The grassy areas in the east and west parks around Baltimore’s Washington Monument (built before the one in DC) have been roped off with caution tape and orange hazard netting for close to a week now. It has really put in a kink in my daily hour-long juggling practice, which I’ve been doing in the east park, the one down the hill towards Centerstage. Presided over by Severn Teackle Wallis, whose monument looks away to the east, and Peabody the old philanthropist, there’s a nice fountain, a few metal tables with chairs chained to them, and shady benches which line both sides of the ground which slopes down to the east. It’s a great little patch of land to do something as stupid as juggling on.
It being blocked off, presumably to let the grass grow (?), however, has pushed me farther afield. Except, I haven’t been able to find any other fields or decent open grassy spaces in the area. Yesterday’s most recent journey of observation uncovered another park, but I wouldn’t exactly call it in the neighborhood. Had to cross under (or over – depending how you do it) 83, the Jones Falls Expressway to the “wrong side of the tracks”, so to speak. Over by the Latrobe housing projects and, more importantly, Central Booking and the prison. The architecture smacks of medieval fortress and the air down there is stifling at best. But it’s an interesting walk, one which I’m guessing most tourists to Baltimore don’t typically indulge themselves in. I’ve never seen so much barbed wire in my life!
But anyway, if you go due east from Washington and Wallis, you may eventually spot this large not well kept up football field with a track encircling it. Just to the south of it, I discovered, is the Wells-McComas monument – one of two classical obelisk monuments you’ll find in the city-proper (not counting those housed in cemeteries like Greenmount) – the teenagers credited with killing the British General Ross in the Battle of Northpoint, War of 1812.
Being a white person venturing into an all-black neighborhood on an exploratory mission can be dicey enough. But throw in being a juggler on top of that and all bets are pretty much off. I found an unused spot past the far end of the field and the monument, setting up shop in an area where I could pretty much see all sides around me. A few curious onlookers wandered by, some stopping on the paths twenty feet away or so and watching. Most just continuing on their business. A few comments here and there, “You should be in the circus,” one girl out of a pair called. I waved. “Do it under the leg,” some suited-up lacrosse players shouted. They’d seen me attempting this trick as they approached. Did not manage to land it while they were watching, of course. That pretty much never happens. But I did start landing it after they left. And my back cross is coming along – slowly.
Never did quite get comfortable enough to really get a good workout though, or drill the way I want to. It’s no Washington Monument park. Hoping that will be opened back up to public use in the next few days and that this isn’t another moronic exclusionary “art project” like that goddamned gold chain link fence they put up around the parks a couple years back.
Speaking of morons, I’ve been wondering lately why juggling has such a cheesy aesthetic associated with it. Granted, it’s a ridiculous activity to spend one’s time on. But so are a lot of things. Got to do something with your life, and I think getting really good at obscure skills isn’t necessarily a waste of time – even if it makes you do dumb things and have people look at you weird. Juggling books I’ve gotten from the library have been of little help, beyond the merely technical. “Pathways In Juggling” features endless instructional photos of jugglers dressed like pseudo-pirates or god only knows what. The only other juggling book I’ve found at Enoch Pratt Free Library, “How to be a Goofy Juggler” by Bruce Fife, only makes it worse with passages like this sprinkled liberally throughout:
Some people say I’m crazy, a big goof, and a buffoon. I’m not really – I just act that way. I guess that’s why I enjoy being a juggler. Jugglers can get away with acting goofy without appearing odd or different; it’s expected of us.
I wrote this book because I realized there are lots of other closet lunatics in the world just waiting to be freed. Now, for the first time since the creation of the whoopee cushion, people can release their inner craziness in public and feel good about it. Because all jugglers are recognized as crazy persons, as a juggler you will be able to do the most ridiculous things without feeling stupid!
If only this were true. I definitely feel stupid sometimes when I go out juggling. It’s not that the act itself isn’t rewarding, because it most certainly is. Recently a down-and-out black man at my regular park with two gaunt-looking friends sharing a bench who looked even worse off than he, asked me, “Why do you do that?”
He could see the juggling clubs poking out of my black Timbuktu messenger bag and I guess had seen me the day before practicing. “For mental concentration?” he offered.
“Yeah, exactly,” I said. “It just makes me able to…” I held my hands out in front of me like I was reaching for something, narrowed my eyes, “…focus on things – concentrate.”
Didn’t feel stupid talking to him, but its the kind of thing its nice to have a little protected area when you do it. You don’t want to necessarily just go out and show off your crazy in front of god and everybody – though I’ve certainly done that too.
- END -
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