Posts Tagged ‘Laurel and Hardy’

  1. Right Back out There

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    May 30, 2016 by admin

    It was 90 degrees on Thursday, more like August than May. The spring flowers were largely gone, while the dog-roses flourished in the heat. Green spears of day lilies have shot up from the lush foliage; they’ll soon be here.

    The cowboy owned the fountain, so I walked toward the boathouse, not without trepidation. The caricaturist was setting up. And no sign of the chameleon. I might have set up in the shade of the maple, but I saw a place to the left of the staircase, under a bush for shade, and along the main path to the boat rental, water fountain and restrooms. I’ve played this stage many times over the years.

    A young couple, both of them short and overweight, tossed in a pair of Susan B’s. They were from Maine. We had not chatted long before I had leis around their necks and we were hula-ing at the Hukilau. There was something sweet and childlike about them, I thought they might be newlyweds. After the dance, the young man put a folding dollar in the case too.

    Three cyclists stopped near me in the shade. They were from Argentina. “Have you got time for a hula today?” Only one of them spoke English. Straddling her bike, she watched, a little bored, as her mother and sister danced to “The Hukilau Song.” When they returned their leis and rode away, she tossed a dollar in my case.

    A young woman walked briskly by and floated a fiver my way. “Thanks a lot,” I said, happy to have shed the curse of the chameleon.

    An old man shuffled past, accompanied by a young man, as I was singing “Honolulu Baby.” The young man held back to listen. “Do you know this song.”

    “Never heard it before. But I love the way you sing it.”

    “It’s from a Laurel and Hardy movie, ‘Sons of the Desert.’ Ever hear of Laurel and Hardy?”

    He thought for a moment. His eyes darted down the path, to where the old man had slowly made his way. “I think I have,” he said, “Gotta go.”

    Another young man sauntered by, took a dollar out of his wallet, and set up for a selfie of himself and me. “Snapchat,” he said.

    The old man’s aid walked back to me and gave me a buck. “What was that movie? King of the Desert?”

    “Sons of the Desert.”

    I ended the set with a lovely hula by a Lebanese woman living in Cambridge, who kicked in another fiver to bring my take to a respectable $17.

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  2. A Good Friday

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    March 27, 2016 by admin

    The sky looked like a concrete sidewalk, including the variations of gray and the swirling irregularities, as if smoothed by a distracted workman. Rain was predicted for the morning, but by noon it still hadn’t come.

    There seemed to be no life on the wisteria covering the north pergola. Upon closer investigation, however, I could just make out some growing tips emerging from the vine’s creases. It was the change of shift at the Imagine Mosaic, one guitarist carrying away his case to count his money, the next sitting down on the back of a bench, his feet on the seat, his case on the ground, tuning up. The magnificent magnolia was drawing a crowd; I edged my way past to avoid spoiling anyone’s photos.

    Was that a raindrop? No. Is that a dandelion? Yes.

    The cowboy had arrived before me, so I set up under the leafless maple. A man smiled as he tossed me 50 cents, then looked to the sky. “It’s not gonna rain,” I said, just as the leading edge of the front moved overhead, and annoying drops turned into real rain, rain I could no longer ignore. I folded everything into my case and headed for the tunnel under the road leading to the Conservatory Pond. Although I was no longer walking with an air boot and cane, I could still only make my way slowly, so I got pretty wet.

    The space under the tunnel was packed with tourists waiting it out. Despite the darkness, I found a cloth in my case and wiped down my uke. After 10-15 minutes, the rain stopped, the sun peaked through, the people scattered, and I headed back to the maple. On a hunch, however, I kept walking to the fountain to find the cowboy hadn’t come back, so for the next hour, center stage was mine.

    A school group from San Diego had time to hula. Eight or nine teenagers donned leis and pranced around. Once again, my case filled with bills. After the dance, the kids hung around, during which time I learned that they’d never heard of Laurel and Hardy (“Honolulu Baby”) or Dean Martin (“Making Love Ukulele Style”). One girl asked what decade my songs were from. “Mostly the 20’s and 30’s.” The look on her face made me realize just how long ago that must seem. Comparatively speaking, how many songs from the Civil War did I know at her age?

    “Have you got time for a hula today?”

    A shy teenage girl from Virginia was talked into dancing by one of her friends. After a few bars of “The Hukilau Song,” a pair of younger girls from somewhere else wanted to join in. “Put on a lei.” I motioned to the colorful array of leis draped over the back of my case. The three danced a verse, the Virginian bowed out, and the kids kept waving their arms until the final Huki-huki-huki-hukilau. What had started as a dreary day was now bright and warm. When I played “Tiptoe through the Tulips,” I felt that by singing, as the song says, “we’ll keep the showers away.” The front moved through;people were happy to add to my growing pile.

    Over my shoulder I could hear amplified music. It was the Chinese accordion player, sitting on her stool in her cap and sweater, midway between me and the Boyd singers in the arcade. She was really too close – I could have called her out on her breach of busker etiquette — but I didn’t. It had been a fine day. I made $22.42.

    As I walked past the accordion player, she played the theme from “The Godfather.” In a box at her feet were a few dollars and her CDs. My CD, “Aloha, New York,” is currently out of print. I must attend to that.

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