of him and didn’t seem to like him much.

    All the while, the noise from the arcade echoed out past the fountain and over the lake. I had already decided to finish my set and check out its source on my way out, when a motorcycle policeman rode slowly by. “Excuse me, Officer,” I said, “I don’t mean to bother you.”

    “Yes, you do.”

    “I suppose I do,” I continued, quickly laying out the regulations all buskers must obey, a thumbnail history of selective actions against buskers, including arrest.

    “The acoustics are so good under there they don’t need amplification,” he concluded.

    “Exactly.”

    “I’ll check it out.” He continued riding around the fountain and dismounted at the arcade. I broke into “Fit as a Fiddle.”

    A pack of Australian boys stopped to chat. They passed around my uke, paying $2 for the privilege.

    A group of Jewish Day Camp girls got permission to hula from their leader, a 30-something woman with a clipboard. At the end of “The Hukilau Song” they returned their leis and said thank you.

    “You guys did a great hula,” I told them. “In Hawaiian we say, ‘tov m’ode’.”

    “That’s not Hawaiian,” one of the girls challenged me. “That’s Hebrew.”

    “I was told it was Hawaaiian, I must have been misinformed.”

    The motorcycle policeman coasted to a stop in front of me. “They’re legit,” he said. “No amplification. It’s a big group, maybe 30-40 voices. But no violations.”

    A father and daughter rode up on bicycles. The daughter, 4 or 5, did a lovely hula. They were from Senegal. The father sent her back to me with 2 quarters. “Mahalo.”

    As I packed up, with a respectable $11.60 in my pocket, a young black man in tee shirt and shorts sat down next to me. He was with the group in the arcade. They were from Kansas and were going home soon. He questioned me on what values were dear to me: any guess where this conversation was headed?

    “There is only 1 rule, the Golden Rule,” I answered, “Or as Timothy Leary said, ‘Live and Let Live.’ Everything else is bullshit.”

    “Jesus said, ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’”

    “Did he?” I hoisted my ukulele onto my back. “Aloha.”

    “Jesus loves you.”

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  3. Grandpa Ukulele

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    July 13, 2016 by admin

    My first day out in a month, just back from the coast where I became Grandpa Ukulele.

    The park was lush summer green. I took a quick inventory of the flowers at the Women’s Gate: morning glory, both pink and purple, and a variety I don’t know — perhaps no morning glory at all — with small yellow petals, a burgundy center and almost no sex organs; lantana both tall and short, red fuchsia and cleome, lots and lots of cleome. A mound of spirea was a week away from blooming, the stella d’oros were done, their seed pods the size of my thumb. And of course the roses, doing their duty, some red stalks thick with buds reaching 10 feet in the air.

    Across the road, at the Imagine Mosaic, the guitarist sang “Here Comes the Sun.” Randy, the dobro player, was set up on the rock with the plaque listing the countries of the world who supported John Lennon’s philosophy of peace. Someday, when I feel I can stand the irony, I’ll read it.

    Across the road to Daniel Webster, and over Cherry Hill to Bethesda Fountain, there is no color at all, until the water lilies, blooming yellow and pink, at center stage. Except for the big bubble man, no one was busking. “This is weird,” he said, leaning on his sticks in front of a pail of soapy water.

    A little out of practice, I forgot some chords, forgot some words, but warmed up fast enough. A man in a panama hat gave me 50 cents. Later, a young girl also gave me 50 cents.

    A horde of South African teenagers descended on the fountain area. The adult supervision discouraged them, but a group of 6-8 kids wanted to hula. They danced to “The Hukilau Song,” both verses, while their friends took pictures and shot video. A few kids tossed some change into my case, then rejoined the group.

    An English adolescent in a ponytail and braces on her teeth, stared wide-eyed at a homeless man who sloshed through the water with his pant legs rolled up, reaching for the silver tossed in by wish-makers. “What do you think he’s doing?” I asked her.

    “Cleaning up?” When I explained what was going on, she said, “There’s a wishing well in our village, and people throw in coins. I never thought about where the money goes.”

    Three women were sitting on the bench, moving to the music. I invited them to hula, and one pointed to the other, the other to the third. In the meantime, I scooped up 3 leis and waved them as enticement. One stood up, sat down; the other stood up, sat down. “Am I going to have to come over there?” I advanced on them and led them back to center stage, where they danced a lovely hula. They were Polish. At the end of the dance, they returned the leis and walked away.

    At the end of my set, there were only coins in my case, totaling $1.77.

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