I heard Roy MacDonald laugh and I knew it was over.
My partner Kurt was rapping, I was “singing,” Roy was
laughing…and my career was ending. Granted,
“career” probably overstates my time on the ‘Fringe Festival’ circuit, but
doing two to four festivals a year over the last seven years was a very big
part of my life and identity; if not a big (enough) part of my income.
Coming into the third and final stop on my supposed
“retirement tour,” I strongly suspected it was over, but I didn’t really know
it was until I heard Roy chuckle from the audience at the mention of his name
during our ‘Thrift Shop’ song parody.
I met Roy in 2008 immediately after my first ever time on
stage in London Ontario. I finished a
two minute preview of my first touring show (‘Burning Man’) and somebody walked
me over to “local legend Roy McDonald” who wanted to meet me. Wikipedia sums him up nicely enough:
Roy McDonald (born June 4, 1937) is a poet and busker (street
performer) in London, Ontario, Canada. He is well known for singing and
reciting poetry in front of Joe Kool's Restaurant and Jim-Bob Ray's Bar on
Richmond Street. For many years he stood at the northwest corner of Richmond
and Dundas (the old center of downtown London) and discussed the literary world
with passersby. His long, grey beard, plastic bags filled with books and
journals, tweed jacket, and habit of striking up friendly conversations with
nearly everyone, make him a very recognizable and well-known figure around the
city.
McDonald has been
growing his beard for decades. He claims his was the longest at the 1969
Woodstock Music and Art Fair. His clothes often fall into disrepair, and he
occasionally mends his pants with duct tape. He decorates his jacket with
buttons. He is often referred to as the unofficial president of Richmond Row, a
colorful segment of Richmond Street located in downtown London. Contrary to
what some believe, McDonald does live in a house.
(I love that last
line.)
Essentially Roy is legendary for…being a legend. But that’s enough reason for me to buy into
it. I liked him right away and made a
point to treat him with the deference and respect due a living legend. This may have had something to do with the
fact that I thought he might be a future, parallel universe version of me. And that may have had something to do with
the fact that I was eating a lot of magic mushrooms at that point in my
life. Regardless, it made karmic sense
to me to be nice to the future version of me.
I even bought a book from him, figuring I might need the money later on.
I invited him to
see my show and I put him on the comp list every night. He never showed. Same thing the next year. And the next.
So I started putting his name on all my comp lists, in every city I
played – an inside joke just for me. I also started carrying around my 'Roy MacDonald Magic Crystal' - this little stone he handed me a few years ago in a London pub. It became my talisman. I took it everywhere. I even had it mailed to me on the road one time when I forgot it at home.
When I came back to London this year (after a three year performing absence), I made sure to let Roy know a ticket would be waiting for him each night. He told me “I intend
to see your show this year. Now I’m not
promising, but I do intend to see it.”
And there he was on closing night. I saw him in the lobby before
the show, but couldn't see him during the performance because of the stage lights and I forgot all about him. Then I heard him laugh.
And I knew for sure.
I felt a pang of sadness. I felt my shoulders slump a little.
We finished the song. We finished the show. And I finished my time as a touring fringe
festival performer.
