Harmonica Man
A 70-80-year-old homeless man bundled in blankets pulled a wagon full of possessions across a parking lot toward the entrance to a Goodwill. It was a weekday morning and I was exiting the store after striking out.
I walked to my car and away from the man. He disappeared from my view.
A harmonica sounded behind me. I wheeled around and beheld the homeless man playing it. It wasn't a tune I recognized. In fact, it wasn't a tune at all, but the sound was all right.
I watched him play for a minute a hundred feet away from one of the most inhospitable places in Oregon, 82nd Avenue in Portland. The man played with both hands and appeared to know what he was doing.
This seemed like a sure-fire story to investigate. Just go up to him and ask him to play “Camptown Races” or “Turkey in the Straw.” Or maybe some real down home country blues. Yeah, play me some blues Mr. 82nd Avenue Homeless New American Diaspora Blues Man because I feel pretty bluesy these days. You do that sir and I'll tip you $20 and maybe clap out a backbeat.
No, I didn't go over. I didn't feel like engaging with an old homeless man playing the harmonica not too badly. Sometimes my mood isn't right for such engagements. They cannot be forced or ever made to feel like journalism.