Halloween 74, Year of the Whore In late October, Pennywhistle Rudy and I busked tourists on the shady side of the Ghiardelli building, Fisherman’s Wharf, San Francisco. I sweated the summer away rolling logs at a sawmill in the Salmon River Mountains then driving combine in the oat and barley harvest east of Donnelly, Idaho. When the warning snows came in October, I decided to roll toward work closer to the ocean. Rudy caught a ride, figuring he had another month before his ski-guide gig began in the Wasatch Mountains. He was a tootler of Irish and Mormon tunes. I wore a brown western hat so we were a natural for the streets. He leaned back against a building, playing jigs and reels with a coffee can full of tin whistles and a sign reading “Penny Whistles. Three bucks.” My hat was at his feet for tips. I sat in the shade, provided security, and studied human behavior. He kept the whistle bucks and I took twenty-fiv...
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Showing posts from October, 2026