I've lived in the Seattle area for almost 30 years, and been a Seattle sports fan my entire life. I've seen a lot of bad teams, a lot of bad games at the Kingdome, the Seattle Coliseum, Husky Stadium. As far back as I can remember, as I approached these events in downtown Seattle, walking off the ferry from Bainbridge, where I grew up, I walked along the waterfront, through Pioneer square, a man was there playing the tuba, bringing smiles to everyone's faces. At first he was one of many faceless homeless people I'd see on the way to a game, or concert. I'm not sure when I became aware of the homeless as individuals, as real people, but they are etched in my memories of going to games in Seattle. Bearded men, bundled up, many of them giving you a yellow-toothed smile, trying their best to get people to smile back, and I suppose trying to cheer themselves up too. There were always a few musicians along the way as well. But the Tuba Guy was special, he was there every game it seemed, and his distinct baritone tunes would waft through the damp Seattle days and nights, and let everyone know they were getting close to the stadium doors. Tuba Guy usually set up near the north part of the Kingdome/Qwest parking lot or near Queen Anne Ave outside the Coliseum, and he drew a lot of smiles and crowds. I think people liked the familiarity and tradition of seeing him there. He was a local celebrity of sorts, no question, like Spoon Man, Bill the Beer Guy, J. P. Patches, people that old Seattlites like to talk about to demonstrate their credentials as natives.

I didn't know the man, but I certainly remember the Tuba Guy, aka Ed McMichael, who died this week at age 53 as a result of an assault on the streets near Seattle Center. He played his tuba outside of sporting events in Seattle for years. His death has received a lot of attention (Tuba Man: A real Seattle team player, Seattle's Tuba Man dies from beating injuries). People are calling him an icon. Most people assume he was homeless, but it seems he was living in housing near Seattle Center, which is wonderful. However, he died on the streets as the hands of kids who likely saw him as homeless, as an invisible man they could beat on to impress their friends, or something sick like that, a man who they could beat and no one would care. Well, I hope I'm right in saying that they picked on the wrong guy, and I hope that his death brings some attention to the danger of being homeless, particularly for the more than 2,000 who are living on the streets each night in King County.

Sports fans come from all walks of life, and those who might not otherwise have paid much attention to a story about a man dying on the streets of Seattle have paid attention to the Tuba Guy's death. Let's not forget his death, nor those of the hundreds of other Seattle homeless who have died on our streets over the past few years.

My friend John Tangeman is the Manager of Audience Services at Pacific Northwest Ballet. He knew Ed, and will be speaking at his memorial service, sponsored by the Seattle Seahawks, tonight (November 12th) at Qwest Field Event Center. He had this to say about Ed's death in his nightly PNB manager's report:

I have a soft spot in my heart for homeless musicians (perhaps because I once considered myself one. Oh, and that guy Mr. Butch, a homeless musician in Boston who often made guest appearances onstage with my band and who died last year in a scooter accident). And as you also may know, my friend Tuba Guy died last week of complications from a brutal and random late-night beating. I have been asked by the City of Seattle to speak at a memorial for him at the Quest Events Center next Wednesday at 6:30.

I often saw Ed outside the PNB. PNB put together an excellent memorial for Edward McMichael (Tuba Guy) that we displayed at the north doors tonight. Several patrons left flowers and candles at the site. I will dearly miss him. There were many times late at night where I would sit here at this desk writing this very report and "Edso" (as I called him) would remain on the empty K-prom, after all of the patrons had left, huffing out his plaintive bleatings while I described the events of the evening on these pages, dear reader. Flight of the Valkyries was one of my favorites. His tunes kept me company while I sat in the darkened and otherwise empty Phelps Center hammering away at this ergonomic keyboard. Happy Birthday played for no apparent reason was also a must hear. Often times I would stop mid-sentence and drink in the dulcet tones vibrating through the box office window. (Is he ever gonna hit this note right?) God Bless America was a highly requested number and ranked about a 9 on the Tuba Guy difficulty scale. There were times when Ed would have a ticket to the show. I have no idea who gave him those tickets (it certainly wasn't me...) but when I'd see him in the theatre I would make sure that he at least took off one of his many impossible hats before curtain. Anyway, at the end of the day, I would leave the Phelps Center , contribute what I could to Ed's effort, help him pack up all the stuff on his cart, and off we'd go on our separate ways. "Thanks for being a part of it, goodnight John" he'd say. "Goodnight Ed".

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UPDATE: Read coverage of the memorial service for Ed McMichael: 
1,500 honor slain Tuba Man. Watch the Tuba Man Memorial video clip.