Panhandling Familystyle on the Boardwalk
by Jim Haizlett
“OK. This is it,” I said as I threw the old Suburban,with five rusty bikes chained to the back, into PARK and squeaked open my door. I looked around at the rest of the band, half hoping to see them scrambling for instruments, hats, and glory.
“Whatdayathinkyou’redoindad?” asked Ben, my ten year old, who had only recently begun to question my omniscience.
“Hey, trust me,” I replied. “Have I ever let you guys down yet?”
A resounding “Yeeeesssssss……” echoed through the cavern of the Road Hog.
This was akin to mutiny. I had to think fast. Here we were, on vacation, parked in a dark alley somewhere along the boardwalk in Ocean City, New Jersey. “Vacationing in New Jersey?” you say with one uplifted eyebrow. Why would anyone in their right mind choose New Jersey as a vacation destination?
“Ahhhh,” I retort with a strange look in my eye. Why would anyone in their right mind have four kids when the average cost of raising just one of them will take seventeen lifetimes of my lowly graphics artist income?
There are no answers for such esoteric questions, except perhaps the obvious. My financial wizard brother-in-law, Bob, got us a house for a week at the shore. When you have four kids and a non-employed school teacher wife and your brother-in-law, Bob, offers you a week at the shore, you don’t ask which shore. You simply say yes. And if it happens to be New Jersey, you comfort yourself by saying, “At least they haven’t had any oil spills recently.”
I had to think fast.
“OK, OK…Here’s the deal. I stared through the dim light, directly into Ben’s eyes. For now this still intimidates him. 25% for you and 25% for Will (the 8 year old).” I turned to Ellie (5 years old). “Ellie, you get 10% if you smile a l¯t, and sing real loud. And you guys can spend it any way you want. You don’t have to save it or anything.” Rosie (age 1) squirmed in her car seat as if to say, “Hey dad! What’s my cut.” I ignored her.
I surveyed the Road Hog to see what kind of response my offer had garnered. It was hard to see any facial expressions in the shadows of the alley, but the silence told the story. The captain was losing his ship.
“They’re tired,” said Jo Ellen, my non employed school teacher wife. “They had a long day at the beach, and it’s late, and…..”
“Hey guys,” I cut in. “I’ll bet there is a go-cart track around here. Here’s the deal. When we’re done playing, we find a track and ride as much as you want.”
Within 10 minutes we were out on the boardwalk, instruments in hand….
I began to notice that a small crowd of curious onlookers were following us as we looked for a spot to play. I whispered to my kids, “You know guys, there’s some serious money walking around this place. And some of it is about to be ours.”
They didn’t believe me. I could tell by the glazed, half-asleep look in their eyes. Or maybe they actually were half-asleep. I wondered if I could be arrested for bringing them out here at 11:00 at night. I pushed the thought from my mind.
We found a well-lit spot with several rows of built in benches. It was made for such an occasion. It was next to a caramel corn place where a fat, sweaty bald-headed guy was cracking the whip on a bunch of lowly high school and college students with sagging shoulders and a look of murder in their eyes.
My wife strapped on her banjo and Ben pulled on his mandolin. Will wrestled with the zither until he got it in position, and I clipped a harmonica in place and began to chunk away on an E major. Ellie stood out in front with a tambourine, and Rosie crawled around our legs, playing with our shoelaces, and eating whatever stale pieces of caramel corn she could find. We broke into a rousing version or the Carter Family’s “That Aggravating Beauty Lulu Walls,” and the night became magic.
As we had been setting up, the little crowd had turned into a small throng. These people had been at the beach for three or four days, and they were getting bored with the sand, the sun, and the endless stream of t-shirt shops and arcades along the boardwalk. They were starved for something real, genuine, and out of the ordinary. The Elk Creek Family Band filled the bill.
Before we got through our first verse we had people clapping and stomping, and enjoying themselves. Dollar bills began to fall into my open guitar case, and the kids looked at me in disbelief. We had been playing at fairs and festivals for two years, but the money always came after the shows. They had never seen such a direct connection between our performance and our income. “Viva la free enterprise,” I was thinking to myself, as we broke into the third verse of the song….
And then the cops came.
Actually it was one cop. He was about seven feet tall, and it was his shadow that I noticed first. He came up from behind and patiently waited until we finished our first number. Then he tapped me on the shoulder and bent down to whisper into my ear.
“Let ’em play,” yelled a man’s voice from the increasingly larger throng.
“Ya, let ’em play…” yelled another. This was met with a growing murmur of catcalls on our behalf. The cop’s whisper became louder and more impatient. “THIS IS ILLEGAL AND I AM GOING TO ARREST YOU IF YOU DON’T CLOSE THAT GUITAR CASE…NOW….” Even as he said these words, bold members of the audience kept walking up to the case and pitching in their dollars.
“What if I close the case?” I asked.
The cop looked at the crowd, who were still making catcalls. He looked down at me, at my wife, at Ben, Will, Ellie, and Rosie, who by now had dirty pieces of corn plastered all over her face. He thought a minute. “THE CITY ORDINANCE SAYS, ‘NO PANHANDLING ON THE BOARDWALK.’ BUT IT DOSEN’T SAY ANYTHING ABOUT MUSIC.” He smiled. ” I DON’T MIND IF YOU PLAY YOUR MUSIC. JUST KEEP YOUR GUITAR CASE CLOSED.” A cheer went up from the crowd. He turned and walked away.
I closed the case and we broke into “Hard Travelin'”, an old Woody Guthrie tune. Before the first chorus had ended people were walking up to my closed case, opening it a crack, and slipping their money inside.
The go-cart riding was excellent that night.
______________________________________
Two days later we drove down route nine and visited Cape May. After climbing the lighthouse and looking for Cape May diamonds, (which look a lot like driveway pebbles), we visited the downtown area. A section of town is blocked off to traffic and there are benches and shops lining the walkway. We strolled past a stringy haired hippie singing obscure Neil Young songs, and as we did an old lady opened her purse and threw a dollar into his guitar case. An idea occurred to me. “Our instruments are in the Suburban. There is a pretty good sized number of people idling around. They seem bored. A family band could clean up right about now.”
I dismissed the thought. After all, we were on vacation, and I didn’t want to burn the little guys out. Just then Ben looked up at me with a scheming look in his eye. “Hey Dad,” he said, surveying the scene, “You know…There’s some serious money walking around this place.”
It’s enough to warm a father’s heart.
*******
The Elk Creek Family Band hails from the mountains of north-central Pennsylvania. Their music is lively and original old time music with timeless themes. Some of their influences include the original Carter Family, Doc Watson, and Woody Guthrie. They play at festivals, fairs and schools throughout PA and neighboring states. (And anywhere else Dad Jim thinks they can make a buck to buy gas for the road hog.) In September they were featured artists at the Old Time Music Festival in New Germany, MD.
The band is currently producing their first album, which will be available in February, entitled “Clyde Marstellar’s Traveling Show and Homegrown Pharmacy.” The album includes eight original songs written by the band, in addition to some Carter Family songs, a Woody Guthrie song and a few traditional tunes. The title song was inspired by Jim’s great grandfather; a peddler who used to grind medicinal potions and sell them from town to town in western Pennsylvania.
Members of the band include:
Jim – Mandolin, guitar, banjo, harmonica Jo Ellen – Clawhammer banjo
Ben – (age 10) Mandolin, guitar, zither
Will – (age 8) Mandolin, guitar, zither
Ellie – (age 5) tambourine and jug
Rosalie – (age 1) roadie and manager
To inquire about their new album, or for booking information, contact:
Elk Creek Family Band
RR 1, Box 1146
Forksville, PA 18616
717-924-4039
e-mail haizlett@epix.net
