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Be Who You Are
 Robert John Burck was born in Cincinnati, Ohio. He graduated from the University of Cincinnati in 1995 with a degree in political science. He left Middle America in search of the American dream, hoping to become a supermodel. Like most naïve youths, he wound up disappointed and frustrated.
Burck had a millisecond appearance on Baywatch and even scored a couple of shoots in Playgirl. He still has a photo portfolio that makes him look like every star from a young Robert Redford to a modern day Brad Pitt to a prime-time Kurt Russell. But it didn't get him far at first.
He used to have various "entertainment" businesses of his own where he might dance or strip, but never prostitute, he said. He even did the gay club circuit for a while, but it was the wrong direction. One time, he and his then-girlfriend Carla, also a stripper at the time, went on the Jerry Springer show posing as prostitutes just for the exposure. But it all led to nothing.
"One day in 1998, when I was out in Venice Beach, California," he said, "I was a bit bummed out with how things had been going for me out there, so I decided to go out on the pier with my guitar. I dressed like a cowboy and played a little bit, and I made about a dollar. No one even looked at me."
Then, Burck decided to take the advice of a friend and go out in nothing but his underwear. Suddenly people began to notice.
"I made $100 and a TV crew came out and filmed me," he said. And so it began.
Burck went back home and pondered his existence. With the help of books and singing lessons, he started to put it all together. Tours across the country and back were frequent - Vegas, Nashville, New Orleans, Daytona, Jacksonville - stopping everywhere to drop trou and play a couple ditties he wrote called
"Baby I'm Crazy," "Balls of Steel," and, of course, "Naked Cowboy."
Times Square
 "I am going to be the greatest success story of all time," Burck said as we pulled into the parking garage one block west of Times Square. He has a VIP spot - the very first spot as soon as you enter the lot. Everyone working in there knew him, waving him in with smiles on their faces.
He hopped out of the truck and went around to the back. Within 20 seconds in a Clark Kent-to-Superman type transformation, Robert Burck went from cowboy to Naked Cowboy.
Off went the sneakers and shorts. On went the boots and hat. He grabbed his guitar and was on his way. Before we even reached the street, people stopped and gawked, heads turning, fingers pointing.
"You got to be kidding me!" yelled a woman. "Where's a camera when you need one?"
Nude Dude
When the Cowboy arrived, a line of over 250 people alongside an adjacent midtown theatre threw up a throng of cheers. Everyone was yelling, clapping, whistling - "I love you, Naked Cowboy!" and "You rock, baby!" Hot dog vendors, drivers and policemen stopped to look.
It was 16 degrees out, according to a flashing neon Times Square sign.
"What about getting sick?" I asked lamely. "Don't you ever get sick?"
The Naked Cowboy looked at me and said, "Sick? Nope, I don't believe in it."
He crossed Seventh Avenue and crossed into his own immortality. The realm that existed in his own head became, in the middle of Manhattan, the world's reality as well.
Paparazzi
 Immediately, the Naked Cowboy was mobbed by fans.
"Drop a dollar in the guitar," he directed. "You get two for a buck!" He turned his backside to the cameras, striking a pose with his head tilted back, guitar flared out, and muscles contracted, his arm curled in the air. Across the back of his tight white undies, it said, "Naked Cowboy" in red, white and blue.
With each fresh crossing of tourists, commuters and residents, his popularity built. People who have seen everything are still shocked to see a man in his briefs in the middle of Times Square.
A cameraman from the Daily News presented himself and grabbed a traffic cop to pose with him. Schoolgirls stuffed dollars into his boots, which have "TIPS" painted down the sides.
At one point, Burck momentarily declined requests for photos, reached into his guitar, and grabbed a bunch of dollar bills. He stepped into the crowd and reached out, grabbing a man and pulled him to the side. The man was homeless, dressed in tattered clothes.
The Naked Cowboy gave him the money, saying, "Get warm and stay well." The man was astonished. Twenty minutes had passed since we first stepped outside. Parts of the Naked Cowboy were turning blue. Finally, he tipped his hat to bid adieu. Still, people ran up and hugged him. "Just one more shot, please, I love you!" a woman wailed.
As we made our way back toward the garage, cars honked, drivers waved, and the Naked Cowboy grinned ear to ear.
"Well, that's one way to make living," a woman was overheard saying.
A street vendor turned to her. "Lady," he said, "I'm here every day, and I can tell you one thing - that man is a freaking genius."
Burck had earned $50 in 25 minutes. Earlier he had told me he could make over $1,000 in 10 hours on a summer day, only now I believed him.
Back at the Ranch
At the car, the Naked Cowboy hustled to get dressed.
"I've got nothing to prove anymore," he said. "When I can't feel my fingers anymore, it's time to go."
According to the Cowboy, that was day number 1,746 performing in Times Square. When I asked whether he considers himself a singer, model, actor, or street performer, he answered with none of the above.
"I am king of Planet Earth," he said.
Huh?
"You have to see the big picture here. I am going to be the wealthiest man this world has ever seen. I am going to do this 'til the day I die."
He added, "I have been on Leno, Letterman, Howard Stern...I flew out to Cali last month and shot a Pepsi commercial with Beyoncé. And I tell you what, the checks are rolling in."
"You know," I said, "You need an agent, or someone to keep tabs of the royalties and whatnot that's due you."
"Nah, man," he laughed. He pulled a manuscript from under his seat as we got back in the truck. "These are the Naked Cowboy Dialogues. You can read them on my website (www.nakedcowboy.com), but look right here." He thumbed to the middle. "Here, read that."
It was his mantra about commercialization, about marketing himself, and it stated that through profiting, he would also be stolen from.
"See that," he said. "I've already made room for that in my life. It's going to happen. But that's not the way I live. I have 24 hours a day to do whatever I want. I have a car, I have a bank account, I go where I want, I have what I need."
I sat in silence for a minute as the tunnel spat us back into Jersey.
"So I get it," I said. "Eventually all those checks will add up, and you'll be a millionaire through many smaller incomes, right?"
"No, you don't get it, man," he said. "It's not about the money. It's about being happy and making others happy. That's what today, and every day, is all about."
Skeptically, I sized up the man. I wondered what all the talk was about wealth and success if it didn't really matter to him. I wondered why I saw glimpses of a regular guy having fun mixed in with the fanatical sides of motivation and ambition. I wondered why I saw signs of a mild psychosis mixed in with pure genius. And then all at once, I realized something else.
This guy had balls.
He had some act. He was hilarious, in fact. The day had been a great adventure and experience for me, and the Naked Cowboy has one of those every day. Every person we saw that day was smiling and waving hello - in the middle of Manhattan!
We hopped out of the car, and Burck dumped some CDs and postcards on me.
"Pass 'em around," he said. I could only laugh. I understood the code.
"Naked Cowboy," I said, offering him my hand, "stay warm dude."
"Keep smiling," he said. "I'm sure I'll see you on the other side."
Yes, on the other side.
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