Street Performers are People I Love to Watch

By Arnie Greenberg

Contact Arnie at ultours@gmail.com

I remember a song written in Great Britain that was popular when I was a kid. I later heard it on the streets of London sung by a man in a suit covered with sequins. He was a jolly man playing a banjo to the delight of the gathering crowds.

Street performers were popular in England, especially around Victoria station, or in Soho, where there were crowds. They called them "Buskers,’ and I loved to watch them.

"My old man’s a dustman. He wears a dustman’s hat. He wears gore-blimey trousers. And he lives in a council-flat… "

Years later street performers appeared almost everywhere. There were different types of ‘talents,’ and they made walking around a strange city loads of fun. In Istanbul I saw a man with a dancing bear on a main downtown street. Here in Montreal, there are singers and musicians who perform in the
subway. Most of them are very talented, and the cup or inverted hat they pass
around is often filled with coins.

Lately I’ve watched troupes of South American (probably Peruvian)
musicians with noisemakers of all sorts and a whole array of pan flutes,
haunting, exciting and magical. These people work hard, and I’m one of those
who like to support them.

Once, in Paris, a man played a piano on a street corner. Just getting it
there must have been a chore. Of course, you can’t sit at a sidewalk café
these days without being entertained by all shapes and sizes of these
people. Some play guitars, some play harmonicas and some do magic. I even saw a man rub his moistened finger over the rims of wine glasses filled with fluid. The sound was pure Brahms, with a high pitch of course. I’ve seen fire-eaters, jugglers, unicycle riders and talented opera singers vying for the tourist handout.

Recently on a metro in Paris, two young men jumped on my car and began to
create a make-believe puppet theater using sheets and ropes tied to the
handrails. Hand puppets appeared and mimed to a frenetic tune from their
tiny cassette player. Most people gave them a coin or two. They had wisely
chosen a stop that was a long way to the next. Where else can you get that
kind of entertainment for a few coins?

One I remember well was a man dressed like a woman, with a large false
woman’s head high above his own. He then got up on stilts and gave the
effect of a gigantic lady gyrating to an eastern tune while a child rode
around on a tricycle, in a clown costume, collecting the tips.

I can remember so many mimes who could stand perfectly still as if
frozen to the spot. Then, when someone drops a coin in the cup, they come to
life, tip their hat and do their little routine. The kids love it. So do I.

It can’t be easy, performing on a busy street in the hot sun. It’s
probably not that profitable either, but as my philosophical neighbor would
say, "It’s a living."

Many of these people have well practiced routines. I especially love the
fire-eaters and magicians. (I’m working on a routine myself.) But I must
tell you about the man with the simplest and most amusing routine.

I saw him in Paris in a tiny green space near a busy square. He had a kazoo
in his mouth, and he made sounds to give instructions. He set up about six
folding chairs and a wooden bench. He had a cloth over a tripod and what was possibly a camera underneath. We never saw the camera.

As people came by, he pleaded with them with his eyes, gestures, and odd wailing sounds from the kazoo, to take a place in a chair or standing on the bench. It was soon understood that he was forming a group pose for a picture he was going to take. It took a while to get a big enough group, but as the group grew, so did the crowd.

As people got tired of waiting for the picture and tried to
leave, he chased them, collared them and brought them back to the delight of
the crowd. Then, when he looked through the camera lens and held up a hand
to show he was ready, he would exit the cloth and rearrange one or two
people.

He kept doing this to the delight of the crowd but HE NEVER TOOK A
PICTURE. The whole routine was simply getting set for the picture that never
came. It was hysterical, and I think one of the most successful performances
I ever saw. Each time I come to that spot, I look for him. But, alas, he is never
there.