Baton Bob' gives Midtown something to smile about
He livens up streets with eye-catching costumes, mirth
By H.M. CAULEY
For the Journal-Constitution
Published on: 03/31/05
City dwellers accustomed to seeing all sorts of odd sights on the streets of Atlanta have found it hard not to pause and take a second look at Bob Jamerson.
Though most who cross the Midtown resident's path don't know his real name, they do know "Baton Bob," the guy dressed in eye-popping outfits while expertly twirling a baton on the sidewalk.
T. LEVETTE BAGWELL/AJC
(ENLARGE)
Bob Jamerson dons colorful costumes and hits the streets to dispense smiles, waves and greetings to all in his path. 'I'm usually out for two to three hours a day, seven days a week.'
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More information about Jamerson is available at
http://groups .yahoo.com/group/ambassadorofmirth.
"I've seen him dressed as a bride, Little Red Riding Hood, an Indian chief, Spiderman and a majorette," said Summer Howard, manager of the Flying Biscuit restaurant at 1001 Piedmont Ave., where Bob often shows up to entertain the sidewalk diners. "People recognize him now on the street and look forward to seeing him."
Jamerson, a freelance floral designer by trade, calls his street character the "Ambassador of Mirth." As his alter persona, he's become a sight on Midtown streets and in Piedmont Park since moving to Atlanta last fall. Adorned in colorful costumes, he takes to the streets almost every day to dispense smiles, waves and greetings to anyone in his path.
"I'm usually out for two to three hours a day, seven days a week," Jamerson said. "I may go down 10th Street to Peachtree [Street], then down Peachtree for eight or 10 blocks. I also stop near the [High] art museum or Ansley Mall, but 14th and Peachtree is my 'main stage.' "
Early love for twirling
Jamerson's bedroom doubles as his costume closet and it's packed with pieces he picks up at vintage and thrift stores. In addition, he owns several batons, including one that glows.
"I fell in love with baton twirling at an early age, growing up in Virginia," Jamerson said. "I asked my grandmother if she'd buy me one but instead she cut off one of her old broomsticks and gave it to me. On most Saturday afternoons, I'd watch college football games to see the majorettes do these intricate twirling routines at halftime. I taught myself by watching them."
During his junior year in high school, Jamerson was the band drum major. A year later, he left the band to become something rather unusual for 1970s rural Virginia the only male twirler on the dance team.
"I bought white pants, borrowed a cheering sweater, wore white tennis shoes and went out to upstage the majorettes," he said with a laugh. "They hated me because I was their competition."
Jamerson went on to be a flight attendant, but after Sept. 11, 2001, he found himself laid off in St. Louis.
To work out, he started taking his baton to the park and was soon drawing a crowd. The idea of adding a costume to make people laugh came to him, and the response was immediately positive.
"The first time I went out in a black velvet skirt and a tutu, two policemen stopped me and wanted me to pose with them for a picture," Jamerson said. "Then I started going by a children's hospital and a cancer research center. I started getting e-mails from the doctors, nurses and patients about how I made their day. It finally occurred to me that I had tapped into something that was taking the drudgery out of people's lives."
Abuse prompts move
At one point, downtown merchants in St. Louis paid Jamerson to draw folks to their business district. But the love affair started to sour when Jamerson, in a wedding dress, was arrested at a rally for John Kerry and John Edwards. As the welcome mat began to curl up, he decided to head to Atlanta, where he'd lived several years ago.
"I was getting abuse from police officers in St. Louis and it was affecting the spirit of the character," he said. "I still had friends in Atlanta, so I decided to bring my mission here. So far, most people who see the character are amazed."
Jamerson usually gets a warm greeting from diners and the staff at Einstein's on Juniper Street, where he frequently parades by in full costume, baton in hand.
"He always has a different outfit, as well as hats and tiaras," said Einstein's server Danny Walker. "He doesn't really talk to anyone unless they talk to him first, but he's very intelligent and cheerful. He'll always pose for pictures. Everyone on the patio usually claps and cheers when he comes by. You can see he's having fun with it."
The ambassador agrees.
"I'm on a humanitarian mission," Jamerson said. "This is my unconditional gift back to humanity."