Saturday was a gorgeous spring day with lots of sun and temperatures around twenty degrees (that’s 70 degrees to my American friends). I suggested to Paul that we rehearse the “Paul and Joey” numbers — songs that Paul’s written and for which I play backup — in the great outdoors. Paul seemed a bit hesitant at first, but then I pulled out my trump card: the Shaft argument.
“Shaft plays in the street,” I said, “and so should you.”
Having confronted Paul with irrefutable logic, we went to the corner of Queen and Soho (a mere two blocks from our house), right by the parking lot and a row of street vendors. Across the street to our left was the patio of the Black Bull Tavern and across the street facing us were The Gap and Peter Pan restaurant.
“Uh, why don’t you start?” asked Paul. “I don’t feel ready yet.”
“Not a problem,” I said, unstrapping the bellows and squeezing out a few practice chords.
I warmed up the accordion with a bluesy chord progression, and then went into Lump by the Presidents of the United States of America. At the end of the song, I noticed a father pointing my out to his little girl, a cute moppet who couldn’t have been much older than three. It looked as though he was explaining what the accordion was, as he was mimicking accordion-playing motions with his arms.
When I was a snotty seventeen-year-old, all spiky hair and attitude, I used to despise children. It was probably some kind of teenage guy thing; I notice the same feeling in my teenage neighbour Hector. That attitude changed in the summer of 1985, when I sold snow cones as a street vendor and children became my source of income. I learned to appreciate their wide-eyed innocence and their willingness to participate in any kind of goofy fun. Normally children aren’t part of my busking audience, especially since a lot of my busking is done after last call. In spite of that, I still have some kids’ songs in my repertoire, due in no small part to my nephew Aidan.
I walked up to the girl and her father and started:
You put your left foot in
You put your left foot out
You put your left foot in
Then you shake it all about
You do the Hokey Pokey
And you turn yourself around
That’s what it’s all about…
The little girl looked a little unsure at first, so I did the “right foot” verse complete with Hokey Pokey motions. That won her over, and she was singing, jumping and clapping by the time we got to the “whole self” verse, a difficult one to perform when you’re playing the accordion at the same time. Good thing I’ve been working out.
The little girl and Dad said goodbye and went on their way. As I turned around to check up on Paul, a guy came up to me and started talking.
“Hey, I liked the Hokey Pokey you did. Very lively.”
“Thanks,” I said, “I have a little nephew, so I’m getting more and more familiar with the kids’ songs.”
“I just wanted to say that it was nice of you to go out of your way to entertain that little girl.”
“Thanks again. And hey, who doesn’t like the Hokey Pokey?”
“I noticed that you haven’t got a hat or anything to put money in.”
“Oh…you know, I was just warming up, waiting for my friend to get ready. I forgot all about that. I guess I should put this hat down.”
I unstrapped the baseball cap I brought from around a belt loop and laid it on the ground.
“Here,” said the guy, “I’ll get you started.”
He placed something in it and walked off with a smile and a wave. “Something,” he said, “to show my appreciation for your good deed.”
“Thank you,” I said, waving goodbye.
I took a look in the cap. He’d left a twenty dollar bill.
“Paul!” I shouted. “Dinner’s on me!”
Recommended listening
If you’re of the opinion that the Hokey Pokey is not a rock classic, perhaps you need to hear Jim Breuer’s “What if AC/DC performed the Hokey Pokey?” (RealPlayer required).