Dress: I wore my blue clergy shirt and dog collar, old wool taxi driver's/fiddler's cap, shorts, new cheap sun glasses that make everything look dark red, and black sandals. Equipment: my sign (see below), my 1963/4 Royal Aristocrat manual typewriter, a stack of white paper, a NOLA blonde, a bottle of water, and a milk crate. I taped the sign to the typewriter, sat down, and waited. (Pictures are forthcoming, if folk remember to tag me/post them on facebook).
My goal: to make enough for a ticket, a beer, a bowl of pheasant gumbo, a bowl of white chocolate bread pudding, and the latest volume of Dr. Michael White's. I made enough for a ticket in a couple of hours but I had to leave early. Why? I forgot my chair and had to sit on my milk crate, there are more comfortable pieces of furniture.
So what did I do? I typed prayers/blessings for folk as they entered. When they approached I asked them what band(s) they were going to see and what food they wanted to eat then made a prayer/blessing based off of that. I also renewed the wedding vows of a couple. I had a prayer request for a class action lawsuit. I had a person who had deep problems and wanted some help. For both I wrote a prayer that would help them alleviate their anxiety so they could enjoy the fest. For the latter I created a vague prayer, told the person to fill in the blanks, pray the prayer and then throw it away. I was given a business card because one person liked my creativity. In between I posted updates on facebook and sang songs from Levon Helm's Dirt Farmer cd.
Reactions: i would say only about 20 people really got what I was up to; they understood the spiritual nature of Jazz Fest. There were quite a few people who were taken with the originality of the idea (even though i gave the dude from San Fran via NPR all the credit). One man told his wife that people really have to work at standing out at Jazz Fest and that I had definitely done that.
Other reactions: many people thought for sure I was a front for black market tickets, they kept coming up to me asking for tickets or flashing some kind of esoteric signal. But I was just writing prayers. One jerk rode by on a bicycle and asked if I was selling tickets? I said I was writing prayers. He then replied, "I want tickets not (insert a f-bomb with an active participle) prayers - did he know there was a ticket booth not 20 feet from where he made this declaration?
Another person asked if I was for real.
A small bunch of prudes were smuggish in their disapproval.
One person who had serious beef with organized religion (I thought I was pretty disorganized) shouted how no part of religion should ever be for sale (I gave away several, plus it was donations only)
A stoned man thought I was the greatest thing since slice bread, he just stood in front of me, pointed and couldn't stop giggling.
Finally, I was the subject of many photographs. If you ever run across a copy, please send me a copy.
Friends: I saw many friends, it was great to see them and type prayers/blessings for them.
New Friends: three women who hugged and kissed me after I gave them their prayer/blessing.
Festival people: The two people who were collecting cans, I set up my operation near a trash can. We even developed a pact, they would watch my back and I would guard the trash can from other people gathering cans. Sure. They even asked if I would be out all weekend.
Festival Vendor Etiquette - pretty easy to pick up on, just don't get too near each other.
Biggest Lesson Learned: one, people are fascinated with manual typewriters, especially when someone uses them. When I would start typing people would gather around, jockey to see what I was doing, and then take pictures like crazy. two, Kant was right - we are religious beings with an a priori towards religious expressions. Even though I didn't make a ton of money, people desired/needed blessings. I've always thought this but this experience gave me proof. three, despite our technological connectivity an electronic box cannot replace real life human interaction: a prayer, a blessing, a laugh, a confession, a responsive/listening set of ears.
Will I do it again? Heaven yes. When? This Sunday, that's when. Look for my sign.
2 comments:
Travis, I'm thinking you have invented "ecclesiastical busking!"
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