George Nottle: Strumming on Mission

 STRUMMING ON MISSION

By Travis Jensen

I met George Nottle in late October 2009 while shooting photos downtown on my lunch break. 

Dressed in a grayish, somewhat frayed, loose-fitting suit and white New Balance sneakers, George was strumming his guitar, deep in concentration, on the fringes of Jessie Square on Mission Street, next to the historic St. Patrick Catholic Church, between 3rd and 4th streets.

I decided to stop for a moment and listen to George play as I fancy street musicians, guitar players in particular.  I always wanted to learn how to play the guitar, but being left-handed made it somewhat of a challenge.  Now I know original Black Sabbath member Tony Iommi is a lefty and both Jimi Hendrix and Kurt Cobain were southpaws, but the vast majority of guitar players out there are righties.  I don’t think I’ve ever come across a lefty-strung guitar.
 
Anyway, I stood there for approximately 10-15 minutes taking photos and chatting with George while he tuned his guitar, making sure everything sounded just right.

George, who appeared to be in his mid-to-late 50s and spoke with a polished English accent, was very smart in his own peculiar way.  What I mean by this is his speech was florid, but not always coherent.  His thoughts seemed to come out without much structure or order, like a jumbled stream of consciousness. 

George alluded to the fact that he took medication for a psych related illness, but did not specify what exactly he was suffering from, nor did I bother asking. 

Hailing from England, George said he moved to the United States close to 20 years ago for “supermarket work.”  I found it rather odd that he would travel across the pond to work in a supermarket, but left it at that.  After all, I moved across country at the age of 18 to pursue a skateboarding dream.

“I was in New York first,” said George, “but the storms were too bad there, so I came to San Francisco.”  He adds, “I thought about going to LA, but heard it’s dangerous there.”

Currently living in a nearby shelter, George said he plans to return to England soon.  “It’s time for me to go home,” he said.  “I’ve been away too long.”

When asked how long he had been playing the guitar, George replied, “A long, long time, although I did take a break for a number of years.” 

Standing there, I kept waiting for George to bust out and really start jamming on his guitar -- he struck me as an English folk player -- but he never did.  It was then I realized that George didn’t really know how to do much more than strum his guitar, which is probably why he wasn’t playing for money like most street musicians.

Feeling a bit letdown by the performance, I thanked George for his time and went about my way.

After uploading one of my photos of George to Flickr a couple weeks later, a Bay Area-based photographer named Ron (last name unknown) left a comment saying that he too had a recent encounter with George in Jessie Square.  The comment included a link to a photo and short piece he had posted on his photostream, which provided some additional info about George I wasn’t aware of. 

According to Ron, George told him the reason he was going back to England is that his parents had recently passed away and left both he and his sister an inheritance.  He also quotes George as saying that he could be playing hit songs on his guitar, but would rather do his own thing. 

I should also add that some of Ron’s initial observations about George mirrored mine to a tee.

Shortly after receiving Ron’s comment, Utah-based artist and author Carl Purcell dropped a comment on the photo saying, “I feel a drawing coming on,” and a few days later sent me a link to a brilliant illustration of George that he created based off my photo.  (This would be the second drawing Carl has done using one of my photographs.)

Carl then mailed me a copy of the drawing, which arrived a few days later, and I wasted no time making a clean copy of it and hitting the streets in search of George.  I couldn’t wait to see his reaction when I handed him the drawing.  It’s not everyday someone approaches you on the street and hands you a drawing of yourself, an exceptional drawing at that.

I roamed the downtown streets for nearly two weeks straight, walking up and down Mission Street, past Jessie Square and surrounding areas with the drawing tucked away in my camera bag, but never ran into George.

Figuring George had already returned to England, I removed the drawing from my bag over the holiday weekend and placed it in a drawer at home.

However, this past Monday (12/28), just as I was getting ready to leave work for lunch, I decided to reprint the drawing and hit the streets one last time in search of George.  I walked my usual route, down Mission Street and past Jessie Square with no luck, but then, while walking up Powell Street towards Union Square, just past the cable car turnaround, I spotted George heading my way.  He was wearing a winter ski coat and backpack with his signature loose-fitting, grey suit underneath, his beloved guitar slung over his shoulder.

“George!” I exclaimed, smiling ear-to-ear.  “I’ve been looking all over for you!”

Bewildered, he replied, “Really?”

“Do you remember me?” I said.  “I took some pictures of you playing your guitar a couple months back in Jessie Square.”

“Sure, sure,” he replied, “I remember.”

I don’t think he really remembered me.

“I have something for you,” I said, “a gift.”

“A gift…for me?”  He questioned, appearing somewhat puzzled.

 I then reached in my camera bag, pulled out the drawing and handed it to him. 

George removed the rubber bands, unrolled the piece of paper and held it out in front of him. 

“That’s you,” I said.

“Yes, I can see that,” he said, laughing, then squinted for a closer look.

George then agreed to let me take a picture of him holding the drawing.

“This is wonderful,” he said repeatedly as I snapped a couple shots.

George said that he had a special glass bottle back at the shelter that he planned to store the drawing in to prevent it from being damaged, and he was very careful not to bend or crease it as he put it in his backpack. 

George and I chatted for another five minutes or so until he said he had to get going.  I jotted my contact info down on a piece of scratch paper and handed it to him. 

“Call me if you need anything,” I said.

“Thanks again for the abnormal drawing,” he said as we shook hands and parted ways.

I watched as George toddled down Powell Street, virtually unnoticed by the rest of the world, passing an endless line of tourists waiting to hop the cable car, and eventually disappearing into the thick of the crowd as he reached Market Street.

“In Sync” by Carl Purcell, 2B and 4B pencil on Bristol:

Sources:

Ron (last name unknown). “#6 George.”
Flickr.com. 14 October 2009.