1. Mid-August Thursday

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    August 16, 2019 by admin

    I can hear Colin’s amped guitar from Cherry Hill.  He is playing Al Green’s “I’m So in Love with You” (1972).  As I approach, he says, “Ten minutes.”

    I’d just started to set up when I heard him lament, “I’ve popped a string.”  His 10 minutes was now.

    Half way through my first 30 minutes, a man started filming “Ukulele Lady.”  I gave him a full-face rendition, after which he flashed the thumbs-up.  “Ok,” I said to him.  “You’ve got yours, now it’s your turn to do a hula dance for me.”

    “No, no,” he said.

    “It’s only fair,” I said, but nevertheless he walked away.  At my first break, my case was empty.

    Things picked up after that.  A photographer gave me $2 for a picture.  A woman off the bench added another dollar.  Two Chinese teenagers, having listened to me sing during their lunch, dropped over a dollar in change as they left the fountain area.

    An Israeli man, his son on his shoulders, stopped to listen.  The little boy did not want to hula, but his mother did.  His father, unable to convince his son to get down, put a lei on and joined in anyway, for another $2.

    A young couple from Los Angeles stopped to hula, then walked away. 

    Dancing toward me from the bench came a giant of a man, 6-4 or better and 350 pounds.  He took a lei and hula-ed gracefully, his eyes cast skyward, as he swayed to “The Hukilau Song.”  I started to introduce the second verse; he interrupted, “I know, I know.”  At the lyric, “kanes and wahinis sing a song about love,” he covered his heart with a soulful gesture and brought his dance to an end.  He pulled 2 bills out of his wallet, a single and a fiver, then gave me the single.

    A 20-something couple from Toronto threw a dollar coin in my case.  “Have you got time for a hula today?”  They did, after which the woman reached into her purse and tossed me another dollar coin.

    After my 90 minutes, I counted out $9.31, plus a coin that appears to be a 5 Turkish kuru piece, .05 lira, worth less than a penny.

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  2. Rain Delay

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    August 11, 2019 by admin

    A few more stellas were blooming on Friday.  Along the path, a wood anemone, also known as windflower, poked through the underbrush, laden with buds.  Another stand of wood anemone, under the pin oak across the road from Daniel Webster, was in full flower, with buds sufficient to last the rest of the summer.

    I stood up when Colin sat down.  Before long, a woman from Munich came by with a dollar.  We talked auf Deutsch, until my German faltered, and I reverted to Hawaiian.  “Aloha.”

    A mother of 2 walked by.  “Have you got time for a hula today?”  Mom consulted with her kids; the 5-year-old girl was game, but the 8-year-old boy would have nothing to do with the hula.  While the girl struggled to keep her arms up and moving, her brother called out instructions.  He grabbed a handful of leis off the back of my case and put them over his sister’s head, one by one by one.  Never flinching, the girl concluded her dance with a twirl and a curtsey.  Her mom gave me $2.

    A teen-aged boy in long black pants and a sleeveless T-shirt strutted by.  “S’up,” he said, tossing a dime and a penny into my case.  When I broke for a long swallow of water after playing for 30 minutes, I’d already made my carfare.

    The rain started lightly, carried by a cold wet wind blowing in from the west.  People started scrambling as it rained more heavily.  I threw everything into my case and carried it into the arcade, where I found a seat along the wall.  A do-wop group, accompanied by a bass viol, entertained the crowd.

    Dominic, the big bubble man, carrying his bucket of soapy water and netting, found a spot to sit down near me.  “No bubbles in the rain?”

    “Are you kidding?” he said.  “Every raindrop falls like a rock.”

    “I’m not sure I have the patience to wait this out,” I said.

    “It won’t last,” said Dominic.  “Look, it’s clearing already.”  Indeed, there were small patches of blue amid the dark clouds moving toward us from Central Park West.

    “Ok,” I said, “you convinced me.”

    After a rain delay of 15 minutes, I ventured forth and set up again.  I played for the next hour, yet despite the return of the crowds, $3.16 was all there would be.

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  3. Why Not

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    August 9, 2019 by admin

    I was making notes about the 2 stella d’oro lilies in full bloom behind the benches at 72nd St.  Were they the harbingers of a second blooming, or 2 stragglers who had been waiting in the weeds for this opportunity?  Entering the park with me were a dozen or so red T-shirted teen-aged girls.  I let them pass.  At the back of the line was a red T-shirted overweight man, their guide.

    “Where’s your group from?” I said.

    “Mostly from Germany and Japan.”  The axis tour, I thought, but did not say.  “I had a group that danced with you last week, from Spain.”

    “Bring them by again,” I said, remembering that particular hukilau, for which I received nada.

    Colin told me to set up, he was about to sing his last song, “Africa,” by Toto, 1982.  The crowd around me at the fountain sang along, so did passersby, who took pictures and mouthed words.

    I started my set, as usual, with “Making Love Ukulele Style.”  Somewhere during my medley of “Sunday,” “Fit as a Fiddle,” and “I Saw Stars,” a little kid gave me 36 cents.

    “Have you got time for a hula today?”

    A willowy 20-something blonde said, “Why not?”

    “My favorite answer,” I said, reaching for a lei to put around her neck.  “No reason at all.”

    Her name was Hannah, from Norway.  She danced a beautiful hula that would warm the fjords of your heart.  Then she walked away.

    A young girl of 9 or 10 wandered free around the fountain.  I saw her checking me out several times.  Finally, she approached with a dollar in her hand, but instead of putting it in my case, she clutched it to her chest and shyly peeked at me.  Without a word from me, she inched closer, threw the dollar in my case and burst into a bright grin.  Her name was Alia, and it didn’t take long for her to hula.  By this time her family had gathered, taking pictures.  When Alia faltered, her grin turning to panic, she would focus on her grandfather, who danced a silly hula in encouragement, and all was right again.

    A 30-something woman and her mother gave me a dollar.  When I asked if she’d like to hula, she said, “Why not?”  She was born in Arizona, but had been living in Amsterdam for 20 years, and had earned her BS, “in Dutch,” her mother bragged.

    My 90 minutes was almost up, and here I was, once again, below my break-even by 34 cents.  The fountain area was thinning out.  Something in me said, pack it up and go home.  Yet how could I ignore the evidence that showed that 99% of the time I made my nut.  So I kept on singing.

    A 20-something floated into my vision.  She was short with a pixie cut and the ubiquitous white ear buds.

    “Have you got time for a hula today?”

    “Why not?”  Why not indeed.  She was from California, now living in Cobble Hill.  With her dollar, I’d had another successful day.

    My time up, I sat down, stuffed $3.36 in my pocket and was carefully folding my leis so they wouldn’t get tangled when I sensed somebody standing over me.  A woman and her daughter wanted to buy a solar-powered hula girl for dad’s dashboard.  They chose turquoise and handed me a fiver. 

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