The underdog won’t back down

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 18/04/2015 (4121 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

For as long as many around Osborne Village can remember, Eric Pyle has been there, the consummate streetwise entertainer strumming classic tunes for coins.

This month, the picture shifted. Suddenly, Pyle is a guitar-slinger on a mission, battling for his right to sing on public streets.

Oh, he’s a natural for the pugilistic spirit of that gig. “You can’t build a human rights museum and then tell someone they can’t sing,” he says.

Which is to say, from the centre of this little tempest, Pyle gets it. On the surface, his is a tussle over tickets he received for busking outside a Jets game. More than that, it is also the latest yank in an ongoing tug-of-war over community and public space, over who is allowed to use it and in what kinds of ways.

Look, people know Eric Pyle, better known as Eric the Great. For 10 years, he’s plied his busking trade and built up a healthy measure of local celebrity. So on a recent blustery afternoon, he sails down River Avenue as easy as a breeze, issuing a string of friendly greetings. This is his home and these are his people.

“I read your article,” a young woman calls out from the patio at Second Cup, referring to headlines about his fight. “I hope you win.”

Pyle stretches out his arm, with a touch of the theatrics, and wiggles his callused fingers in her direction. “They kicked the wrong guy,” he replies with a grin, and you think — he loves this part. If there’s anything the 60-year-old singer knows best, it’s how to connect with his hundreds of friends.

Which is why he stood his ground when police cadets moved to evict him from a downtown sidewalk earlier this month. The Jets were almost finished beating the Canucks, and Pyle had taken up his usual place near Tavern United. On game nights, he always sets up shop near the arena, strumming Johnny Cash on repeat as fans stream out. (That’s what the people expect to hear now, he nods; if he stopped playing Ring of Fire, they’d just ask for it again.)

What happened next, according to Pyle: Cadets showed up and told him they wanted him to move. He refused, an argument ensued and ended with a cascade of tickets.

There’s one for causing an obstruction (standing on the sidewalk); one for littering (putting out a cigarette butt); a third for interrupting traffic, after he stepped back to snap a photo of the sidewalk’s space, to use as evidence in the case.

The singer was incensed. It was the second time cadets have clamped down on him for busking near the MTS Centre. (There is reportedly a video of the incident. Eric would like to see it, though in true Pyle style, he expects to see the man who filmed it around town, sooner or later. He figures he can ask him then.)

After Pyle posted the story to Facebook, support came swift. Magician Darcy Oake offered to pay the fines; a Facebook fundraiser also raised the cash in just a few days. Media also jumped on board, because this kind of story plays well for a few cycles. A classic, about an underdog pulling back against the hand yanking his collar, though that’s an imperfect metaphor: Eric Pyle may wear many hats, but he is never leashed.

Earlier this week, over a plate of fish and chips at the Toad, he is eager to update the progress in his case.

First, he has to meet with a lawyer who is offering to help him out, pro bono. (Pyle estimates he knows almost every Village regular by sight, and about one in 10 by name. Knowing everyone has its benefits, because between everyone, there are a lot of useful skills to trade.)

No, he says, the thought of meekly backing down never crossed his mind. That isn’t stubbornness, just survival, and a bit of personal pride. “If I move on, it’s not a problem right then,” he says. “But if I move, they’ll keep moving me, further and further.”

Yep, that’s right. That is exactly what happens, when little rules are used as tools of social exclusion. Indeed, that’s why many of them were made, as leverage to scrub the streets of people who live on the fringes. Though Pyle has the strength of broad popular support, his story isn’t so different. This isn’t the first time he’s got hassled for playing music in a public place. It’s happened in the Village, too, and it will probably happen again.

The pressure, always, is to encourage only those who take up space in authorized ways. But nobody needs formal approval to busk on public property in Winnipeg.

“I’m not going to let them stop the community, when people are happy,” Pyle says. “It’s them trying to control what is going on downtown. And I’m not a part of the agenda, and I don’t have to be a part. I’m not going with their flow. ‘This is the entertainment zone.’ Oh, it is? Then I can entertain with my guitar.”

The question, then: Who is entitled to define their space on public streets and who most has the right to decide how someone takes part in a community?

Well, here is what no ticket can change: Eric Pyle is no stranger to the neighbourhoods he plays. He is known. He sings songs, shares stories and watches over people’s bikes, and after a time you find his presence makes a nighttime street feel safer. A familiar face and music make a place less anonymous, and a whole lot more alive.

So he offers up these services, and the people who receive them decide if they want to pay. In that way, the community is best positioned to decide whether he belongs and whether his presence on our sidewalks and plazas is healthy, happy and safe — and there’s no doubt now what his community says.

“I hope you win,” the young woman said.

“Right now, to people, I represent them,” Pyle says, of the surge of support. “Because it’s their sidewalk. You’ve got a hockey game going, there’s music in the street and people are pumped up. That’s what vibrancy is.”

melissa.martin@freepress.mb.ca