1. “Honolulu Baby”

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    June 10, 2017 by admin

    The guitarist sang, “Imagine all the people,” but no imagination was required.  The crowd was as impenetrable as those at the Sistine Chapel.  Finally, I broke from the pack and hurried to Bethesda Fountain.  The park workers who had guided the delivery trucks to the site of the fund-raiser on Wednesday and Thursday had assured me that all would be back to normal today, and they did not lie.

     

    “Have you got time for a hula today?”

     

    The woman smiled, hesitated, then the large man she was with said, “Yes, of course.”  At the end of the dance, he handed me a twenty.  I asked him if he wanted change, but he waved me off.

     

    I got my first 20-dollar tip one fall day in 2007.  An old man had been sitting on the bench with his attendant through several songs.  The attendant walked up with the twenty while I was singing; at the end of the song, I walked to the old man to thank him.

     

    “Do you know ‘Honolulu Baby’?” he asked.  I had to admit I did not.  “If you’re going to sing the ukulele canon, you really should learn it.”  I took his advice.  Over the next few years I hoped to run into him again to thank him, because “Honolulu Baby” has become a mainstay of my repertoire.

     

    A woman accompanying 2 developmentally challenged teenagers, a boy and a girl, came by.  The girl wanted to hula, but mostly just stood still and smiled.  The woman, camera in hand, showed her the moves, but we got to the end of “The Hukilau Song” without hula-liftoff.

     

    A woman took pictures from the edge of the plaza.  Most photographers get their shot and walk away.  The woman, seeing me see her, approached with a handful of quarters.

     

    A 40-something man with his 2 daughters stopped to dance.  They were from London, although the man was originally from Belgium.  He gave each of the girls a dollar for me, then stuck around to chat about the political situations in both the US and UK.

     

    A young woman sat on the bench in front of me.  She appeared to be writing in a notebook; from time to time she looked up to listen.  After 30 minutes or so, she gathered her things and walked up to me.  She put a dollar in my case, then asked me questions about my music.  “I’ve heard ‘Tiptoe through the Tulips,’ but all those other songs are new to me.  Did you write them?”  Her name was Sophie.  She used to play classical guitar, but now she thought a ukulele was the way to go.

     

    Two guys walked past.  “Aloha,” I said.  They stopped and consulted, then walked back to toss a handful of change into my case.

     

    As usual, at the end of my set, I counted my take:  $26.53.  A good day, however, got better, when I unfolded the dollar I got from Sophie and found this drawing.

     

     

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  2. Busker Appreciation Day

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    June 9, 2017 by admin

    The tents were still up for the Central Park Conservancy fund raiser, so I made my way to the maple and went to work.  Several school groups were in the park today, but none had time to hula.

     

    A family consisting of mom and dad with a small boy and girl walked by.  Kids of a certain age are fascinated by my solar-powered hula girls, and, secondarily, this old man playing the uke.  Dad must have explained busking to the boy, because he soon came running back to put a quarter in my case.

     

    When a mom holding an infant walked by, the infant caught the rhythm, causing mom to stop until the end of the song.  Dad, who had been pushing an empty stroller, reached into his pocket for a dollar.  Then came another infant in arms, and another dollar.  I seemed to be making a big impression among the under-5 set.

     

    A man dropped a quarter and a penny in my case; moments later, a passerby emptied his pockets of change.

     

    A woman on a bicycle stopped and, without dismounting, walked her bike right up to me.  She reached into her pocket and pulled out some bills; I saw a fiver and a single.  Surprisingly, she dropped the fiver in my case.  “Thanks a lot,” I said.

     

    “Love your music,” she answered.

     

    Yet another school group straggled by.  “Has this group got time for a hula today?”  The leader said no, they had a bus to meet, but a young teen grabbed a lei and started dancing anyway.  The badge on the lanyard around his neck said his name was Wyatt.  His classmates stopped to cheer him on; some of them even put money in my case before the leader called out, “Hello?  Bus?”

     

    A 50-something German couple stopped to listened, then asked if they could take a picture.  I put a lei around the Frau’s neck while the Herr got the shot.

     

    Lurking in the background was a petite woman in her 40’s.  When the German’s walked off, waving auf wiedersehen, the woman approached and struck up a conversation.  She told me that she used to busk in the Christopher St. subway station, but now lived in New Mexico.  She held out her hand to show me 3 quarters.  “I’m sorry,” she said, tossing the coins into my case, “Don’t you hate it when people tell you they don’t have any money?  But the truth is I left the apartment without my wallet this morning.”

     

    “No problem,” I said.  “This isn’t about money.”  We chatted about New York, 9-11, Airbnb.  When she walked off, I checked my watch:  90 minutes, time to go.

     

    It may not be about money, but I nevertheless count my take after every outing, as an indicator of public appreciation.  Today’s $12.82 measured pretty high on that scale.

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  3. A Cool Day in June

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    June 8, 2017 by admin

    Since my last outing, the gardeners in Central Park have been busy.  Skeletal tulips and south African daisies have been cut down or grubbed up to make room for new plantings, pink begonia, multi-colored cosmos, stella d’oro lilies.  Dog roses bloom in profusion, both behind the bench where the button seller sits, as well as along the paths that lead toward Bethesda Fountain.

     

    A new guy is singing at the Imagine Mosaic.  Unlike the usual platoon of guitarists, this on stands and sings non-Beatle songs.  In the foliage lining the path, I spotted tradescantia and astilbe.  Both giant catalpas are clothed in white blossoms.

     

    It’s June, and the Central Park Conservancy has covered the fountain area in tents for its fund-raiser.  In the small area to the north, between the fountain and the water, the jazz combo has found room to play.  I kept walking to my spot under the maple, facing the English mulberry, which has started forming berries.

     

    Before long, 3 girls from Central Virginia stopped to hula.  They were in their mid-teens.  One of them knew the gestures for “The Hukilau Song,” while the others followed along.  It was very important to their mother, or whoever she was who was shepherding them around, that I understood they were not from Northern Virginia, as if she wanted to pick a political fight with this New Yorker.

     

    A class of 30-40 high schoolers came by.  “Has this group got time for a hula today?”

     

    “Not now,” said the teacher in charge.  “We’re on our way to lunch.”  I sang “I Wonder Where My Little Hula Girl Has Gone” as they walked by.  Two stragglers examined my case.  One of them gave me 50 cents; not to be outdone, his friend gave me $2.

     

    As a 40-something man approached, I saw him reach for his wallet.  We exchanged broad smiles as he launched a dollar into my case.

     

    A pre-teen girl started dancing as she passed.  “I know you want to hula,” I said, and I was right.  With a lei around her neck, she flashed a winning smile, planted her feet a little too far apart and started to hula.  The more she danced, the wider her stance; by the end of the song she looked like she was going to do a split.

     

    A woman stopped her bicycle in front of me and dismounted.  Her name was Tony, a bus driver from the Denver suburbs.  “Did you take a day off from work?”

     

    “This is my work.”

     

    “Are you retired?  I can’t wait; another 10 years to go for me.”

     

    After her hula, as she pulled 2 singles from her purse, she said, “You’re probably a millionaire, and here I am giving you money.”

     

    Her friend had taken video and had already uploaded it when Tony got back on her bike.  I ran over with my card and asked her to send me a link so I could put it in my blog.  I do this a lot, although only once has someone actually sent it.  That was the Minnesota woman in October, 2016.

     

     

    A 20-something woman was greatly amused as she walked by.  She got as far as the caricaturist, who was plying his trade about 20 yards away, before running back to give me a dollar, which topped off the day’s take at $8.50.

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