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Hey Guys just dug this up, it was crazy then as well, though didn't see any stabbings. Good luck Eric.
San Francisco circa 1986..
A pirate with trained parrots, a brummie balloon twister, a brow less robot who lived in a car, a mime who lived in a broken down truck and the Sean and Dave juggling team were the regulars trying to scrap a living on the sidewalk at Fishermans Wharf, San Francisco in the late eighties.
The pitch was a wide section of path with the road behind you and diagonal jewellers shops showing the entrance to the anchorage shopping centre in front. (We used to pay kids to keep the crowds away from the jewellers doorways).
Up the road at the cable car turnaround there was a black guy who rode a unicycle and juggled 4 ‘real’ bowling balls and spun ‘em on his finger,
down the road were bucket drummers.
Festering everywhere were crate slugs, kids from the projects dragging milk crates, they’d stand on them dead still, holding out dirty coke cups, begging for change from passers by, a nickel and they move, eyes darting about like disturbed gazelles.
There was also the crack heads, drunks, tourists, cops, vendors even a guy with a small dog on a rubbish bin, wearing sunglasses and a walkman, donations for photographs.
I was 19 had just had my first aeroplane ride from London to U.S.A., landed in Houston with $100 and carry on luggage, made my way to New Orleans got hustled, got broke,
Now in San francisco I was living in the European Guest House, downtown minner district. Crazy place a travellers hostel with more than a few permananants.
Rackets were run from there, coke was bought and sold as was grass and probably girls, all with the lonely planet tourists milling around clueless. I had been there a while and had my own room, it was a far cry from the cold, damp 25 ft boat I squatted (unknowingly) with brummie balloon and his girlfriend, that’s another story finishing with us being woken up at 5 am by cops and suits.
Anyway I was doing okay sort of, it was winter but was scraping along working a bill vanish into a straightjacket escape challenge, had a false ID so I could get into bars. Bought it right on the street near where I lived, just followed the neon sign.
Then one evening I went to the bar with Vaughn the Mime, a place we’d regularly go 1/2 a block away and upstairs, sat down and ordered. Just as I was about to have the first sip of the day a shot of silver crossed my eyes, a cops badge!
“How ol’ are ya boy?,” the she cop demanded
“Twenty Two” I Iied, flashing my dodgy ID.
She took it over to her man cop partner, got on the radio, came back, told me my ID was false and the shop it came from was on Market St (As if I didn’t know already).
They searched me, found my passport (Foolish Me) and got on the radio.
“You can come with us, spend the night in jail and go before a judge in morning or come to court in two weeks?” man cop said.
Thinking about it for a nanosecond I replied with “I’ll see you in two weeks sir.”
He escorted me to the door while cop woman talked to the barmaid.
Oh well it can’t be worse than 2 months before, I was living in a broken down van with an alcoholic mime who used a 5 litre pot to piss in emptying once a week, oooohh showbiz.
I never went back to that bar, anyway I got a new ID from a different shop.Thought bugger it. go big so I bought some chains, “Yeh I’ll do the straight jacket chains show that’ll get me some $’s and I’ll get out of here”. Blew my last couple of hundred on chains, padlocks and testing the new ID out.
A week of so later I find myself getting wrapped up in the chains with quite a fair size crowd, I tell the punter to go over the shoulder and turn around to face the road, I see crowds forming on the other sidewalk, under the leg I inform the other punter.
Padlocks on, they’d wrapped me up pretty good, and I’ve got the attention, turning around giving a money pitch I see the crowd is massive, it’s filled the whole road, cars have stopped, the crowd is building like a CNN road accident.
“Better wrap this up quick” I say to myself. I wriggle and contort, the chains are half off, bending over I look through my legs I see a cop car slinking into the crowd right behind me.
He slows to a halt, I speed to a close, the doors open, my straightjacket is off, 2 cops exit the car, I hat what I could, people are everywhere.
“Yes Sir’ I said as I was being manoeuvred into the back of a U.S. police Car.
Sean passes me a paper with the number of the call box, central locking is clicked down and the cop says “Lets see Houdini get out of this one.”
The crowd parts, cars move on and I’m off for a ride In the back of a U.S. police car.
Causing obstruction of a public place/highway, carrying false ID, underage drinking pending, working illegally, a bag of grass in my pocket and no passport all go through my mind.
No fear, no recklessness just calm. I started talking they seemed to like my english accent. So chatting away I hid my ID and put the ganja in car seat cover with the pretence of dumping the mess of chains and straight jacket etc in my bag.
Stashing what bills I had in the hat trying to make it look like I was earning only a few quarters.
We got to the station, went into a room, I carried on chatting.
Now folks I don’t know how I pulled it off, maybe I was blessed by an angel or maybe I have some insight into police thinking as my Dad was a cop.
An hour later I had my bag neatly packed, hadn’t been stripped of my clothes or my integrity, was ID’d using the fake taken back to the pitch sitting in the front seat of the same car chatting away.
Houdini did escape.
Nickolas
P.S. There is a video of this somewhere, last seen I left it at the Europeon Guest house they had 100’s of films for the backpackers, maybe one day it’ll show...
San Francisco circa 1986..
A pirate with trained parrots, a brummie balloon twister, a brow less robot who lived in a car, a mime who lived in a broken down truck and the Sean and Dave juggling team were the regulars trying to scrap a living on the sidewalk at Fishermans Wharf, San Francisco in the late eighties.
The pitch was a wide section of path with the road behind you and diagonal jewellers shops showing the entrance to the anchorage shopping centre in front. (We used to pay kids to keep the crowds away from the jewellers doorways).
Up the road at the cable car turnaround there was a black guy who rode a unicycle and juggled 4 ‘real’ bowling balls and spun ‘em on his finger,
down the road were bucket drummers.
Festering everywhere were crate slugs, kids from the projects dragging milk crates, they’d stand on them dead still, holding out dirty coke cups, begging for change from passers by, a nickel and they move, eyes darting about like disturbed gazelles.
There was also the crack heads, drunks, tourists, cops, vendors even a guy with a small dog on a rubbish bin, wearing sunglasses and a walkman, donations for photographs.
I was 19 had just had my first aeroplane ride from London to U.S.A., landed in Houston with $100 and carry on luggage, made my way to New Orleans got hustled, got broke,
Now in San francisco I was living in the European Guest House, downtown minner district. Crazy place a travellers hostel with more than a few permananants.
Rackets were run from there, coke was bought and sold as was grass and probably girls, all with the lonely planet tourists milling around clueless. I had been there a while and had my own room, it was a far cry from the cold, damp 25 ft boat I squatted (unknowingly) with brummie balloon and his girlfriend, that’s another story finishing with us being woken up at 5 am by cops and suits.
Anyway I was doing okay sort of, it was winter but was scraping along working a bill vanish into a straightjacket escape challenge, had a false ID so I could get into bars. Bought it right on the street near where I lived, just followed the neon sign.
Then one evening I went to the bar with Vaughn the Mime, a place we’d regularly go 1/2 a block away and upstairs, sat down and ordered. Just as I was about to have the first sip of the day a shot of silver crossed my eyes, a cops badge!
“How ol’ are ya boy?,” the she cop demanded
“Twenty Two” I Iied, flashing my dodgy ID.
She took it over to her man cop partner, got on the radio, came back, told me my ID was false and the shop it came from was on Market St (As if I didn’t know already).
They searched me, found my passport (Foolish Me) and got on the radio.
“You can come with us, spend the night in jail and go before a judge in morning or come to court in two weeks?” man cop said.
Thinking about it for a nanosecond I replied with “I’ll see you in two weeks sir.”
He escorted me to the door while cop woman talked to the barmaid.
Oh well it can’t be worse than 2 months before, I was living in a broken down van with an alcoholic mime who used a 5 litre pot to piss in emptying once a week, oooohh showbiz.
I never went back to that bar, anyway I got a new ID from a different shop.Thought bugger it. go big so I bought some chains, “Yeh I’ll do the straight jacket chains show that’ll get me some $’s and I’ll get out of here”. Blew my last couple of hundred on chains, padlocks and testing the new ID out.
A week of so later I find myself getting wrapped up in the chains with quite a fair size crowd, I tell the punter to go over the shoulder and turn around to face the road, I see crowds forming on the other sidewalk, under the leg I inform the other punter.
Padlocks on, they’d wrapped me up pretty good, and I’ve got the attention, turning around giving a money pitch I see the crowd is massive, it’s filled the whole road, cars have stopped, the crowd is building like a CNN road accident.
“Better wrap this up quick” I say to myself. I wriggle and contort, the chains are half off, bending over I look through my legs I see a cop car slinking into the crowd right behind me.
He slows to a halt, I speed to a close, the doors open, my straightjacket is off, 2 cops exit the car, I hat what I could, people are everywhere.
“Yes Sir’ I said as I was being manoeuvred into the back of a U.S. police Car.
Sean passes me a paper with the number of the call box, central locking is clicked down and the cop says “Lets see Houdini get out of this one.”
The crowd parts, cars move on and I’m off for a ride In the back of a U.S. police car.
Causing obstruction of a public place/highway, carrying false ID, underage drinking pending, working illegally, a bag of grass in my pocket and no passport all go through my mind.
No fear, no recklessness just calm. I started talking they seemed to like my english accent. So chatting away I hid my ID and put the ganja in car seat cover with the pretence of dumping the mess of chains and straight jacket etc in my bag.
Stashing what bills I had in the hat trying to make it look like I was earning only a few quarters.
We got to the station, went into a room, I carried on chatting.
Now folks I don’t know how I pulled it off, maybe I was blessed by an angel or maybe I have some insight into police thinking as my Dad was a cop.
An hour later I had my bag neatly packed, hadn’t been stripped of my clothes or my integrity, was ID’d using the fake taken back to the pitch sitting in the front seat of the same car chatting away.
Houdini did escape.
Nickolas
P.S. There is a video of this somewhere, last seen I left it at the Europeon Guest house they had 100’s of films for the backpackers, maybe one day it’ll show...
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