Hear Ye! A Colorful Tradition Lives On
In his purple velvet coat, stockings and frilly white lace, Redmond O’Connell stood on the steps of City Hall in this Bay Area bedroom community and did what he does best: attract attention.
He clanged a large bell and read from a script he prepared himself, singing the praises of the town where he has lived for a decade.
“Oyez. Oyez. Oyez. A warm welcome awaits visitors to Martinez, California,” he cried. “We are home to the largest bocce ball federation in the world, the mischievous martini, the model of modesty Mr. Joe DiMaggio and the magnificent marching master, Mr. John Muir. Blessings on the United States of America, God save the queen.”
As usual when O’Connell performs, people gawked. They stopped to listen. These reactions always make O’Connell smile.
The full-time actor, former cabby and bartender--who has impersonated everyone from Santa Claus and a Thanksgiving turkey to a 6-foot-tall Easter Bunny--is the official Martinez town crier.
Going by the name Redmond O’Colonies, the 51-year-old British-born performer is one of only a handful of town criers west of the Mississippi River. And his oratory has won him awards: O’Connell earned the American Guild of Town Criers championship in September and finished fifth in the world championships in August.
“I make this town look good,” he said. “Most people think I’m a pacifist pirate. I dress kind of funny, and I have no weapons.”
Working for free for the city, he dons his Revolutionary War-era costume--complete with buckled shoes, three-cornered hat and scroll--an average of twice a month to “cry” at civic ceremonies, spread goodwill and dedicate new buildings, such as the town’s Amtrak station. When not crying, he makes a living doing commercials and other acting projects.
His crier style is a cross between Benny Hill and Monte Python, his lilting accent shaped by an upbringing in Lancashire.
O’Connell has been the Martinez crier since 1991, when he approached the City Council about creating the position for the rural community.
“They told me this was a town of critters, not criers,” he recalled. “But they agreed, as long as I didn’t bring any disgrace to the city and it didn’t cost anything.”
In more than a decade his speechmaking and public rhetoric have brought statewide publicity.
“He’s got such a big heart,” said Martinez Vice Mayor Linda Lewis. “And as funny as he is, he takes this seriously. He commands attention when he speaks. You could hear a pin drop when he dedicated our new Amtrak station.”
On a stormy day in this town 25 miles northeast of San Francisco, O’Connell demonstrated a tenet of his trade: Rain or shine, a crier cries.
Passersby tipped their umbrellas to see him. “Hey, what are you supposed to be?” asked James McCoy.
Trotting up the steps to pay his taxes, local resident Stan Stanley was impressed.
“It’s sort of charming,” he said. “It makes you think back to the way we used to do things in this country.”
Since arriving in the United States from England in 1977, O’Connell has played the role of a storytelling roustabout.
He briefly drove a cab in Los Angeles before moving to San Francisco, where he worked as a carpenter, kitchen designer, bartender and musician. He also began doing comedy, perfecting the art of “bending reality,” working parties and dinners as a smiling merry prankster.
He was once hired by a group of 18 office workers to play a trick on three managers--showing up at work one day as the nightmare temp worker.
“I did everything wrong,” O’Connell recalled.
At a company party he and another actor played two inept waiters having a very public argument before a stunned audience.
“My passion is walking the fine line between reality and surrealism--under the guise of street theater,” he said.
He became a town crier almost by accident.
O’Connell was a member of an environmental activist group protesting a chemical company’s application for a permit to burn toxic waste. As part of the “good neighbor” campaign to picket the company, O’Connell rented a town crier’s costume to spread the word.
Later, a friend in Britain told him that her hometown had its own full-time crier. That inspired O’Connell to approach the Martinez City Council. He later assumed the role for the entire county.
“Crying,” he says, “is a great way to give back to one’s community.”
Since then, he’s twice won the American Guild of Town Criers championship, and he serves as the group’s president. In the competitions, he has bested other criers with his sustained volume, diction, clarity and elegance.
He’s cried everywhere from Sydney, Australia, to San Luis Obispo and performed at Microsoft Chairman Bill Gates’ engagement party in San Francisco.
At every Independence Day celebration he reads the entire Declaration of Independence--with a twist. Each time he mentions the king of England, he pauses, then says as an aside: “Off with his head!”
Contra Costa County is so taken with its crier that it’s having a new uniform made for him.
“The mayor from one of our neighboring cities is quite a seamstress, so she’s making Redmond a new outfit,” Lewis said. “The old one was looking a bit shabby. And we want to take care of our crier the way he takes care of us.”
