Spend any decent amount of time in Williamsburg when the sun is up and the kids are out, and you’re likely to spot one of the neighborhood’s many bizarre but memorable characters; a bubbly middle-aged man who circles the area religiously in his red SUV, blasting oldies and belting along out the window.
His charade might not sound very impressive, but in the 6 years that I’ve lived in north Brooklyn, this crooner has been one of the most consistent local attractions, making his rounds every weekend, seemingly without fail.
He sings as if everyone is watching, because they are.
By now I’m so familiar with his little show that I prefer to watch other people react. They tap each other, point, laugh, and exchange bright-eyed looks with calls of “there he is again!” and “what the fuck!” … like clockwork. The silent question has always been … why?
Today the spell was broken in a way that I found slightly magical.
I was having brunch with a good friend on one of Greenpoint’s sleepier streets, just around the corner from my apartment. We were sitting at a table outside and sipping watermelon juice when I heard that unmistakable sound of the one and only golden oldies sing-a-long guy. This particular sighting was quite the anomaly though, because I’ve never spotted him in Greenpoint before (he usually hugs hipster central pretty tight). Other brunch’ers seemed to share our surprise. He was apparently conquering new terrain.
And then I realized that he was off his normal routine. This was something different, something secret. We were, in effect, backstage.
We watched as he pulled across the street and parallel parked, eager to see if the enigmatic entertainer was actually going to get out of his car (never before seen by me or anyone else I know in the area). Sure enough, he emerged. And in an instant, at least one piece of his puzzle was laid out for us.
He has a severe limp, apparently made worse by the fact that he is considerably overweight. He doesn’t sing while he walks.
My friend and I exchanged sympathetic looks and continued to watch as he worked his way up the sidewalk and into the bodega on the corner, purchased a bottle of water, and then tipped back into his SUV and out of sight.
I wanted to run across the street and shake his hand. I wanted to let him know that his singing lights people up and makes them laugh. I wanted to thank him for singing. I didn’t.
That’s why he drives and sings, she said.
52 notes