Dallas-Morning-News-ladlitter

"This is sooo boring."

I turned around and it was Sophie Lee, then host of the linking segments between Bugs Bunny cartoons shown during kids' viewing time. The joke around at the time was that as much as the cartoons had universal appeal, Sophie had her own male-dominated fan-base too, and was dressed to keep them interested.
"What are you here for?"

"Oh, I'm one of the contestants on Sale of the Century today."
"Well, why aren't you taking the tour with the rest of them?"

"Um, I - I did it last week and they said I didn't have to do it again, so I'm here watching TV."

We’d walked, two mates and I, from our cheap hotel on 49th St in mid-town Manhattan to Greenwich Village on a chilly Sunday in late December 1986. The thing about walking in Manhattan is that it’s probably the easiest way to get around the Big Apple, particularly for the wide-eyed tourist. And we could have passed for Marty Feldman.

Walking a distance in New York City is not a problem because the numbered streets ensure the journey is constantly punctuated and there’s plenty to see anyway. Yay, only 32 blocks to go. So we had a late lunch at a café-restaurant somewhere in the Village and made our way around to Washington Square. I was keen to go there just to see it. You’ve read the book, now see the park.

And it didn’t disappoint. Surrounded by old stately houses, dotted with bare winter trees, it had an urban oasis quality to it. And big enough for a range of activities to be going on: some organized; some spontaneous. The Square was populated without being crowded that day and had a really nice vibe to it. We sat on the edge of a fountain and watched the scenes around us. There were a lot of buskers and you could tune in and out of the music each one was playing just by turning your head: the guitar player doing note-perfect early Neil Young; the saxophonist playing The Odd Couple Theme with all of its variations.

But in American cities, we’d found that not all buskers are musicians. There was a small crowd gathered off to the side of us and a guy was holding court. The small crowd of people around him were having a nice old laugh so we went over. The fellow doing the act was a black man, probably in his late 30s. He had a claque of friends who laughed in all the right ways in all of the right places, and added to the show, like a well-primed sitcom audience.

The guy talked about the black experience through American history. And he was funny and poignant about it at the same time. I can’t remember too much of what he said but two things stay with me: the Statue of Liberty had just celebrated its centenary, but he said it meant only that she’d been sticking her torch up black peoples’ asses for a hundred years; and how sanitized, glossy and improbable the Roots TV mini-series’ treatment of the black experience had been. So how the fuck had it managed to make white folks feel so right-on about having watched it?

He engaged with everyone around him in a pretty inclusive way and the feeling was not of having been in an audience, but rather as part of a conversation. And you never got the “Oh shit I hope he doesn’t pick on me,” feeling like with many stand-up comedians. His claque interjected funny lines, engaged with the punters in the crowd and tossed lines out to the punters as well.

He finished up and we put some bills in his hat and went on our way. I didn’t catch his name.

Whenever we talked about that trip in the years since, that black guy always got a mention. How funny he was. And how polished American buskers were, because we saw other very funny acts on beaches and streets in various other American cities too.

So I got a sense of déjà vu when I tuned into The TV show The Panel for the first time, not long after its debut. There was a black American comedian guesting. And he was funny. He looked a little familiar too. More drawling and laconic now, and even more self-effacing. I got on the phone to one of the blokes who had been there in Washington Square that day. He’d watched it too and he was as sure as I was that this Franklin Ajaye was the guy who’d busked Washington Square.
I hoped his television appearance meant that he was successful, and didn’t see or hear of him again for some years.

The next time, I was watching Deadwood on DVD. Now, if I was doing a series of posts on Awesome TV, Deadwood would get a guernsey (would be included, for those unfamiliar with Australian football metaphors). Deadwood is a dirty, vicious, profane western series that draws on such cinematic forebears as Unforgiven; McCabe & Mrs Miller; and The Wild Bunch. Terminal westerns about the end of both the West and The Western.

Franklin Ajaye appeared in the second season, playing the Nigger General, a Civil War veteran who drifted into the North Dakota frontier town and took up residence in the local livery stable. And he was pretty good.

I haven’t seen Ajaye at all since then but I hope his lively character role in Deadwood is an indicator that he’s been successful, and hope to see him in more good quality films and TV shows. And if I ever get back to Washington Square, I’ll look out for him there too. Even though I understand he now lives in Melbourne. Best damn busker I ever saw.

We’d flown sleeplessly into Sydney from Hawaii on the way home to Melbourne from a US trip and had plonked ourselves down on couches in the First Class Lounge. Now, don’t just assume that I sneaked in or had bluffed the doorman. TLOML and I had every right to be there. We were genuine First Class passengers, and had been right throughout the trip. And we were wearing the complimentary socks to prove it.

I’d won a trip for two to the US on the TV show, Sale of the Century. And first class air travel was part of the prize. I was sure this would be the one and only time at the pointy end of a plane, and so it has proved.

Anyway, back in the First Class Lounge at Sydney airport on this morning early in 1991 we were tired and thirsty so I headed off to get TLOML and I some juice. When I returned, there was a long-haired bloke sitting opposite TLOML with his back to me, talking volubly. She was smiling and nodding.

As I handed TLOML her juice he looked up and said g’day. It was Jon English. I sat down and we watched the cricket on a nearby TV, which was coming live from the West Indies. He knew a bit about cricket too.


An ad came on for an upcoming TV show, The Flash.



“You beauty” I said. And he gave me a bit of a funny look.
“I used to read those comics when I was a kid,” I explained.
“I’m still reading them,” he said. And he started telling me about how much he liked the graphic novel phenomenon, which had enjoyed a resurgence since the publication of Batman: The Dark Knight Returns some years before.

Well, we were off, the two of us. Leaving TLOML completely out of the conversation as only two self-absorbed blokes can, we talked comics, superheroes and their treatment on film and TV till the boarding call came. He was on his way to Melbourne to shoot episodes of All Together Now, his then series.

I asked him how his musical Paris was coming along as I knew he’d released an album the year before to see if the idea could grow some legs.


“Not too bad,” he told me.
“I hope it gets into musical form,” I offered, “It’s such a great story.”

“One of two or three great stories,” he told me.

The link tells you that it was finally performed in 2003.

Our seats on the plane were a fair way apart so we didn’t speak again but I thought, well, that was nice. I met someone famous and had a really enjoyable conversation. Didn’t make a complete dickhead out of myself.

Now, TLOML is actually a fan of Jon English. With record albums and Pirates of Penzance ticket stubs to prove it. And has the hots for him, even. I worried that she might be just a little bit furious about the way we kind of left her out. I half-apologised, at the same time admonishing her for not having read superhero comics as a child, but she was quite serene about the whole thing.

“While you two were talking your boy-talk I just sat back and watched him and listened to him, the gorgeous hunk. You probably did me a favour.”

Well, that’s OK then.

Our beach holiday over a recent Cup Day weekend got off to a late start. TLOML did all of the preparation while I was the useless drone that I usually am. So we didn’t get away until around midday and needed to stop off for a much-needed lunch on the way.

There we were sitting in the Elsternwick McDonalds. I had started my meal and so had lost contact with the outside world when I dimly heard Larry say “Gee that bloke over there looks like Shane Warne”.

I looked over expecting to see a nondescript chubby blond with a leering demeanour and a terminal hangover but blow me down it was him. He was with two little girls, so I took it to be an access visit. Aaron Hamill, the St Kilda footballer was with them too.

Anyway, Curly goes out to the playground and not long after, Shane takes the two girls out too. Seen through the window, Curly approaches Shane, words are exchanged, hands are shaken, then a few more words. Curly comes back inside and we head off to the beach.

In the car, Curly waited until we’d ALL breathlessly badgered him about what had been said and then reported the exchange thus:

“Hi. You’re Shane Warne. You’re my favourite bowler.”
“Gee, thanks mate. What’s your name?”
“Curly. Yep, whenever I’m playing my cricket 2003 game on the computer, I choose you to bowl because you’re the best.’
“Good on you, mate. Do you bowl a bit yourself?”
“Yes, and I’m going to be a leg spinner.”
“That’s the way. See ya.”
“See ya, Shane.”

Of such moments are lifetime memories made. Curly will be boring the daylights out of his little Curly descendants with ad infinitum retellings of this encounter long after my funeral barge has floated down the Nile.

*Thanks to www.boreme.com for the image.