Vaudeville Blues

from the middle of chapter 10 … (the story takes place in 1938)

Today the pace was slow. The early summer weather was appreciated. He and Cheryl didn’t try to inhale all of summer in a moment. It was here to stay. It would slowly unfold upon the city. It was unfolding forever. The pleasure filled him. He looked at Cheryl. It filled her, too.

They walked past the breezy storefronts. Cheryl spoke casually.

“Richard, who’s Vaudeville Blues?”

Richard smiled at the green trees lining the street.

“Where’d you hear about him?” he smiled.

“Well, I’ve heard it several times,” she responded. “The ticket lady at Gilbey’s said something about it, but I couldn’t hear what.” She paused. “I’ve heard it several other times, but I can’t remember where.”

Richard looked down the street. The green trees lined both sides of the street.

“It’s an old show business tradition,” he said. “He’s a character that developed over the years. He’s the equivalent of an actor or actress’s frustration at not making it. That frustration took on a persona. They named him Vaudeville Blues.”

He looked at Cheryl. She was filled with the same fascination as when listening to Thomas tell his story from his days in vaudeville. She truly loved the show world.

“What’s he look like?” she asked.

“Well,” he said, “he dresses in baggy pants and large dark shoes. His shirt is wrinkled. One tip of the collar pokes over the too large sports coat that hangs nearly to his knees. His hands are always in his pockets. He kind of just shuffles around. He’s never in a hurry. He just hangs around. Sometimes he tips his hat politely. He’s very gentlemanly.”

“How do you know so much about him?” she asked.

Richard shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said.

He thought about the question. How did he know so much about him? He thought about the old man. He’d never really seen him. But he had heard about him many times here in Chicago. He was one of those things you’re not sure how you learned about, but you just know that you have learned. You just know somehow.

“Is he black or white?”

“Huh?”

She wanted to know more. She was still fascinated with the old man.

“Is he a black man or a white man?” she asked.

Richard laughed. He looked at the trees lining the street.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I suppose he’s both. But I do know that if you look hard enough to find out he’ll tip his hat to you.” Richard looked at the old man. “If he tips his hat to you then you’ll know if he’s black or white.”

Her eyes were puzzled. She didn’t understand the old man.

Richard smiled and put his arm around her. He pulled her to him. She put her arm around his waist. He kissed her hair softly. She looked up at him. Her eyes were mild. She enjoyed the summer afternoon.

“Boy,” she said, “you do know a lot about it.”

Richard laughed.

“I guess I do,” he said.

He kissed her again on the temple. They walked beneath the elm trees. Richard reached up and pulled down a leaf. The branch sprung back in place. He looked at the leaf. It was fresh green. It was soft. It was the symbol of the city. Coming alive.