Posts Tagged ‘North Dakota South Dakota’
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Farewell Tour, Continued
0October 22, 2019 by admin
On Monday, after my rain-foreshortened Farewell Tour, I sallied forth again. It was a beautiful fall day, bright and sunny, with temps in the mid-60s. The amplified acrobats were audible from 100 yards away, but Bethesda Fountain was quiet. As I got closer to center stage, however, I heard the unpleasant screech of an erhu, a 1-stringed Chinese violin, so I continued toward the boathouse and my Norway Maple, where I could set up and play uncontested.
A young man with a neatly trimmed beard started me off with a dollar. A little while later, a 30-something woman held her change purse upside down over my case. Many dollars’ worth of coins spilled out.
An elderly man in a bowler hat came by and surprised me with a fiver. Another fiver came my way when 2 couples stopped to listened to “Fit as a Fiddle.”
A third fiver came from 1 of 3 adults who adoringly led a toddler on a walk in the park. Another adult gave a dollar to the little girl and directed her to give it to me. She advanced a few steps, then retreated. The adult turned her around and gave her a shove toward me. “Nothing doing,” muttered the third adult, who tossed a substitute dollar in my case. “Gotta go.”
This is when the toddler decided to give me the dollar. The adults applauded, then turned to go. I offered to return the substitute dollar, but my gesture was politely refused.
I began to sing “North Dakota, South Dakota,” which captured the attention of a dad who happened to be walking by with his wife and 2 kids. He stopped to listened, then handed each child a dollar for me.
Counting my take after 90 minutes, I had $20 in bills and $6.07 in coin, the 3rd highest total of the season, and the highest since June 11.
Category Uncategorized | Tags: Fit as a Fiddle, North Dakota South Dakota
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Rich Gotta Eat Too
0June 5, 2019 by admin
In the 3 weeks since I last visited Central Park, the spent flowers have been grubbed up. Along Central Park West, the only color comes from the tiny white blooms of Philadelphia Fleabane. Behind the benches at W. 72nd St., the “dogs” dominate, i.e., pink dog roses and creamy dogwood. The dogwood extends across the road to the Imagine Mosaic, with a smattering of colorless astilbe and spirea.
Bethesda Fountain has been fenced off for a Central Park Conservancy event, so once again I made my way to the Norway Maple along the path to the boathouse. Between the lake and me is a tall White Mulberry tree, the unripe fruit of which is hidden among the leaves. Trucks hauling provisions, following a man in dreadlocks who clears the way for them, occasionally pass in front of me. We recognize each other from years past. “Rich gotta eat too,” he says by way of greeting.
I got my first donation from a young woman shooting video. I belt out “Sunday” for her and she gives me a dollar.
I have no illusions about this location. After an hour, with only a dollar to show for it, I begin to think that today will be the day I don’t earn carfare. A teenaged redhead puts 45 cents in my case.
“Have you got time for a hula today?”
“Sure,” she says with enthusiasm. I drape a lei around her neck, but before we go to the Hukilau, her mom comes forward and digs in her purse for another dollar. They both dance the hula, while dad strolls back from the staircase where they’d abandoned him for me. They are from Lubbock TX, home of the Raiders of Texas Tech.
When they’d gone, there was $2.45 in my case, still a quarter short, but not for long. A man who’d been leaning against the fence and watching the boaters, strode up to me, laid a dollar in my case and strode off.
I was singing “North Dakota, South Dakota,” when the lyrics caught the attention of 2 70-something gay guys. They stopped to listen, told me how much they liked my singing, then tossed 2 singles into my case.
The path where I played is a stopping point for tours. I play quietly while the tour guide speaks, then ask, “Has this group got time for a hula today?” They almost never do, and today was no exception. Nevertheless, a young woman detached herself and gave me a dollar, then ran back to rejoin the group as they disappeared over the hill toward the fountain.
I needn’t have worried. There was $6.45 in my case, more than enough to get home.
Category Uncategorized | Tags: North Dakota South Dakota, Sunday, The Hukilau Song
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Aloha
0May 3, 2019 by admin
What were vivid pink tulips have faded to mauve and the once-spectacular fritillaria, now a scraggly stalk and crown, stands high above the ground cover with nothing to show. Bleeding heart and something like a bottle brush shrub fill out behind the benches. Wisteria blooms behind the north pergola; it’s thrown itself over the wall toward the bridal path below. Just past the Information Booth, a patch of white trillium has appeared, and, following the path to Cherry Hill, another trillium, this one wine red, has bloomed in the deep shade.
The chestnuts trees in Strawberry Fields are covered with flowers, pointing heavenward like candles on a Christmas tree. I spotted a bearded oak for the first time (who knew?). Sakura cherry trees carpet the lawns beneath them with pink petals, each, according to Japanese lore, the soul of a samurai.
The Italian accordion player sat on the southern rim of the fountain; I set up at the east-northeast, where I could still hear when I wasn’t playing. So I played.
Bethesda Fountain was not very busy. After 15 minutes, a couple off the bench gave me a dollar. A family from Vienna stopped to listen; Vater sent his 5-year-old daughter, Lillianne, to me with 3 quarters. I directed her to my case, and picked up a lei for her. “Wilst du tanzen?”
Lillianne would not tanz, but the next little girl, she from France, gave it a try, for which I got a dollar. Passersby helped fill the case, especially a number of teenagers who tossed in coins. A couple who had been sitting near me at the fountain, gave me $2 when they got up to leave. A Chinese woman took my picture and placed a dollar and change in my case.
As it got later, lunch over, the crowd thinned. I took the opportunity to try out a new song, “North Dakota, South Dakota,” which I’d worked out over the winter after hearing Jerry Lewis sing it. As I finished, a man of 50 or so walked briskly past me. “Bet you never heard that one before.”
He kept walking, then turned and came back. “Gotta tip the busker,” he said, reaching for his wallet. He was from Atlanta and played the trumpet, but couldn’t make a living at it.
About this time a scraggly old man with a radio playing loud latin music walked into the plaza and sat down near the lake. I wanted to ask him to turn it down, but decided that if he hadn’t thought of that himself, there was a chance he was as crazy as he looked. The accordion was gone, so I moved away from him for the last 30 minutes of my session.
Five teenagers were sitting on the bench, chatting, playing with their phones, and occasionally standing up to dance to my music. They eventually made their way to me. The leaders were a slight, tattooed girl from Romania, and a heavier girl from Indiana. I turned to greet a short, clean-cut boy from Montenegro and a tall blonde boy from Latvia. The last kid was from Indiana too. At the end of the dance, everyone put something in my case.
While singing my final number, “Little Grass Shack,” a 30-something threw money in my case and said, “Too bad you were drowned out by the radio. I much prefer live music.”
“How about you and me take care of that guy?” I said.
“No, I’m a peaceful man.”
“Me too,” I said. “It’s all about aloha.”
Category Uncategorized | Tags: Little Grass Shack, North Dakota South Dakota
