traveled city streets north to south, Maxwell Street called home. a Jawa man he was, junk was his game, entertaining his side job.
dolls hung ’bout his neck, a phone that never rang. felt hat covered silver hair, perched on top his partner would roost, till called to play his part.
Old Charlie would open his case pull from within an old baby accordion, he’d play tunes for your spare nickels and dimes.
He appeared a happy man, brought laughter and delight to many generations, for he lived to be 104.
When first I saw him, holding my Dad’s hand, such jubilation I felt at the sight of him. My eyes grew watching his clever partners tricks.
A couple of decades would pass before I’d see Charlie again. older now I wondered all the stories he could tell about his long life.
My parting thought, here was a man who had a beautiful soul.
Copyright © L. Gomez
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First link is of Charlie preforming in the early years, rare footage
This link will give you the colorful history of Maxwell Street, it reads
like a good short story, a step back in time.