You’re walking down Jefferson Street, past the smell of sourdough and the barking of sea lions at Pier 39, and then it happens. A literal bush jumps at you. You scream. Everyone nearby starts laughing. You’ve just been initiated into one of the weirdest, longest-running street performances in American history. We're talking about the San Francisco Bushman, a local legend who spent decades scaring the absolute daylight out of tourists with nothing more than two leafy branches and a serious amount of patience.
It’s a simple gag. Honestly, it’s remarkably low-tech. In an era where San Francisco is defined by AI startups and high-tech transit, the Bushman reminds us that humans really just want to see someone else jump out of their skin.
Who Was the Real San Francisco Bushman?
Most people don't realize there wasn't just one. The "original" man behind the leaves was David Johnson. He started the act back in 1980. Think about that for a second—he sat on the pavement for over 30 years. He wasn't some guy looking for a quick buck; he was a fixture of the Wharf. He had a specific spot, usually near the Cannery or the Grotto, where the sidewalk traffic was tight enough that you couldn't easily avoid him.
Johnson was a master of stillness. That’s the secret. If you move even an inch, the illusion is gone. He would sit perfectly motionless behind those eucalyptus branches, camouflaged against the gray concrete and the general chaos of the tourist trap. Then, whoosh.
Later on, Gregory Jacobs joined the fray. For a long time, there were actually two Bushmen working different shifts or slightly different locations. Jacobs, who sadly passed away in 2014, was often the one people saw in the early 2000s. When he died, the city actually felt the loss. It made national news because, love him or hate him, he was part of the city's soul.
The Mechanics of the Scare
It isn't just about jumping. It’s about timing. Johnson and Jacobs understood human psychology better than most marketing experts. They would wait for a group of people who were distracted—maybe looking at a map or arguing about where to eat clam chowder.
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They also had "spotters." Sometimes a friend would sit nearby on a bench, looking like a regular person, but they were actually watching the crowd to see who was the best "mark." They’d signal when a particularly jumpy-looking tourist was approaching.
- He’d wait for the eye contact to break.
- He’d make a sudden, sharp "OOH!" sound.
- The rustle of the leaves provided the tactile shock.
People often ask if it was legal. Mostly, yeah. But he did have his run-ins with the law. Over the years, there were complaints about noise or blocking the sidewalk. In 2004, the city actually took David Johnson to court. They tried to cite him for being a public nuisance. But here’s the kicker: the jury didn't buy it. He was acquitted. The defense argued he was a street performer, no different than a mime or a musician. San Francisco loves its eccentrics, and the court reflected that.
Why the Prank Still Works in a Digital Age
We are constantly overstimulated. You’re walking through Fisherman's Wharf with a phone in your hand, probably checking Yelp reviews for the best crab cocktail. You’re in your own world. The San Francisco Bushman breaks that digital bubble. It’s a physical, visceral interaction that you can't get from a screen.
It’s also about the "secondary audience." If you watch a video of the Bushman, you’ll notice a crowd of twenty people standing across the street. They aren't moving. They’re just waiting for the next person to get scared. It’s a communal experience. You get scared, you realize you’re okay, you join the crowd of watchers, and then you laugh at the next victim. It turns a sidewalk into a theater.
The Controversy and the Grit
It wasn't all laughs, though. Let's be real. Street performing in San Francisco is a tough gig. The Bushman was often criticized by local business owners who thought he was "scaring away customers" (literally). Some tourists didn't take the prank well. There have been stories of people swinging at him or getting genuinely angry.
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And then there’s the question of the "imposters." After Gregory Jacobs died, several other people tried to take up the branches. Some were okay; some were just aggressive. If you visit today, you might see someone attempting the act, but it rarely feels the same as the original duo. The nuance of the "silent startle" has been replaced by some people just yelling at passersby, which—honestly—is just annoying, not artful.
The Economics of Hiding in a Bush
How much does a man in a bush make? It’s a legitimate question. On a good Saturday in the middle of July, the San Francisco Bushman could pull in hundreds of dollars in tips. People feel a weird sense of obligation to pay for the "show" once they’ve recovered from the heart attack.
It’s a cash business. No taxes (presumably), no overhead except for some fresh eucalyptus every few days. But it’s physically grueling. Sitting on cold concrete for eight hours, holding heavy branches, and staying perfectly still takes a toll on the back and the joints.
How to Spot Him Before He Spots You
If you're heading down to the Wharf and want to keep your dignity intact, you have to look for the "Bushman indicators."
- The Crowd: If you see a group of 15 people standing in a semi-circle looking at nothing in particular, they are waiting for you to get hit.
- The Leaves: Look for branches that look just a little too "arranged" against a trash can or a light pole.
- The Feet: Sometimes, if he’s tired, you can see his sneakers peeking out from under the foliage.
But honestly? Just let it happen. It’s one of the few authentic, gritty pieces of "Old San Francisco" left in a neighborhood that has become increasingly sanitized and corporate.
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What This Teaches Us About SF Culture
San Francisco has always been a haven for the weird. From Emperor Norton to the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, the city prides itself on being a place where you can be whatever you want—even if that "whatever" is a sentient hedge.
The Bushman represents the survival of the "little guy" in a city that’s becoming impossibly expensive. He didn't need a permit, a venture capital seed round, or a flashy storefront. He just needed branches. There’s something deeply respectable about that kind of grit.
What to Do Next if You're Visiting Fisherman's Wharf
Don't just go for the Bushman. Use it as a starting point to see the stuff that actually matters in that part of town.
- Visit Musée Mécanique: It’s at Pier 45. It’s a collection of vintage, coin-operated mechanical instruments and arcade games. It’s free to enter (you just pay to play the games), and it has that same "old-school weird" vibe as the Bushman.
- Watch the Sea Lions: But do it from the upper level of Pier 39 to avoid the heaviest foot traffic.
- Check the Sidewalks: Seriously, keep your eyes peeled. Even if the "official" Bushman isn't out, his spirit lives on in the various street performers trying to make a buck through sheer creativity.
If you happen to get scared, don't get mad. Laugh it off. Toss a dollar in the bucket if there is one. You’ve just become a part of a 40-year-old San Francisco tradition. It’s a badge of honor. You weren't just a tourist; you were a participant in the city's longest-running improvised comedy sketch.
Next time you’re walking near the intersection of Jefferson and Hyde, keep your head up. Or better yet, look for the bushes that seem to be breathing.
Actionable Insights for Your Visit:
If you want to experience the "Bushman" phenomenon without the heart attack, arrive at Fisherman's Wharf before 10:00 AM. Most street performers don't set up until the crowds thicken around midday. If you do encounter a performer, remember that they are making a living; if you take a photo or a video of the scare, it’s common courtesy to leave a tip. Lastly, stay mindful of your surroundings—the "scare" works best on those who are staring at their phones, so putting the screen away might actually save your jump-scare-prone heart.