This past Saturday I spent about six hours working Harvard Square. Some people seem to be under the impression that working the streets is a life filled with short skirts and cold beer. I’m here to tell you, it just ain’t so. It is very satisfying work, but it is a hard road.

I got to the square at 9:30 a.m. to make sure I got a spot I liked. Blue was already out setting up his puppet show on the big circle pitch. As I set up my table in front of "The Gap" and strapped on my apron, the sun was already hot on my face. By noon it would be unbearable.

At 10:30 a.m. people are starting to come by in small spurts so I start drawing my edge. People have no attention span in the heat and my first hat yields two bucks. I shorten my act to 5 minutes. I vanish a beer bottle and go right into the cups and balls.

By 11:30 a.m. it’s over 85 and drawing an edge is a killer. A dad stops with his kid and I spend 10 minutes showing the kid intro stuff trying to build an audience and it just isn’t going to happen. Surprisingly the old man shoots me a ten spot and says, "Thanks, I know you usually wouldn’t spend that much time one on one and I appreciate it." Now that guy was a class act.

12:30 p.m. I’ve just had a run of six five minute shows and netted about thirty bucks. This heat is a killer. I have the sun in my face but I can’t wear my sunglasses. If I do people can’t see my eyes and my face becomes less friendly. Less friendly equals smaller hats, and they are already pathetic.

12:45 p.m. Sunny Holiday stops by for a quick second and shakes my hand. He must have heard I’d been asking for him. I hadn’t seen him in a couple of weeks and started to worry. He told me he was doing great, hopped into the passenger seat of a new Mustang, and was whisked away. The last thing I saw of him was his long arm dangling a big cigar out the window.

2:00 p.m. My buddies "Lucky" and "Brendon the pretty good" stop by and help me build a crowd. We stop a fist full of high school girls, a couple in their early 20’s and a big family (Mom Dad, their two daughters, their husbands, and their four small kids.)

The show is great, they are enthusiastic, all the jokes go right, and the blow off kills ‘em. The high school girls each pony up a new golden dollar (They all must have come from the Post Office), the guy from the young couple, tosses in a five, and Dad from the big family hangs his Rolex Submariner clad wrist in my hat and deposits two pennies.

"Two cents sir?" comes out of my mouth before I can stop it.

"Heh, heh, yeah, I didn’t have any ones."

I pull the two cents from my hat and toss them on the ground, "Then don’t pay sir, but there is no reason to insult me."

He turned his back and I thought that was the end of it when the guy from the young couple spoke up. "Hey cheapskate, if you didn’t have a one you should have tossed in a five. He just entertained your whole family. I put in a five and I’m wearing a Seiko. With that Rolex you should have put in ten." Everyone left, I made a fifteen dollar hat and had smoke coming out of both ears.

You can never tell on the street. If you had asked me about the crowd before the show, I would have told you, "The high school girls won’t pay a dime. They are fun and pretty, so they can help draw a bigger crowd. Use them in the show to blow up your crowd but don’t expect any money. The young couple will walk away halfway through the show. Young couples on dates have no attention span because they have other things on their minds. The big family? Mom and Dad would give nothing and both sons in law will buck up with a five each. Neither wants to look cheap or unappreciative in front of their wives or their in-laws." That’s the thing about theories. They are just theories.

At this point I decided to cut bait and call it a day. I had family obligations so I would not be able to work the night. I bought my buddy Lucky lunch and we talked about what all street performers talk about… Money.

I have a number in mind each and everyday when I hit the pavement. On this day I was about $40 short but decided to call the whole thing off anyway. Lucky said I was nuts, and I tend to agree with him.

After lunch I was walking back to my car sweating, still ticked off about the Rolex man, and reeking of the stink of cash. There is a strange thing about the spicy smell of money. As a street performer you go home reeking of it the same way a bartender goes home stinking of cigarettes and spilled beer. By the end of the day it is in your hat, hair, hands, and clothes. My buddy Sunny says, “Money, the stuff just smells funny to me, ya’ hear?” Yank a dollar out of your wallet and give it a good long sniff if you don’t know what I mean. Now magnify that smell by 100.

As I walk past the Charles Hotel on the way to the parking garage a young Asian kid is leaned up against the wall, wearing hotel whites, and smoking a cigarette holding it European style, he calls out "Hey magic man!"

"Hey yourself!"

"Show me a trick?"

Ahh..why not. I walk over to the guy and as I do he hollers something through the doorway. It must have been the South East Asian version of free beer because the next thing I know about seven more guys come out on the sidewalk. I was just going to do a card trick but I figure what the heck. Here is a bunch of hard working kids on a break why not give them the whole show. By now the sun had passed peak and there was a nice breeze rolling down the street. I break into my act and within a few minutes a couple of cab drivers and a few chambermaids blow the audience up to about 15.

They are a great audience and I go almost twenty minutes. The manager came out and when he saw what was going he asked me how much longer. I told him three more minutes. He gives me a no problem grin and I wrap it up and pass the hat to a great response.

I am expecting a ten or fifteen dollar hat. I mean there are only fifteen people there to begin with. I don’t count the cash there but I see my hat is really full. The manager drops in a ten and I see a couple of fives. I thank everyone sincerely and profusely and head back to my car. When I count the hat, it is sixty bucks. These beautiful hard working people each threw in at least three bucks a piece. They probably don’t make much more than seven bucks an hour. I was really moved. The streets are funny. Service people appreciate a service well done. They put me twenty dollars over where I thought I’d be if I had a good day. God bless the working class.

Now the bad part is, two months from now I will probably forget how great those people were to me. 10 years from now if I see Rolex man his face will remind me in an instant of where and when I know him from.

We always remember the cheapskates.

Fat hats,

Danny-

I like reading things like this.
Thanks!!

One of the most interesting and enjoyable posts I've read in a long time. Thanks for sharing the story.

This story is great. I guess you never can tell with people.

Danny,
Wonderful story.
Which is why most of us stay on the streets!
(A love-hate relationship with the job?)

cheers,
Peter Marucci
showtimecol@aol.com

If you ever get the street outta your blood, you might consider "retiring" to writing.

I was deeply entertained, and feel like I just spent a day on the street with you.

Dan,
You are the man! Loved the story. No fake stuff here. Truth is always stranger than fiction..
Hope your next outing is twice as successful.
Cheers
Bill