Everyone loves a free show. There’s something strangely gratifying about being entertained without having to do anything, pay any money, or put forth any effort. On any given San Francisco day, weather permitting, there are hot-spots for street performers, particularly in those places where tourist flock. The range of talent and expertise these performers put into their acts is stunning. There is a misconception about many of these street folks—some cynics see them as a notch above the homeless, trying to hustle a few dollars to keep a buzz throughout the day. Though such people do exist, the fact is that most of these performers simply enjoy entertaining. Many have been perfecting their acts for years and enjoy seeing a smile on the face of the common passerby.

Here are the stories of a handful of street performers, some local and some passing through, that caught [x]press’ eye. Their tales are as diverse as their inventive performances.

Commuters and residents bustle through the Powell Street BART station, paying close attention to the constant foot traffic and avoiding collisions. Standing in the middle of the station on a typical afternoon, the movement and the mixture of underground sounds, from the shuffle of feet scurrying across concrete to the random chatter and clinks of ticket machines, permeates the air. Above all the noise, music from a white accordion with gold keys and brass accents echoes through the station.

Louis Lopez, in a plaid cap and with a woven basket propped in front of him, is Powell Station’s resident accordion player. His sounds are melodic and playful, and as the accordion bellows the tune to “Take me
out to the ballgame,” a passerby whistles along. Lopez sits alone in the busy station. Many pass but none stop to listen. It’s another Wednesday afternoon and the tip basket is empty. There is an occasional glance but little recognition. He hears no jingle of change falling into his basket, but he continues to peer into it each time a song is over. Several feet away lays a walking stick, colored three-fourths white and one-fourth
red. He is semi-blind.

“I play because I don’t have the chance to work, to wash cars, to be security guard, nothing,” Lopez explains. “I am handicap. That’s what I am. After I lost my sight, my chances were finished. Kaput!” He slices
the air with his arms.

Macular degeneration robbed Lopez of ninety percent of his sight three years ago. It is the leading cause of blindness in Americans aged sixty-five and older. The disease occurs when the macula, located in the center of the retina, is damaged. A person’s ability to read or drive is lost because of the effects on central and sharp vision. Lopez peers up and down to make out the shape of bodies and objects before him.

“I can only see the shape of your body, but I don’t know what you look like,” he says.

A native of Jalisco, Mexico, Lopez immigrated to America on a forty-hour bus ride when he was twenty-six. He came with a vision of economic comfort and a life of plenty. Granted permanent residency in 1960, he legally confirmed his move to the States. With only a fifth-grade education, Lopez’s job opportunities seemed limited to restaurants and factory jobs.

But with his music passion untold, his creativity and self-gratification were limitless. While working in a Hilton Hotel kitchen in 1963, he landed a gig at the Balboa Park Café in Chicago, where he played with four other musicians, trying to find his niche in the music scene. “Music has always been a part of my life. My very first gig was playing the trumpet in a marching band when I was thirteen,” he recalls.

After separating from his family in San Diego and moving to San Francisco three years ago, Lopez has started anew musically. “I live for the good things and have forgotten the bad,” he says. “Music helps
me forget the bad.” It’s the one thing that keeps him kicking. “Music makes me feel good. Sometimes I have insomnia. If I play, I sleep well.”

Only making fifteen dollars a day at most, Lopez says that money doesn’t matter when it comes to his music. “I enjoy playing for others and feel comfortable that they like what I’m doing,” he says. Music is crucial to his well-being, and everyday he strives to become a better musician. “I can’t lie in bed doing nothing.”

“His music reminds me of the days when I would serenade my girlfriend, who is now my wife,” says Mergerito Valle, with a smile. Valle, wearing a beanie embroidered with “Security” on it, sells newspapers across the pathway from Lopez. For Valle, who is eighty-four, the music that Lopez plays–a combination of the Waltz, Bolero, and romantic ballads–brings back sentimental and nostalgic feelings, making his days at the newspaper stand more enjoyable. “You never know how much I missed you...,” Valle sings, as he takes a quarter from a customer. “He plays my favorites—the classics.”

For a man who has suffered great loss, Lopez still aspires to succeed in America for his own prosperity and for that of his children. He hopes to become more than a permanent resident by gaining U.S. citizenship, which for some immigrants is a lifelong goal and effort. An aching desire to take professional music lessons persists. “Now I can’t read music, so I can only play and learn by ear,” he says. “I live by hearing.”