There was only a coupla bums sleepin' on the benches near the gate, and I went on up the grade and around the bend. It was slow goin' uphill, and my leg was hurtin', but when I fin'ly got there, all the benches on both sides of the walk was empty. I thought, Hell, I'm _too_ early. But I kept on goin', even though my shoulders was startin' to hurt now. I didn't wanna grab a rest till I took in a coupla bucks, at least. The ground levels off there, and it was easier goin', so I tried to get up a little speed, rememberin' there was a place up ahead where people always sit on the grass and get the sun. And all the way, the benches was empty and not a soul in sight nowheres. I was thinkin' maybe there was some kinda celebratin' goin' on and I oughta been goin' up towards the Mall. But I knew it was too early for anythin' like that, so I kept on goin'. And a damn good thing I did. Cuz when I reached that big field--you know, where the road cuts off?--there was a fair-sized crowd standin' around there. They was all lookin' off towards the middle of the field. But I couldn't make out from where I was what was goin' on, and I didn't care much, anyways, cuz I don't care nothin' 'bout them parades and stuff. So I just started makin' my rounds. * * * * * Well, it was the damndest thing I ever seen! All them people started shellin' out soon as I came up to 'em--without even lookin' at me! I thought I was gonna pass out right there, seein' all them green-backs floppin' into my hat. One guy threw in wallet and all! Lookin' at these crazy people, I seen they was all talkin'. And they looked like they was talkin' to theirselves, cuz nobody turned a head, just kept starin', all glassy-eyed, like they was doped up. The old guy that threw in his whole wallet was sayin' somethin' like: "This is the finest performance of scar-laddy I've ever heard. Positively brilliant!" There was a skinny kid standin' next to the old gent, and his lips was movin' fast. "Jeepers!" he was sayin', "real dixieland." And his buddy was standin' there, tappin' his feet and yellin', "_Hear_ that boogie beat! Man! That's Albert Ammons and Pete Johnson at their best!" A little ways in, a fat guy, standin' on somebody's panama hat, says, "Show-pan! I just _love_ show-pan." His big, flabby lips was slappin' together hard. The big, chesty old lady with him had one o' them little wrinkled-up mouths, and I could hardly make out what she was sayin', cuz her lips didn't hardly move at all when she talked, but it was somethin' like, "Chambah music, my deah. _So_ lovely." Ev'rybody's mouth was goin'--ev'rybody I looked at was sayin' somethin' about music. And they all looked like they was havin' the time of their life. And they kept right on shellin' out as I moved along through 'em!