MORE THAN ONE HAT

When I arrived in Halifax it was late afternoon, too late to get a bed at the downtown hostel. So I parked in the Atlantic Grocery parking lot across the street and walked down to the waterfront. That was five years ago. It was the week of their Busker Festival and the pier was wall-to-wall with street musicians, magicians, jugglers and the like. I spent the afternoon being entertained, delighted at my good fortune. Then I slept in my car. The next day I reserved my bed early and set to find a room to rent. 

In that first afternoon I noticed a subtle difference between Canadian and American crowds. Over the next three months that observation would be confirmed again and again. Nova Scotia is only a half day drive or a two hour ferry ride from the American border but you sense quickly that the world turns to a different tune there. I noticed through etiquette and mannerisms, through unmistakable body language and overt acts: they saw themselves as being more responsible and less entitled when it came to their liberties. “Do unto others. . .” is a civic responsibility more so than high minded morality. They have high expectations for each other and they communicate that in interesting ways. If you drop a piece of trash, someone might well pick it up and hand it back to you with a disarming comment; “I’m sorry, you dropped this.” Or, they might give you detailed directions to the nearest rubbish barrel; a gentle reminder but a reprimand none the less. That same collective accountability holds true from standing in checkout lines to law enforcement. In my first week there, I sampled a cashew from the bulk food bin. Before I could walk away, another customer politely informed me that in Canada you pay for food before you consume it. I got the message. 

By the end of my stay I had reset my compass to Canadian expectations. Simply stated, true north was We-We-We rather than the more American, Me-Me-Me. I have a friend there, an engineer  from Thunder Bay, worked many years in Atlanta, Georgia, now retired in Halifax. He observed, “We were not born of a bloody revolution and don’t have to live in that shadow. We put more stock in peace, fairness and good government than in your, life, liberty or pursuit of happiness.” He put into two sentences what I couldn’t unravel in two paragraphs. 

Yesterday I went to another Busker Fest; this time in Lawerence, Kansas. Some acts were at sidewalk venues, others in bars or churches or closed off streets. A young lady, singer/songwriter drew a crowd of maybe twenty, inside, off the street and that was enough. She did good. I took some photos and emailed them to her. A juggler/magician out on the sidewalk was clever and funny. He worked the crowd for half an hour with about six minutes of intermittent performing. But that was nothing compared to the break dancing, tumbling, standup comic who did five short passes over a forty five minute distraction. I’ve seen that act many times in an open air theatre in the French Quarter. In New Orleans it’s a cast of 5 or 6 athletes. They take turns doing the sweaty, leaping, twisting, arial work while the others work the crowd for tips. Yesterday the guy worked a modest crowd into a densely packed horde, all drawn to the noise. He milked us like a carnival barker, selling snake oil. When he did the good stuff it came with little warning, lasted only a few seconds and it was back to the in-your-face jokes and self-deprecating humor. The bigger the audience, the bigger the payday; I hope he made a bundle. 

He finished, I was entertained; put a few dead presidents in his knapsack and headed back to my car. It was time to get off my feet. On the drive home I thought about the crowd, what it took to make them feel good; it made me think about how, not everyone moves to the same drum. I felt good with simple, finger style guitar and gentle lyrics from a little, mid-west girl and equally comfortable with raucous, street theatre. I am an American; I can wear more than one hat and right now I miss my Canadian friends.