I was in my head, and there only, as I strode down the street. Jaw clenched, more stress than usual - too much work, too little time, and too much juggling of science and theatre and a million other things. Too much in my head, though, to actually get anything done. And then, a tiny man hobbling just as fast in the opposite direction. A big, leopard-print, fur-collared coat. A straw hat. A guitar with only three strings. Large and unmistakable sunglasses. "I got to do my job," he said, happily, addressing me. "Ain't nobody else going to do my job but me!"
He passed by, and I couldn't help but laugh. It was suddenly so clear. He had his job, I had mine. I got back to work.
Shakey Jake passed away on Sunday. His job was, by all accounts, being Shakey Jake. A local icon like no other. Loved by his host city of Ann Arbor, and always happy to bid you a hearty hello or a simple, conspiratorial nod, like he knew what you were up to and he wanted you to know he approved. Did he actually know how to play that guitar? Where did he go when he wasn't on the street? How did he know what I needed to hear? Probably neither I nor the thousands of residents of Ann Arbor with similar stories of Jake will ever know. He was just Shakey Jake, and he did his job. Rest in peace, Jake.
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