1. Dominick and Kendra

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    May 25, 2017 by admin

    Late May, and the colors remain muted under a wet, gray sky.  Coming down the path toward the road, I spotted one pink tradescantia flower.  The day felt colder than the official 70 degrees.

     

    As I crossed the road, I heard a shout, and there in front of me was Dominick and Kendra.  I met Dominick in the summer of 2007, during my first days as a busker. He had advised me to price my CD at $10, not $5, so as not to ruin it for everyone else. Kendra was new to the scene in 2010 or so.  She played the ukulele then with 2-3 different partners, now she plays violin.  We discussed the old timers, Arlen and Meta, dulcimer and harp.  I hadn’t seen them in 2 years.

     

    “They’re on their boat somewhere,” Dominick said.  He had sometimes joined them on his guitar, playing a complex line from Scarlotti, Vivaldi, or Pachelbel, but mostly he played soft rock.  He had refused to join John Boyd and “his child abuse symphony orchestra,” as Kendra called it, during the consolidation after The Quiet Zone Wars in the early 2010’s.  Then he disappeared.

     

    “I haven’t seen you guys in years,” I said.  “Did you leave the city?”

     

    “We moved to the east side, farther south,” said Dominick.  “I can’t play anywhere near the fountain; it makes me too angry.”

     

    The Boyd Family Singers were in the arcade.  I laid out my case and began my set.  A toddler stared up at me.  “Have you got time for a hula today?”  His mom encouraged him.  Soon the two of them were swaying to “The Hukilau Song.”

     

    A young couple rode their bikes into the plaza and stopped to rest.  After a few songs, the woman walked up with $2 in her hand.  “Have you got time for a hula today?”  She demurred.

     

    Another woman walking by pulled a dollar from her wallet and gave it to me.  She had a big grin.  “You make the best music I’ve heard in the park,” she told me.

     

    Toward the end of my set, the Chinese woman accordionist set up 90 degrees from me, at the south side of the fountain.  A little close, I thought, but with only a short time remaining I played on.  At least it wasn’t the lugubrious Russian.

     

    Having tidied up the area around the bench where she ate lunch, a 40-something woman donated the last dollar of the day, for a total of 6 in all.

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  2. Third Day in a Row

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    May 18, 2017 by admin

    A 4-piece jazz combo found a spot across the road from Daniel Webster.  The Russian accordionist pumped out his dirges near my spot at the fountain.  Given the high heat today, I was just as happy to play in the shade.  As I walked toward the maple, I saw a girl in a school uniform stretched across the stern of a rowboat, dangling her feet in the water.  An attendant shouted at her to get back in the boat, but she didn’t hear him.  “You need a whistle,” I said.  He shrugged and gave up.

     

    Before I had even tuned up, a woman of a certain age stopped to ask how much for a solar-powered hula girl.  She explained that she had accidentally broken her husband’s toy and wanted to replace it.  She wanted the green one, but the toy had developed a slight hitch in her hula, so she took the yellow one instead.

     

    “I hope you don’t need change,” I said, as I snapped the toy into its plastic case.  She handed me a fiver which I tucked under the capo.

     

    Two girls in that same school uniform sat down on the lawn behind me.  They had never seen a ukulele.  Then more girls in uniform showed up and sat down.  “How many are there?” I asked.

     

    “A lot.”

     

    Soon 50-60 girls identically dressed in plaid skirts, blue sweaters and black flats had formed 3 circles on the grass.  They noisily ate their lunches.  Some of the more curious girls came over to ask me questions about the uke, but none would hula.  Two stern teachers showed up and ordered quiet for attendance.  They were from a Jewish high school in Brooklyn.  While the teachers shouted names — Rivka, Chaiya – I asked a younger woman, perhaps a parent or teachers’ aid, if they intended to stay long.  “No,” she said, “we’re leaving now.”

     

    Once peace was restored under the maple, Joan, the park volunteer, came by.  She told me about a gig she’d landed at a Harlem night spot where she’d be singing Sondheim, accompanied by 2 ukuleles.  “I’m a little nervous,” she said.  “You’re the only uke I ever sang with.”  Before she walked on, she bought my last CD.

     

    A teenager dropped a dollar in my case.  Shortly after, an older man, in shorts and a skimmer, laughed as he pulled out his wallet.  “You made me smile,” he said.

     

    An Australian family with 2 young girls stopped to hula.  When they left, a young woman who had been playing with her dog off the leash behind me, leaned over the fence to drop 2 tightly wadded singles.  A 20-something walking with his girlfriend tossed in 3 quarters.  A tall, fashionably dressed blonde of indeterminate age, walking with a tall, fashionably dressed man of about 60, gently laid a dollar atop the many bills that had accumulated over my set.

     

    When I packed up for the day, I counted $22.75.  Time to pull out another solar-powered hula girl from my stash of hula girls, and make more CD’s.

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  3. Delightful Day in May

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    May 17, 2017 by admin

    “Where’s your ukulele?” asked the woman, making a strumming action, as we passed on the path.

     

    I pointed to the case strapped on my back.  She gave me a thumbs-up.

     

    The day was perfect at Bethesda Fountain.  John Boyd and his crew sang in the arcade.  The big bubble man spun his creations in the center of the terrace.  I set up at the fountain, where a bride and groom were posing.  I opened with “The Hawaiian Wedding Song.”

     

    A nice young woman gave me my first dollar.  She would not hula.  From the far side of the fountain, a pudgy kid of 8 or 9 came running.  Arms flailing and out of breath, he tossed 30 cents in the case.  He had no time to hula; he took a deep breath and raced back around the fountain.  A young woman walking with her mother stopped to give me a dollar, but not to dance.

     

    A couple with 2 young girls sat down near me.  The elder girl, 4 or 5 years old, explored the stuff in my case.  “Would you like to hula?”

     

    “No.”

     

    The younger, barely walking, showed no such reticence.  With her father’s help, I put a baby lei — fashioned from broken adult leis —  around her neck.  I again invited her sister, but she just said, “No.”

     

    The toddler floundered through the intro to “The Hukilau Song,” so I invited mom to help her out.  Mom would not take a lei, but she nevertheless took the toddler’s hand and together they managed a cute little hula.  Big sister was playing with the hula girl toys, her back turned on the action.  Dad gave me a buck.

     

    Two 30-something women sat near me while an older woman took a picture.  “You,” she called, “get in photo.”

     

    I grabbed 2 leis and slipped them around 2 necks.  “Sing,” she commanded.  I sang.

     

    They were from Macedonia.  The photographer, who may have been mother, aunt or older sister, handed me 2 singles.

     

    I ended with “Little Grass Shack,” to the delight of a man walking past, who stopped to hula for a second, then walked on.

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