1. Lost and Found

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    September 22, 2016 by admin

    On another warm September day, occupying center stage, with only the Boyd Family Singers in the arcade to compete with, I sang to the people as they walked by. For the first 15-20 minutes, nobody noticed me, then a boy of 9 or 10 came from behind me, where he’d been listening from the rim of the fountain, and threw some coins in my case. After my first break I counted it, 4 cents.

    I prefer to think that he liked my music, that, having no money, he rolled up his sleeves and fished 4 pennies from the fountain to give to me. The alternative, however, that he had made a childish gesture of disrespect, if not outright contempt, by de minimis tipping, was probably closer to the truth. Over the years, grown men have tossed pennies in my case. One even gave me a dime, then said, “You suck.”

    A Spanish man held a toddler by the hand. The little girl bounced to the rhythms of “I Saw Stars.” When I waved a lei at her, she came running, like a bull to the cape. I doubled the lei to make a tiara for her, then sang a verse of “The Hukilau Song.” Her dad gave me a dollar.

    Three Danes, 2 women and a man in their early 20s, stopped to dance. After 2 verses of “The Hukilau Song,” I chatted with the women while the man took up my uke and noodled around with some proficiency. All of sudden, he looked up, noticed that the larger group they were with had left without them, alerted the women and hurried off, but not before tossing $3 in my case.

    A photographer shot video while I sang “Honolulu Baby.” When he was done, he gave me a quarter.

    A 40-something woman with a big hat gave me a dollar; she had no time for a hula.

    A small group of Italians wandered separately around the plaza, then reunited near me. One of them, a woman in her mid-30s, kept looking at me. “Have you got time for a hula today?”

    Another woman in the group, perhaps 10 years younger, said, “Si.” Two more women joined us. “Do you all want to hula?”

    “Si, si.”

    Each one put a dollar in my case before grabbing a lei. I positioned 4 dancers, all women, while the 3 men in the group stood nearby and commented loudly as they danced. They were from different places in Southern Italy, from Rome to Calabria.

    I had to leave after an hour to meet Mrs. Ukulele at the dermatologist. When I got to his office, I discovered I’d lost my indoor glasses. All I had were my shades.

    After my examination, with no medical concerns except the stripes of tan on my feet from my sandals, we retraced my steps. There, on the rim of the fountain, were my glasses, safe in their hard case. Crisis averted, we exited the park, past the profusely podded catalpa, the guitarist at the Imagine Mosaic, the button sellers and cold water men.

    Just before stepping out onto Central Park West, Mrs. Ukulele identified the morning glory-like vine with small yellow flowers that grew on the fence behind the benches: thunbergia alata, or Black-eyed Susan vine.

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  2. Practicing in the Sun

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    September 21, 2016 by admin

    The torch singer was back, as incoherent and screechy as last time. The cowboy was still working. At the rim of the fountain, a young man in a neatly trimmed beard was standing with a guitar at his side. “Are you planning on busking here?” I asked him.

    His name was John, from Melbourne. He’d been traveling in the States for 10 months, had bought his guitar in San Francisco, and had busked in different parts of Central Park for the last few days. “Where do you play?” he asked.

    “Right here.”

    When the cowboy signed off, John left me to chat with him. I stood and started my set. Soon enough, a woman walked by and dropped a half dollar in change. Moments later, another woman did the same.

    A girl from Georgia was most eager to hula. She pranced around through 2 verses, then walked back to the bench, where her friends were waiting.

    “Have you got time for a hula today?” I asked a lone stroller. She did, but after 8 bars, she handed the lei back and walked away.

    The crowds were thin, no school groups, no guide-led scrum of tourists. For extended moments, I played to the puffy white clouds and green pennants snapping in the breeze. A photographer captured a minute or two of my act, then gave me a dollar.

    Two women were listening from the northern bench. They kicked in $3 when they left. Another woman, from the south, kicked in a buck.

    Toward the end of my set, a father carrying his toddler daughter bounced to “Get Out and Get Under the Moon.” When dad put his girl down, I doubled up a lei and put it like a crown on her head. She walked rhythmically to the song, to the delight of passers-by. They appeared to be Middle Eastern or North African. When dad gave me a dollar I asked where he was from.

    He thought for a moment, then answered, “D.C.” Perhaps he was attached to a foreign embassy, or in New York for the opening of the United Nations.

    By the time I packed up, $7.31 to the good, the crowds again had disappeared, leaving me almost alone by the fountain. John from Melbourne reappeared. “How’d it go?”

    “As good as I expected.”

    “Maybe I’ll just practice here in the sun.”

    “Sounds good. That’s what I do. If you’re here for the money, you’ll starve.”

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  3. For Those Keeping Track at Home

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    September 18, 2016 by admin

    A thunderstorm on Wednesday night swept the air clean. Thursday was clear and warm, without the oppressive humidity of earlier in the week. I doubled Tuesday’s take on Wednesday, and doubled it again today. (For those keeping track at home, I took in $27.83)

    First came the British Commonwealth. Two Englishmen, resting on the bench, put $2 in my case. They were waiting for a George Formby song; I had to tell them I didn’t know any, although I have from time to time tried to work up, “With My Little Ukulele in My Hand.”

    An elderly English couple sat through a few numbers. When they got up to leave, they gave me $2, and also asked if I knew any George Formby songs.

    A teen from Scotland came up to me with a buck and change. “Can I buy a necklace?” I told her no, but she gave me the money anyway. When asked, she said she’d never heard of George Formby.

    Two Australian girls danced a hula, then dropped what I thought were several quarters into my case, which turned out to be dollar coins.

    A young man, definitely American, gave me a dollar. “I’d give you more,” he said, “but this is all I have.”

    A steady stream of contributors came by. Everybody seemed energized by this gorgeous day.

    Then came the Romans, three women, one of whom was either the mother or older sister. They wanted to dance the hula, but first Luigi, their brother, had to be called back from water’s edge to take photos. “Luigi, subito!” I put leis around their necks, but they still weren’t ready.

    “Luigi, subito!” Finally, he trotted over and took up his camera. We started out with a standard hula to “The Hukilau Song,” but soon the women were prancing and posing. One of them took my hat. After a raucous second verse, I ended the song with a flourish. They put a fiver and a single in my case.

    A couple watching from the bench gave me a dollar. This is why I prefer center stage in the sun than a shady spot under the maple. When people hear a few songs, or see someone enjoying a hula dance, they get it, the aloha spirit, in a way a few bars of a tune or lyric heard in passing cannot evoke.

    A 20-something celebrated her arrival at 30-something with a birthday hula. One of her friends put a fiver in my case.

    Toward the end of my set, an elegant elderly woman, dressed in neon green with a colorful scarf and high heels, was encouraged by her entourage to dance. I put a lei around her neck and took her to the hukilau. She danced slowly, with graceful arm movements and gently swaying hips. At the end of the dance, a young woman put $2 in my case.

    As they walked eastward up the path, I caught up to the young woman and asked, “Is she famous?”

    “In some circles. She is Tao Porchon-Lynch, the world’s oldest yoga teacher. She’s in the Guinness Book of Records.”

    “So how old is she?”

    “She’s 98.”

    Returning to my spot to close out my set, people came up to ask who she was. Some of them even tipped me for the information.

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