I lived on Waring St. between Channing and Dwight my soph/junior years (1984-85). Orange Man stayed in a basement level apartment on Dwight, just around the corner on Dwight. You could look in the windows right above the ground, and his apartment was painted orange. He had also planted a couple of orange tree saplings in some dirt areas along the sidewalk. I was walking by there one time just in time to catch the aftermath of a construction worker who had backed over one of the saplings. Orange Man was berating him: "Trees...are the essence of LIFE, you.....son of a BITCH!"
Of course, there was Rare, who seemed to go into and out of periods of rage. I was on the Cal cycling team, and we used to meet up for rides on the steps of the ASUC. One time Rare came by and sat with us. Of course, one of the guys asked him how he liked his meat. His response: "RARE! Now ask me how I like my Berkeley police!" No one else would take the bait, so I asked: "Um...how do you like your Berkeley police?" Answer: "BROILED AT ABOUT FIFTY MILLION BILLION DEGREES!" I manage a band now, and we used to play quite a bit at the old Ivy Room in Albany. Rare would come to our shows (his girlfriend was a fan). He seemed to have calmed down a bit, but he still wasn't allowed in the club. He would stand outside at the dutch door, and if the top of it was open, he'd watch the band from the sidewalk. He had put on a few lbs. This would be around 2000-2002 or so. Haven't seen him in quite a while since then.
One guy that sticks in my memory is Donald, a mid-30s black man who worked a scam -- he carried around a spool of red ribbon and a bunch of pins. He'd walk up to you on the street and pin an anti-apartheid red ribbon to your chest without asking, and then request a dollar for the favor. If you didn't pay, or refused the ribbon, he would loudly denounce you as a pro-apartheid racist.
Bubble Lady was of course a constant. She had a book of poetry that I bought from her once, it actually was not too bad. Her real name was Julia Vinograd.
Polka Dot Man was the big star of the oddities in my era. He was a pretty gentle dude, never said a word, just dressed in his homemade polka dot outfits (looked like rain gear), and pose himself in various contorted positions.
There was also a blind man, around 50 years old or so, who would sit on Durant at Telegraph and read your Tarot, using Braille Tarot cards. He didn't wear sunglasses, and his eyes looked pretty messed up. The Daily Cal did a little piece on him, and it was revealed that he had scratched his eyes out with a fork. When asked why, he responded, "Because I didn't like what I saw going on around me." Of course, we then started referring to him with the catchy nickname, "The Guy Who Scratched His Eyes Out With a Fork".
There was someone we called Bro Kope (but I'm not sure if that was what everyone else called him) I think he was referenced above, kind of a shirtsleeve manic street preacher, very conservative, glasses, tie...you could trick him into saying ridiculous things. I once heard him interrupt a sermon long enough to walk up to a black student who was taunting him, and seethe "You...black...COMMUNIST". Sproul Plaza erupted in applause, including the kid, and Bro Kope was so flustered he couldn't continue. He would also work himself into a frenzy and sprint around the inside of the circle, yelling "YOUUUUU'RE AAALLLLL SIIIINNNNNERRRRRRSSS!!" This also elicited much cheering.
Other lesser characters included Tan Man (a long haired mid-30s fella with a moustache. He would dress in nothing but a blue Speedo regardless of the temperature and lay out around campus, checking out chicks); also there was a half street person/half street preacher called Odeus (or Odious?), and he alternated between wearing a green monk's robe and preaching, or just being passed out drunk and swearing at the top of his lungs. Odeus hated Bro Kope, and would challenge him a lot; and one guy who scared the crap out of everyone, very skinny, schizophrenic as hell, you would cross the street when you saw him walking towards you.
And does anyone remember "The Man With No Face"? Or the schizo guy who used to just stop on the sidewalk, stare at something intently for a few minutes, then yell out a loud, barking yelp and continue walking?
OK, that's it for the ol' memory banks.
