Speedo man is a deft hand at the bongos though.
“Running Man” can usually be spotted on the shoulder of the highway dressed in a wide brimmed hat, running shorts and a tank top. Nothing strange there. He “runs” using a kind of shuffling gait and carries a large American flag in one hand while making a peace symbol with the other. People honk at him and he’ll lift his peace sign higher, but otherwise he just keeps on running. I’ve seen him about a dozen times, same with my friends, and no one has ever seen him walking. Some day, maybe…
We have a middle-aged guy who stands outside the retirement center with a CD player in his hand, and headphones on, and just moves back and forth a little with the music.
Also, not really a weirdo, but the most muscular person in town (population about 10,000) is probably this 60-year old man who is bulging with muscles all over his body, and wears short, tight old-man shorts almost year round, often with sleeveless shirts. He also dyes his hair completely, but his face is all wrinkles so it doesn’t make sense visually. He’s really nice, but shocking to see at first. (I’d totally do him still though)
My former town has an Elvis. Middle aged white guy with a cap, rides all around town on an adult sized tricycle. License plate on the bike says Elvis. I figured his name was Elvis. Hey, it could be. So one day he and I are in Burger King at the same time. He has spread out all around him Elvis Presley trading cards.
I had a veterinarian who must be a weirdo in his town. You come in with your cat, and everything he does is in slow motion, like he walks in perpetual molasses. Like the 60’s left its mark. Long hair, beard. It’s endless to get a diagnosis/meds and get out. Just when you think you’re done, he shakes your hand and slips you a Jesus tract. Then, since you’re a regular, he asks if you have that one. So I say yes once thinking he’ll take it back, but of course he slowly pulls more out of his pocket … studies them … and gives you another.
I say this with all appropriate modesty, my partner and I are the designated weirdos in our building, as we were in the two previous ones we dwelt in – which, as one of them was actually a downtown SRO, is no small accomplishment. Once you’re outside our front door, though, things are different. We live in a zoo neighborhood of long standing, right on the fringe of the Tenderloin and in the thick of the 'ho stroll. The trannie 'ho stroll, no less.
There are lots of strange characters here, and we like it like this, but there are a couple who stand out for me. One is the big fat bushy-bearded guy in a wheelchair who lives in the building two doors up the block from us. He’s a mystery, a sentinel of the latenight jungle sidewalk who nobody seems to know much about. At any hour of the day or night (and I’m prone to being out at all hours myself, so I have seen this) you might encounter him quietly zipping along as fast as his electric wheelchair will go…or just sitting there, silently, either iin the foyer of his building or on a shadowed stretch of asphalt. Never says a word to anyone, just stares intensely at the street or the traffic or the working girls or something through his Coke-bottle glasses and chain-smokes. At first I thought he must be all about dope deals, but observation has convinced me that nothing that ordinary’s got any space on his agenda.
And then there’s the one me and my man call Spooky. This is another of the TGs who work the nabe, except I don’t think Spooky gets many dates. She looks to be in her 20s, of Asian or Latin American heritage, with a pretty well-done set of hospital titties. She drifts along the streets that define the stroll both by day and by night, muttering to herself. Dressed in a way that just subtly doesn’t look right, she wears her makeup all wrong – a sloppy smear of black grease for lipstick. There’s nearly always a scowl on her face, and her eyes…brrrrrr. They’re so remote, alien almost, two lost glittery glassy flashes of cold black light. I think the regular working girls chase her away from their spots when they’re out in force.
Now, I’ve been around, was on the street for a long stretch myself, and am generally used to all sorts of street people and don’t get freaked out by them; however, our Spooky sends cold chills down my spine to see her. One night I passed close to her and she was saying to the night, in a conversational monotone, “C’mon Daddy fuck me oh I fuck you good Daddy real real good Daddy oh fuck fuck fuck oh c’mon Daddy… …”; just talking like that to nothing and nobody, staring straight ahead with those big, awful eyes. I’ve never seen her in a really unwashed or disheveled state, which leads me to believe she must have family or a lover in the vicinity, someone who takes care of her to a certain extent. Like I said already, she makes my blood run cold, and I am not at all sure why that’s the case.
I live in a culture that takes care of people. Any child can find a meal, and place to sleep, even a place to live for years in almost anyone’s house. I can walk into anywhere and get fed. People even send food over for my cat, when they barely have enough for themselves. The one exception to this is the crazy people. Every town in Cameroon has it’s “fou” and talking about what the local fou did is standard fare for any get together.
My town has three memorable onces.
The first is crazy shackle lady. She walks around in leg shackles and sometimes handcuffs. Other than that, she is nude except a piece of cloth wrapped loosly around her waist. She was once seen in the center of town bathing in a puddle, but mostly she hangs out in bus stations.
Then there is sane shackle lady. She seems pretty normal and coherent, but she walks around in shackers begging. She always shows up my favorite bar and begs in Fulfulde. The people around argue to her that I don’t speak Fulfulde and she argues back that I understand it perfectly well (true enough).
Then there is the guy that owns two pairs of pants. One is just half a pair, held on with a rope. One butt cheek, one ball, etc. are left hanging out. The other pair is almost whole except the entire butt area is cut out.
We had Fred, the Ring Road Tramp who died last year. He was very well-known and lived in a tent on the ring road for many years - it was quite surprising how much of a news item he became after his death!
I’ve recently moved to BoganBurbs ( 
) but prior to that I lived for many years in inner-urban Melbourne…home to the most interesting and delightfully fragrant locals you could imagine!
Unfortunately, the future of the Local Weirdo is doomed, especially when you have do-gooders like Jonathon Welch and his Choir of Hard Knocks scouting around your neighbourhood for talent.
Four of those in the above photo used to be Fitzroy Local Weirdos…the Big Issue seller Louis, Clarko the psych/intellectually disabled patient who NEVER took his meds and Stan who touted for St Mary’s House of Welcome, a drop in centre for the homeless in Fitzroy. Now they’re all famous, and good on 'em.
I dunno if there’s anything on YouTube, but if you get a chance to hear these freaks or to buy one of their CD’s, do so. It’s the most amazing and uplifting thing…to hear people giving voice to their talents after being so downtrodden and bereft of hope for so long. Quite amazing.
Patch Adams is my neighborhood weirdo. Actually, he’s not anywhere near the weirdest, but he’s the most famous.
I haven’t seen him for a long time, but in Minneapolis we have David, a homeless man who wears a big coat, carries a walking stick, and is usually carrying any number of random items, like a ladies shoe, or an umbrella. He is covered head to toe in people’s signatures.
His deal is that he carries a Sharpie pen and will have everyone he encounters sign his coat, his walking stick, or one of his items. I’ve signed him a bunch of times, and would always have a chat with him. He told me he collects signatures because that’s what every person has that they’re proud of that they can freely give away, and he feels blessed being covered by everyone’s personal little bits of art. He usually asks for money, and he’s the one guy I’d empty my wallet for. I haven’t seen him in maybe 2 years, and I’m actually worried; he’s a really nice man, despite the fact that he’s a lot crazy. Last I talked to him he had an apartment that he’d acquired through some social service. I really hope he’s doing okay.
There’s a guy I’ve noticed a couple of times recently downtown. He’s apparently homeless, because he has the shopping cart of belongings parked nearby, but everytime I’ve seen him he’s standing by the side of the road or on a traffic island with his shirt off, headphones on, getting his groove most seriously on for the benefit of passing motorists. He’s remarkably cut, a pretty damn good dancer, and man, he’s getting down. I can’t help but smile when I see him and think “there’s a guy making the best of it.”
I actually just decided to finally cough up the money for a full membership. Lurking was starting to get a little boring. 
Chicago has quite a collection.
Our local ABC station has a studio with a big glass wall so you can see the people passing by. Just about every day you’ll see a 60+ year old man out there wearing a zoot suit. He has suits in assorted colors: white, neon green, hot pink, bright red, purple or blue. He’ll be outside the studio dancing and waving. Nothing else, just that. The weatherman always stops to talk to him.
Another guy is usually found near the Sears Tower. He wears a gorilla suit (minus the feet, gloves and head). He wears purple Converse gym shoes and a Gold’s Gym t-shirt over the gorilla suit. In the middle of summer his aroma is unbelievable.
There was a lady we called “Crouching Jesus”. She had a skirt made of sewn together men’s ties. She’d walk along the sidewalk, mumbling to herself. As she approached a corner, she’d start crouching lower and lower until she was almost waddling like a duck. When the light turned green she would spring up, throw her hands in the air and shout, “Praise Jesus!”
Lee Groban. I’ve seen him around as long as I’ve lived here and spoken to him on a number of occasions. Like Ronnie Woo-woo, Lee seems to get everywhere. At least, every art show opening. I’d swear there must be five of him around.
He also has a tendency to flirt, unsuccessfully, with any female within 50 yards.
He has two!!! Two posts!!!
We have the “cuckoo man”. He has hat with feathers in and often catches the local buses. And calls out a loud “cuckoo” noise periodically.
I used to live in Berkeley, which had quite a number of loonies. There was Rick Star, who would sing horribly off-key into a microphone (sans amplifier) and randomly interject, “let’s make love” whenever he spied a girl he liked the look of. Seeing as how he usually set up shop in Sproul Plaza in the middle of UC Berkeley, this was an exceedingly common event.
Often vying for the attention of passerby was Crazy Preacher Eddie. He waved a Bible around and shouted in a nearly incomprehensible accent about how “Man cannot make banana, only God can make banana.” One time there was a guest appearance by Crazy Rabbi Guy, and they shouted wack theology at each other.
And then there was Hate Man. A Google search mentions an older Hate Man, one who believed that everyone secretly hates everyone else from time to time, and that these hatreds should be expressed out loud instead of being supressed. Well, that’s not the same Hate Man I knew. Hate Man the Elder sounds like a decent enough fellow, if a bit strange. No, Hate Man the Younger was an entirely different person. He was very buff and athletic, usually shirtless, and would wander around the shops and eateries around Telegraph Avenue, screaming obscenities at everyone and no one. He especially hated black people, and reserved the choicest curses for them. Hate Man never got physical with anyone that I ever heard of, although he sure tried his damndest to pick fights. Of course, not too many people are willing to get into it with a muscular psycho who can walk on his hands and do somersaults off of tables.
I’m sure there are many more in downtown Houston, but I don’t go there very often. The one I used to see all the time was a bearded guy dressed in Jesus-type robes, hauling a HUGE cross down the shoulder of Highway 6. The cross had wheels on it. A bizarre sight, let me tell you! I haven’t seen him in ages, though.
My town has three odd characters that I know of:
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Jesus on a bike: Guy who sort of looks like Jesus and bikes everywhere. I’m thinking he’s homeless, though I can’t confirm it. He came into my store once when I was there, and I’ve heard of other’s interactions with him. He’s a little bit odd, and a little bit off, but not totally loopy.
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Ex-professor guy. He used to wander around the college campus with his shopping cart. He was a big black guy with a winter cap and red down coat that made him look like a black Santa Claus. The college paper did an interview with him and it seems he once was a professor of some kind there. More recently I’ve seen him a few towns over where I live.
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John. Probably in his 40s with some kind of mental disability and odd speech pattern. Not homeless - he seems to live in a house on my street. Wanders walking all over the place, and seems to be known by name by many local stores. I’ve also seen him moving around shopping carts at one of the groceries.
Also, have only seen him once and it’s possible it was an isolated incident, but I once saw this guy on the side of the road in a grass clearing repeatedly pick up his bike, throw it angrily to the ground, then pace around for a bit in a pissed off way waving his fist, then go back to the bike, pick it up, and throw it angrily to the ground again, many times.
I remember him too. The song “Climb every mountain” invariably reminds me of Rick Starr. *Climb every mountaaaaiiinnn (here till 3 o’clock!)…Foooord every streeeeaaammm (*hey there baby!) he had a little Mic Man back then, but I’m not sure it actually worked.
What, Hate Man is gone? Only some imposter remains? Bummer. ‘Course, I guess no one will miss the possibility of meeting ol’ Hate Man in one of his nudist phases…Here he is with clothes on.
Isn’t David Temple there any more? Yoshua Man? He used to stand around yelling “Yoshua!” His church and theology had pretty much one tenet, and that was that Jesus’ name is Yoshua, and if you don’t get it right you’re going to hell. He was quite nice.