Original Bushman lives on at Fisherman's Wharf

BUSHMAN 3-C-12JUL99-MN-MAC = David "Bushman" Johnson has been scaring tourists along Fisherman's Wharf for the past 20 years. Hiding behind tree branches and jumping out at the last moment. DAVID Johnson watches for his next victim. STREET ARTISTS UNIQUE APPROACH. PHOTO by Michael Macor/The Chronicle less BUSHMAN 3-C-12JUL99-MN-MAC = David "Bushman" Johnson has been scaring tourists along Fisherman's Wharf for the past 20 years. Hiding behind tree branches and jumping out at the last moment. DAVID Johnson ... more Photo: Michael Macor Photo: Michael Macor Image 1 of / 19 Caption Close Original Bushman lives on at Fisherman's Wharf 1 / 19 Back to Gallery

The Bushman lives!

Last week, local media outlets were full of stories about the poignant demise of the Bushman of Fisherman's Wharf. A classic San Francisco character, the Bushman is famous for scaring the bejeepers out of tourists. He hides behind a spray of eucalyptus branches, waits for victims and then jumps out and yells, "Ugga bugga!" The unsuspecting out-of-towners jump a foot and everyone has a good laugh.

But last week came the news that Gregory Jacobs, 60, had passed away. Troy Campbell, executive director of the Fisherman's Wharf Community Benefits District, said his organization heard from folks who were genuinely disappointed that they could stroll down Jefferson Street without fear of an "ugga bugga" surprise.

"It was almost a rite of passage to get scared by the Bushman," one tourist wrote sadly to Campbell.

In that case, we have good news. It turns out the Jacobs was actually Bushman 2.0. The real Bushman, David Johnson, is alive, well and still scaring tourists.

According to the Chronicle archives, Jacobs and Johnson formed a partnership back in 1999, with Jacobs handling bodyguard and carnival barker duties. But sometime after that, Jacobs branched out and set up his own Bushman stand down the street.

But Johnson never left his spot next to Tarantino's. One of the restaurant owners, Gary Burns, says Johnson shows up around noon with an armload of leafy branches.

"There's got to be some park somewhere in the city that doesn't have any bushes," Burns said, "because he's here every day."

It has to be said that Johnson may have hit upon one of the worst business models ever. He frightens people and then expects them to give him money. The key, says Campbell, is not being startled; it's seeing the next guy.

"We always say you hate him when you're being scared, but you love to see others being scared," Campbell said.

For whatever reason, it seems to have worked. I spoke to Johnson recently, and he was in fine spirits.

"I've been the world-famous Bushman for 36 years," he said. "The cops used to hassle me, but now it has gotten to the point that I am more of an icon than a pest."

Actually, city officials did more than just harass him. Spurred by complaints from merchants, San Francisco District Attorney Kamala Harris charged Johnson with four public nuisance complaints in 2004. Russ Giuntini, the chief assistant district attorney at the time, said some of the tourists didn't think the Bushman act was amusing.

"Oh yeah, the ugga bugga guy," Giuntini said when I called him this week. "He would jump out and scare the crap out of the guy from Nebraska with the red socks and white belt. It was a clash of cultures."

The dispute quickly ballooned to a media event. It eventually led to a four-day jury trial with more than a dozen witnesses, including one who was flown in from Southern California.

Unfortunately, given all the expense and time, the San Francisco jury found the Bushman not guilty on all counts.

"They didn't buy it," Giuntini said. "We kind of got it handed to us."

However, nearly everyone seems to agree that Johnson has toned it down a bit. His "ugga buggas" are not nearly as forceful, and Burns says Johnson has gotten the message to "lay off the kids and the old people."

Burns, whose restaurant is closest to the Bushman's lair, says he is unperturbed by the daily show. He recalls the early '80s when the Automatic Human Jukebox used to be a fixture on the Wharf. The "jukebox" was actually a cardboard refrigerator carton with a sign that said, "Insert coin here." If you did, operator Grimes Poznikov opened a flap and played a tune on a trumpet.

The Bushman isn't as talented, but Burns says he still provides a service when he jumps out and scares people.

"It's a valuable lesson," Burns said. "You're in a big city - you can't trust the bushes."