by Nathaniel Popkin
May 18, 2007
Drew Gillis, the rock/blues guitarist, looks out across the Rittenhouse fountain, past the children laughing and the strollers, past the guard house,
past the lovers stretched out on the grass, past the ash and plane trees and magnolias whose leaves blow hard in the wind. He sees none of it. His
eyes are clouded by pain.
He is tormented by a bully.
His guitar, shrouded in a black cover, leans silently at his side. The bully won't let him play it.
Drew, who grew up on 25th Street in Fairmount and plays in the band Stone Soup, is one of the targets of the so-called Rittenhouse Music Ban. "All
year I look forward to spending the summer here, playing guitar, teaching, exchanging ideas," he says and squints as if to bat away the ambivalence.
Despite collecting 4,500 petition signatures against the recent police enforcement of the vague regulation against "musical presentation or amplified
sound," he isn't sure that people really care.
After all, sometimes you can still play music in the park. Ed, another regular park musician -- who teaches young children and charms their mothers --
has simply asked the guard, "Okay if I play?"
Okay as long as Wilkinson isn't the policeman on duty.
If he is -- beware: don't ride your bike, throw a Frisbee, or play your viola. You'll end up with a citation. In the case of Drew Gillis and the
other regulars who Wilkinson has already warned or cited, the punishment is likely to be worse. On Monday, I watched the officer in action. He
stopped someone who was gently riding his bike, really walking it along while standing over the seat and looking for his girlfriend. He was issued a
ticket.
"Aren't you just supposed to give a warning?" wondered the girlfriend.
"I don't need to go to Afghanistan to meet Osama bin Laden," yelled the bike rider. "You know that, you are Osama bin Laden."
Wilkinson refused my follow-up questions and referred me to Civil Affairs.
So Gillis, who doesn't resort to hyperbole (just the opposite, his every move in this protest seems to be understated), lives in fear. His guitar
lives in its case. That's the result of power wielded arbitrarily, without just cause or reason. It makes no sense, as Gillis notes. Breakdancing
circles, for example, are allowed. "Philadelphia wants to be a city of artists," he notes, "and that's what we [Rittenhouse musicians] are, we learn
from each other, play together -- all the best musicians I play with I met playing in the park." They come from all walks of life.
"So why don't you play now," I ask. "Wilkinson isn't on duty."
"Then people will say everything's okay. But it isn't," he lights an American Spirit. Then, for a moment Gillis begins to dream, Philadelphia-style.
"Let's not make it difficult . . . we can do things to make it [the square] nicer. Music (at the right decibel and hour, he adds) is a
stepping-stone."
He mentions the non-profit he's starting -- PARC -- the Philadelphia Artistic Rights Council. PARC will advocate for public art, street performance,
and the free exchange of ideas. All so that this city might live up to its constitutional heritage.
Then I tell him about Brundibar. Brundibar is a book by Maurice Sendak and Tony Kushner based on a Czech opera that the children of Terezin, a Nazi
concentration camp, performed 55 times in 1938.
"Where the Wild Things Are Maurice Sendak?"
"Yes, of course," I say. "This is the story of two children who need money to buy milk for their sick mother."
"You want milk?" demands an old man. "Then go to the town square!" exclaims his wife. But when the children arrive on the square, they realize they
need money. The two of them begin to sing for change -- but no one hears them. Brundibar -- a kind of demented old Hitler-Napoleon -- is cranking his
hurdy-gurdy and the sound is so loud and awful no one can hear the children. What's worse, all the grown-ups are filling his bucket with change. When
the children protest, becoming so mad they turn into "bears," the baker yells, "Bears on the loose!" the ice cream man, "Call the cop!" the cop, "No
bears on the square! It's the law!" and Brundibar, "They're worse than bears, they're children!"
He cranks his hurdy-gurdy and sings:
Little children, how I hate 'em
How I wish the bedbugs ate 'em
When they're rude and answer back
Stuff 'em in a burlap sack!
Nasty little children, quiet
Don't be loud, don't even try it
You'll find out what troubles are
If you bother Brundibar!
The frightened brother and sister run away to an alley, where they meet a bunch of animals who decide to help. "What to do when you are few? Ask for
help, get more of you!"
A sparrow flies off, gathering 300 children to come to the square to sing. Some carry a banner: Bullies Must Be Defied!
Indeed. The kids sing "Blackbird," the adults weep and fill their bucket with money. But Brundibar, yelling "Mine all mine," steals the bucket.
Finally, the crowd nabs him -- "must you be thumped and bumped and squished and vanquished?"
Must it come to that? Drew Gillis thinks it would be a lot easier if instead of calling the cops, we just learned how to speak to each other. "We're
still a people," he muses, "connected."
So Gillis and Anthony Riley, whose case started this battle, and the other musicians of the Square, most of whom don't play for money but for love, are
asking for your help. We must help them beat Wilkinson. But how?
Come to Rittenhouse Square this Saturday, May 19 at 1PM. Come stand before the guard house and make music. Sing. Bring your children and animals.
Drown out the hurdy-gurdy. Drown out the pitiful and muzzling cries of the controlling, small-minded, anti-urban, and un-American neighbors and their
irrational and mean-spirited policeman.
Exit, Brundibar, disappear!
***
French horn and violin
Bassoon and clarinet!
The wicked never win!
We have our victory yet!
Tyrants come along, but you just wait and see!
They topple one-two-three!
Our friends make us strong!
And thus we end our song.
***
Hans Krása, who wrote the original music to Brundibár, was also imprisoned at Terezin. He was killed at Auschwitz in 1944.
***
A more basic question may be, Why isn't the Rittenhouse guard house an ice cream stand?
–Nathaniel Popkin
nathaniel.popkin@gmail.com
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