Keep Singing

I parked the car, removed the keys and cracked the driver's door open to hear music blaring from a nearby vehicle. But, something wasn't right. Instead of the typical bump 'n thump of window rattling rap music, I'm hearing nostalgic country music. But, something is still not agreeing with my ears.  Someone is singing out of tune with the music...WAY out of tune.

I search for the vehicle with the wayward singer and my attention is drawn along the storefronts of the strip mall. There, tucked in the corner, stood a lone sidewalk performer singing his heart out as if he was on stage singing a duet with the true artist. Shoppers passed by, staring at him, and the more he strained to screech out some high notes, the more he intrigued me with his effort.

He clutched his guitar and leaned into the microphone that was in a stand, chin high, with his red beard lightly brushing against it. His black cowboy hat was an inexpensive variety, like something made more of cardboard than felt and won at an amusement park. It was mishapen and sat at a slight angle on his head as his beady eyes busily rolled around looking at people. His untucked shirt was a loose fit with no labels or other suggestions of it being a name brand, country western shirt.  Likewise, his pants were a generic type of jeans with the right pant cuff partly hanging inside the top of his boot. It wasn't a fashion statement, but merely an oversight when he got dressed. His boots looked oversized for his feet as he tapped a toe in rhytm to the music.

We made eye contact, acknowledged with a mutual head nod, while he continued to wail along with the music. If words were unknown, he simply did his best with make-believe words until he joined up again with the singer and the actual words to the song. 

I noticed his right hand gripping the end of the guitar with his fingers sandwiching the strings tightly against the neck.  And, those fingers never moved.  His left hand strummed, ever so lightly, the strings with the same movement every time.  He went from the top string to the bottom string and the repeated sound never blended in with the song. 

I entered the shop, smiling with his care-free spirit on display for everyone.  I doubt he stressed over retirement funds, the rise and fall of the stock market, the price of coffee or global warming.  But, perhaps the polar vortex got his attention since it probably had an impact on his sidewalk performances.

I had to go back outside and meet him. And, I happened to catch him while on his break, nibbling on a bologna sandwich.  He greeted me with a soft handshake and said his name was Stuart where his eyes occasionally ventured off track like they had a mind of their own. He spoke gently and boasted how his microphone, stand and speaker had been a great purchase at Walmart. He pointed to his CD player and said he was fortunate to have found it at a nearby pawnshop. His portable table was littered with CD's strewn all over and a plastic jug on the end had money tossed inside.

I threw in some money and Stuart thanked me and was tickled that I wanted to take his picture.  He explained growing up on country music and that his uncle had taught him to play the guitar.  When asked how long he has been playing, Stuart proudly stated he had been doing sidewalk shows for about 5 months, but then later commented how a lady have him a check for $100 about a year ago.

Stuart said his singing is a side job as he works full time for Sam's Club gathering carts and has been employed there for over 6 years. I bet he is the best cart gatherer to have ever walked a parking lot.

"And," Stuart added, "do you want to know something?" He leaned in towards me with arched eyebrows as if preparing to share a highly sensitive secret.

"Sure," I replied.

"I'm the reason Sam's Club has so many customers...they all come to see me and hear me sing while I gather carts," Stuart said in total seriousness.

Keep singing Stuart!