Who’s the guy who dances at an Austin street corner?

From KUT:

Artie Abello doesn’t remember exactly when he first saw him.

It was a few years ago, when he and his wife were living in South Austin. They were driving through the intersection at South First Street and Barton Springs Road.

“Yeah, we noticed this person — dancing, rapping, having the time of their lives,” Abello said.

They would go through this intersection a lot and see him all the time.

In a city known for its characters, this man stood out. He was always dressed in flashy street clothes, holding a microphone.

But he wasn’t just hanging out on the corner. There was no sign plugging his Instagram. No Venmo code asking for money.

Could it be: a dude who was genuinely just out there for fun?

“We were just interested: how are you having such a great time?” asked Abello. “I’m sure some other people wonder: what are you up to?”

So Abello asked KUT’s ATXplained to find out.

‘I’m not crazy’

His name is Broderick James, Jr. — though he also goes by PTK, short for either “Prime Time King” or “Positive Thinking Kingpin of Weird.”

He gets to the corner a little after 5 p.m., in time for rush hour. He stays all evening to dance, sing, rap, wave to cars that pass and hug people he’s gotten to know.

“By now, everybody know I’m not crazy,” Broderick said. “I’m nowhere near crazy!”

But, he might be a little obsessed. He said he’s out on this corner more than 300 days out of the year.

A lot of what he does is more like pantomime. The microphone doesn’t do anything. It’s just a prop. He silently raps or sings along with the music in his headphones.

He calls it invisible theater.

“Invisible theater means everybody is my audience,” Broderick said. “I got 2 minutes to impress. So in that 2 minutes, I might get a couple people who will look my way. That’s the audience.”

Every few minutes, someone stopped at the light rolls down their window and shouts at him. These are the moments when Broderick really comes alive.

A man in a car shouts: “That’s my man!”

Broderick hollers back: “I love you, man!”

The guy in the car responds: “I love you, too, bro!”

‘Replace your pain’

Broderick is 46 years old. He grew up in Atlanta. After high school, he joined the Army. He got married and had kids.

But about 20 years ago, Broderick was having some problems. His marriage fell apart. He went to jail. He was having mental health problems. Things were so bad, Broderick thought about taking his own life.

He spent some time in psychiatric treatment, where a doctor there gave him some advice.

“She told me ‘you gotta find a way to replace your pain and what you went through … you gotta find something in the community to do or in the world to do that can make you feel just like that pain made you feel, in reverse,’” Broderick said.

When he got out of treatment, he did find something.

If you’ve been around Austin long enough, you might remember Broderick as the “Rundberg Running Man.”

He performed at the intersection of North Lamar and Rundberg — and became a mascot for the neighborhood. His superpower was positivity.

But over time, he said it became more than just running and dancing. People wanted him to be more of a leader and help solve problems.

He was more interested in being an artist.

So, he left. But he needed another spot.

‘This is my lifeline’

In 2022, Broderick moved to an apartment in South Austin. One day, he came out to the intersection at Barton Springs Road and South First Street. He stood on the northeast corner and looked out. He knew this was the place.

“I saw this as my sanctuary,” he said. “I was like, ‘This is where I’m going to perform until I die.”

If the “Rundberg Running Man” was about inspiring a community, Broderick’s new character isn’t too far off. But he says this version is the spiritual descendant of Leslie Cochran, the cross-dressing, thong-wearing icon of Austin weirdness in the late ’90s and 2000s, who died in 2012.

“I honor the king. He’s the peak,” Broderick said. “You can’t have anything without a foundation. I’m on his foundation. This is weird Austin, this is Leslie Austin. I get a chance to continue his legacy.”

Broderick is not always having such a great time, though. Some days he just doesn’t have the energy. But still he comes out and gives it what he does have.

“I’m not saying I’m giving them what they’re looking for, but I’m giving them something I guess to make them say ‘maybe this is enough’ to keep going. Because that’s what the world wants. People want to be encouraged,” he said. “Give them a reason not to give up.”

There’s a danger to doing any kind of public performance, at least as Broderick sees it. There’s no doubt he’s charismatic. He radiates confidence and positivity. Just spending a few hours with him makes you want to be a better neighbor.

He said people wonder why he’s performing on the street. Doesn’t he want to be more than this?

He recalls a time when a woman in fancy business clothes stopped and asked him if there was anything she could do to help him become more or fulfill his vision.

He didn’t have an answer, but he kept thinking about it. Now, if someone asked that question again, he said the answer would be “no.” The vision, he said, is already fulfilled.

In a city where people want you to be more — be bigger — maybe the invisible theater is enough.

“I love the smallness of my name,” Broderick said. “You got the stars for big. I want to be small, compact. You can pull up on me and say you love me. That’s what I want to be.”

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