After the Canada Day event in the park, we went to watch the fireworks. As the sun was going down, I ran into another subway musician who told me he'd had one of his best busking days ever today at Union Station.
His success had less to do with the national holiday than with the International Convention, the gathering of Alcoholics Anonymous members (and Al-Anon and Alateen family group members) from around the world. Conference events were taking place at the Convention Centre as well as in several downtown hotels, so many of the 40,000 delegates in attendance were streaming through Union Station.
On Saturday morning, that's where I was headed.
It wasn't because of the money, though.
Several people close to me were attending the convention this weekend, and to be honest, I felt a little bit left out. Even though I wasn't wearing a lanyard with the "I Am Responsible" slogan, I wanted to connect with the people who were. As always, the best way I could imagine doing that was by singing.
I arrived at Union Station just after 10:00 a.m. An accordion player and violinist were playing an unceasing medley of "O Canada" followed by "Pachelbel's Canon". I was getting bored just standing there for five minutes waiting to ask when they were planning to take a break, and I wondered how long they could keep this up.
(Later, a friend who'd walked through the station at around 4:30 p.m. looking for me said, "yeah, there was this accordion player there, playing "O Canada" followed by "Pachelbel's Canon" over and over.")
When I finally interrupted them (why not?) the accordion player allowed that I could come back at about 2:30 p.m. I thanked him and tried to figure out what to do next.
I couldn't really hang around waiting for four hours. I could probably find some A.A. members to sing for, somewhere else
So I headed up to Dundas Station, where an unlicensed busker told me he'd spent the last ten years hitch-hiking across Canada, working sporadically and playing music in bars. He's planning to try out for the TTC this year. (And he's pretty good too, singing songs by Neil Young and The Band with a certain authentic weariness.)
I bought coffees for both of us at the nearby Second Cup, wished him well, and started playing.
Dundas Station on a Saturday is usually well-travelled (today I ran into my son's friend and his Dad as they shopped for a last-minute birthday present) but today the busking corridor between the northbound and southbound trains was busier than usual. Many conference delegates were staying at hotels nearby, and were either hopping on the train to get down to Union Station or taking a break to go shopping at the Eaton Center.
It wasn't long before I noticed a pattern.
Pedestrians wearing conference ID badges were much more likely to donate--or at least to give me a big smile. Pretty soon I started eyeing the escalator to my left, waiting for the distinctive lanyards to descend. If the people wearing them did stop to donate something, sometimes I mentioned that I was a friend of the Program (often forfeiting a lyric or two to do so). One man kindly stopped for a longer time and we had a more personal conversation, which meant a lot to me.
Although some non-lanyard-wearing people did make donations on this particular Saturday, most did not. On the other hand, virtually all of the conference delegates were clearly in a positive and generous mood, the kind that makes giving (and receiving) easy.
Later, I wondered what in particular about A.A. and its related programs might influence its members to make a donation to a subway musician.
Several things occurred to me (other than the fact that they were on holiday). First, it struck me that A.A. members have an ear for honesty and an appreciation of personal courage and of generosity. Second, I realized that each of their donations was, in some way, an expression of gratitude: gratitude for simply being alive and able to appreciate a song on this particular Saturday.
Finally, I believe there is a form of recognition, among people who share particular stories. It's hard to put your finger on, but there's a sense of connection which I believe is facilitated by the human voice and by human songs.
Songs are, so often, about struggle and about frailty, and--hopefully--also about rebirth.
Performances themselves can convey the essence of those struggles, even if the lyrics remain symbolic or are not autobiographical. As a group, recovering alcoholics and their families are likely to be particularly attuned to the value of songs and stories, and to the importance of honesty and self-disclosure.
Today I remembered one of the first people to buy my CD on the subway, back in the winter. When I suggested that we trade business cards, he graciously gave me his, which bore only his first name, the A.A. insignia and hs phone number.
I still have it.
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