I’ve always enjoyed the street performers at Fisherman’s Wharf.
Mr. Escape Man,” Tommy Lee and his sister, Alice Joseph, securing the chain around the performer’s straightjacket. Photo by GraceAnn Walden
The escapist, the businessman and the outlaw
By GraceAnn Walden
Published: October, 2006
I’ve always enjoyed the street performers at Fisherman’s Wharf.
But the one I remember more than any other is the Automatic Human Jukebox. Grimes Poznikov was a bright musician-street performer, who made the best use ever of a cardboard refrigerator box.
I remember timidly approaching the box, putting a dollar bill through the money slot. With the screech of a kazoo, Poznikov would flip open a flap on the box and play a few bars on his trumpet.
Today’s crop of Wharf performers is no less clever. Here are their stories.
The Escapist
Tommy Lee is Mister Escape Man. He says he’s the one and only, but another performer at the Wharf told me there’s two or three other guys doing this act, that is, escaping from a straight jacket.
Lee takes a break from entertaining and passing the hat to visitors waiting for the Hyde Street cable car to sit for an interview.
While we talk, he sips beer from a paper cup, while his dog, Spike, a part Chihuahua and pit bull sweetie, lolls at his feet.
Lee was born 45 years ago in San Francisco, into an African-American family of nine. He says his parents had a fish store-restaurant in the Fillmore and that he attended Galileo High School.
His sister, Alice Joseph, who is hanging out nearby, laughs when he says how many times he’s been married.
We finally hit on six marriages and 10 children as the correct numbers. These days, the formerly homeless Lee lives in Hunters Point, and says simply, I’m inside.
Lee started his act 18 years ago after his brother, Jesse, also a performer, gave him a straight jacket.
Lee says he’s never hassled by the police; but, after some prodding admits he’s been arrested a few times.
He says he makes $30 or $40 a day, sometimes as much as $80.
It’s time for the act.
His sister ties him into the straight jacket; Spike is called over and provides the key to the padlock. All the while he is being chained to a pole, Lee keeps up an entertaining rap. Then he begins to wriggle and wiggle, even turning upside down and flailing on the ground, until he is free.
The Businessman
Brice Glenn is very shiny and very smart. He wears a top hat and morning coat all painted silver. But most amazingly, Glen’s hands, nails, teeth and his body from the neck up is silver. He is the World Famous Silver Dollar.
Glenn, a handsome African American man of 33, stands on a silver-painted milk carton, just near the entrance to Boudin Bakery & Café. He is originally from Florida and has also lived in Los Angeles.
For nine years he has been popping — a dance form associated with break dancing. While music blares from his boom box, he mimics the movements of a robot to the beat. Kids dig him; women want their picture taken with him.
He says it takes him about three to four minutes to put on his makeup, the coat takes more work. He admits there are about five robot men.
In L.A., I was selling newspaper subscriptions door to door. When I came here, I saw these guys doing the robot on the Wharf. I knew they were making more money than I did selling in L.A. That’s how I got into it, he explains.
Glenn won’t discuss finances. His real goal in life is to become a fashion designer. He tried out for Project Runway, but didn’t make the cut.
I ask him what he likes most about performing. I like paying my rent, he says candidly.
The Outlaw
Someone at the Wharf told me that there were two Bush Men, the day-shift guy and the night-shift guy.
When I ask the one-and-only Bush Man about that, he says plaintively, They’re trying to take over my business.
And it is his business—he’s been scaring the bejesus out of visitors for 27 years.
David Johnson, 53, was born in Hammond, Indiana. Today, I find the Bush Man, hiding behind a couple of large branches he’s holding, on a walkway near the fishing boats for hire. A large crowd is standing behind him. He sits waiting behind the branches and waits until someone isn’t paying attention and then leans out suddenly toward the unsuspecting passerby.
His act is interactive, which adds to its popularity. The draw is that the crowd is in on the joke. They see it coming and laugh when the Bush Man startles someone.
How does he do it? I watch their eyes, if they are looking away or talking…
In the 70’s, Johnson says he shined shoes during the day on Market and Kearny streets, made office calls and then did the Bush Man at night.
Johnson is passionate about his gig, although he thinks the police want to push him off that walkway. I have a ticket from the police in my pocket right now, he explains.
What is his future?
I’m gonna do this for three more years, sell myself to the wax museum, buy a fishing boat and get out of here, he says.
The business man of the Wharf, Brice Glen, a.k.a. the “World Famous Silver Dollar,” pops a move. Photo by GraceAnn Walden
The Outlaw “Bushman,” David Johnson, waits patiently to startle the next inattentive passerby. Photo by GraceAnn Walden
