Tramps and other characters

[Zombie_61]

While I was growing up during the 1960s-70s, in my hometown of Whittier (California) there was an older gent known by most city residents as "the fiddler". He would walk through town every day until he had selected a spot, at which point he would remove a fiddle from his ever-present saxophone case and perform an impromptu one-man concert. Despite his ragged attire, he played because he loved music and fresh air, and refused handouts. Of course, stories spread about who he was and why he did what he did--he was homeless; he was secretly wealthy; he had played with the Los Angeles Philharmonic orchestra; he walked to Rose Hills Memorial Park every day to visit the graves of his parents--none of which were true. It was only when the Whittier Daily News ran an article about the man shortly after his death in November of 1989 that we learned some of the truths about him. His name was Clifford Elston Johnson. He was born in Whittier in June, 1913. He graduated from Whittier High School in 1933. He attended Whittier College where he studied studied music, and later worked as a groundskeeper. And he started walking and fiddling shortly after his parents died in the early 1960s. He had lived in Whittier his entire life, and although almost everyone knew of him it appears very few actually knew him. But because he was so well known, the city erected a memorial plaque next to his favorite bench.

 

[BlueTrain]

That post makes a good point about something we usually don't think about and that is, more people notice us and are aware of our presence than we realize. It doesn't mean they interact with you in any way or they necessarily give you more than a few seconds of thought, if that, but someone out there notices you and might even be aware of your comings and goings. To an extent and a very limited one at that, you are part of their world and vice versa. A neighbor of mine in the rental house across the street is a "waving" acquaintance. I started seeing him outside a lot, mostly standing in the carport, smoking. I would wave at him and one day I went across the street and introduced myself. He was very friendly--and retired. He's usually there when I leave for work at 5:30 in the morning and there again when I get back sometime after 5:30 in the afternoon. Will I miss him when they move away? Depends on who lives there next.

 

[tonyb]

That post makes a good point about something we usually don't think about and that is, more people notice us and are aware of our presence than we realize. It doesn't mean they interact with you in any way or they necessarily give you more than a few seconds of thought, if that, but someone out there notices you and might even be aware of your comings and goings. To an extent and a very limited one at that, you are part of their world and vice versa. A neighbor of mine in the rental house across the street is a "waving" acquaintance. I started seeing him outside a lot, mostly standing in the carport, smoking. I would wave at him and one day I went across the street and introduced myself. He was very friendly--and retired. He's usually there when I leave for work at 5:30 in the morning and there again when I get back sometime after 5:30 in the afternoon. Will I miss him when they move away? Depends on who lives there next.

I've often wondered how many suicides might have been prevented had others taken a few seconds to acknowledge another person's presence.

And then there are those committing what Kurt Vonnegut called "slow suicide": smokers, heavy drinkers, etc. I doubt that just saying hi would do anything to change those behaviors, but for those who engage in behaviors not meant to kill but which very well may, another person kindly steering those people in a less dangerous direction might make the difference.

 

[BlueTrain]

Well, that's a pretty sensitive subject and I have my own theory about suicide. I've actually known personally six people who killed themselves. They were all older, perhaps even elderly, except for one. I think the better explanation instead of the usual depression is frustration. It may or may not be much of a difference but it's a little easier to see in some circumstance, less so in others.

Everyone else I know just died a natural death.

 

[BlueTrain]

On a more cheerful note, once upon a time I used to do something called Scottish Country Dancing. Generally phonograph recordings were used at our weekly meetings but for big dance events we usually had live music. We sometimes had guest teachers, either from Canada or from the U.K. Once, a guest instructor brought his fiddle with him and it was a fiddle like I'd never seen before or since, and I've seen some downright unusual fiddles since then. It was supposedly made for travelling dance teachers a long time ago. It was, I think, the same length as a regular violin but it was much narrower, almost like a toy. The memory of the sound is not there, however, so it must not have been, well, memorable. But it was like nothing else I've ever seen and I even lived in a house with an autoharp.

 

[Inkstainedwretch]

I believe the fiddle you describe is what used to be called a "kit." Dancing-masters who went to their patrons' houses in the 18th century used them, since they had to visit several houses each day to deliver lessons. Upper-class people didn't go to dancing schools, the tutors came to them. They were made narrow like that so they would fit into the large pockets on an 18th century man's coat. Many years ago I saw a large display of them at the Victoria & Albert Museum in London. I didn't know anybody still used them.

 

[Zombie_61]

That post makes a good point about something we usually don't think about and that is, more people notice us and are aware of our presence than we realize. It doesn't mean they interact with you in any way or they necessarily give you more than a few seconds of thought, if that, but someone out there notices you and might even be aware of your comings and goings. To an extent and a very limited one at that, you are part of their world and vice versa. A neighbor of mine in the rental house across the street is a "waving" acquaintance. I started seeing him outside a lot, mostly standing in the carport, smoking. I would wave at him and one day I went across the street and introduced myself. He was very friendly--and retired. He's usually there when I leave for work at 5:30 in the morning and there again when I get back sometime after 5:30 in the afternoon. Will I miss him when they move away? Depends on who lives there next.

My wife and I have a few "waving acquaintances" in our neighborhood as well. Fortunately, we've also met more than a few neighbors while walking our dog every evening; people we probably would never have met otherwise.

At some point Mr. Johnson became aware that he was something of a local celebrity, but he didn't seem to care one way or another. His motivation was simply to share his love of music with anyone who cared to stop and listen. He was quite good at it too, and could play almost anything from classical music to Broadway show tunes to his personal favorites like "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling". And when he wasn't playing he would engage in friendly conversation with anyone about almost anything. I spoke with him once--briefly--and I got the impression that he was a kind, gentle soul who liked people and managed to find a way to live a quiet, simple life as he saw fit. We should all be so fortunate.

 

[GHT]

Mr Johnson is the antithesis of a local character in our community. He's a tad shabby, but not a tramp, he lives alone, I think he might be a widower. He scares the schoolchildren witless. Although he has a relatively new car, he walks everywhere. On his travels you can here him, moaning, grumbling, swearing, he's one of those sort that it's just so difficult to get to know. He could start an argument in an empty room.
My wife told me about another gent, similar to him. She was a paramedic before retirement, and the gent that she was referring to, was also an abrasive sort of eccentric. She had to take him to hospital on an occasion when he had taken a bad fall. Opening up to her, she discovered that he had lost close family members in tragic circumstances. My wife concluded that perhaps he was as he was, to deliberately distance himself. His loss had left an indelible mark on him.

 

[Lean'n'mean]

I've actually known personally six people who killed themselves.

Everyone else I know just died a natural death.

I'm relieved you don't know me...

 

[BlueTrain]

We have visited the Victoria and Albert Museum in London but fiddles we missed. But that was on the day we arrived and we were all dead tired. I'm surprised anyone else has ever heard of such things.

Locally, where I live now, there is, or used to be, a man who would be seen walking down the road playing a Sousaphone. He had a little lawn whirligig attached to the top for additional animation, I suppose. I actually saw him once, too, somewhere in the Burke area of Northern Virginia. Couldn't tell what he was playing, though.

I always thought the best instrument to play on your deck would be an alphorn, followed by a Hawaiian guitar.

 

[Zombie_61]

Mr Johnson is the antithesis of a local character in our community. He's a tad shabby, but not a tramp, he lives alone, I think he might be a widower. He scares the schoolchildren witless. Although he has a relatively new car, he walks everywhere. On his travels you can here him, moaning, grumbling, swearing, he's one of those sort that it's just so difficult to get to know. He could start an argument in an empty room...

We've had our fair share of those types as well. Most of them appear to be "just passing through", but sometimes they stick around for a while.

In or about 1980, there was a guy we called Joe Bum. He was barely taller than 5', had long hair and a long beard, and always wore a knit cap, dress shirt, black suit jacket, black slacks, and black dress shoes, regardless of the weather, all of which were various degrees of ragged. In those days I and a group of friends hung out at a local burger joint regularly, and Joe Bum would come in and order a cup of coffee (probably because of the free refills). He'd gulp down the first cup at the counter, steaming hot, then refill it and sit at an empty table where he would usually have a rather lively conversation with the three empty adjacent seats (if anyone was sitting there, we couldn't see them). Otherwise we'd see him walking down the street, and if he encountered anyone walking in the opposite direction he'd either stand absolutely still until they passed, or he'd attempt to put as much empty space as possible between them and himself. We tried to talk with him a few times, but he would either reply with minimal responses or silently stare at us as if he was trying to determine why we wanted to talk to him.

Around that same time there was another guy we called Tom Bum (we had somehow learned "Tom" was actually his first name). He was close to 6' tall, very thin, and in addition to his usual ragged tee shirts and jeans he wore some kind of fabric wound around his head like a turban. In contrast to Joe Bum, Tom Bum was rather affable and liked to engage in conversation with anyone who was willing.

One night we were killing time at the aforementioned burger joint when Tom Bum walked in and placed his order. Joe Bum was already sitting at a table talking to the empty seats, and this being the first time we'd seen them in the same place we joked about whether or not they knew each other. Sure enough, Tom Bum sat at Joe Bum's table and joined in the conversation Joe was having with the empty seats.

 

[GHT]

 

[Inkstainedwretch]

I should have said above: If you go to Google Images and type in "Dancing-master's kit" you'll bring up pictures of a bunch of them.

 

[BlueTrain]

Well, I'll be dogged!

 

[GHT]

Well, I'll be dogged!

On our side of the pond, that could get you into a lot of trouble.

 

[Harp]

While I was growing up during the 1960s-70s, in my hometown of Whittier (California) there was an older gent known by most city residents as "the fiddler". He would walk through town every day until he had selected a spot, at which point he would remove a fiddle from his ever-present saxophone case and perform an impromptu one-man concert.

Outside the Chicago Board of Trade or down inside the LaSalle Street Blue Line subway stop an elderly oriental gentleman occasionally appeared, playing Paganini, Bach, Massenet, Vivaldi,
or any requested violin piece from approving commuters. An unexpected treat, as are the vagabond troubadours whom seem scarcer now.

 

[Haversack]

GHT wrote in response to BlueTrain saying he would be dogged: "On our side of the pond, that could get you into a lot of trouble."

'Dogging' is a term we cousins haven't picked up yet. Heck, we even build dog parks...

 

[BlueTrain]

I was doing my best to insert a colorful American colloquialism into the conversation. But I'll be doggoned if I'll try that again. After all, I'm not a native English speaker.

 

[Stanley Doble]

I'm relieved you don't know me...

Yeah, sounds like he's not a real lucky guy to know.

 

[GHT]

GHT wrote in response to BlueTrain saying he would be dogged: "On our side of the pond, that could get you into a lot of trouble."
'Dogging' is a term we cousins haven't picked up yet. Heck, we even build dog parks...

I was doing my best to insert a colorful American colloquialism into the conversation. But I'll be doggoned if I'll try that again. After all, I'm not a native English speaker.

Don't worry about it, as George Bernard Shaw said: “We are two nations divided by a common language." Although some attribute that saying to Oscar Wilde. Some of the enjoyment that comes from this forum is reading the unintentional colloquial expressions. Add to that, many of us have visited each other's country and know, or know of, the other's idiosyncrasies. It makes for a moment of light humour.
There's a lovely lady in our group of friends, she's originally from Colorado, now married and has been settled over here for many years. She still giggles at our expressions. She told me that she loved the way we go to the loo, when we want the bathroom. but even after many years, she still goes to the bathroom, because the word, loo, amuses her so much, she knows the she would start laughing if she asked directions to the ladies loo.