Thirty-one years ago my wife and I were newlyweds. with lots of love, not much money, used cars, new jobs. I was also working on becoming a better guitarist, but the action on my pawn shop import was slowing my progress.
Our idea of a weekend getaway back then was a bouncy ride in our AMC Hornet to Galesburg, Illinois, a fading railroad town whose wide brick streets, leafy elms and big front porches have been revisited by writers as diverse as poet Carl Sandburg (“A Prairie Town”) and science fiction author Jack Finney (“Time After Time,” “I Love Galesburg in the Springtime”). In those days it was still the kind of town that burned-out accountants escaped to in Twilight Zone episodes.
The itinerary on those outings was simple: lunch at a restaurant in a converted packing house, a little window shopping along Seminary Street, maybe some ice cream, then a breezy drive home — windows down, glove-box cassette deck blaring, Nancy and I laughing and talking over the music and road noise, riding through the last years of youth.
This day was special for me because I returned home with what has become a symbol of our happy, harmonious marriage: a 1935 Gibson L-00, gently used, light as a model plane, fast V-neck — with a $125-dollar price tag. It’s hard to believe now, but I almost walked away from it. I knew little about American guitars back then; the Japanese boxes, especially second hand, were a lot cheaper. But the big “G” in the silk-screened headstock logo caught my eye, so I asked the two young Saturday clerks what they knew about the little sunburst.
“It’s on consignment. You can call the guy.” I dialed the number and spoke with an old gent (about as old as I am now), who got the guitar as a high school graduation present in 1936, but never played it much. Nancy walked in after I hung up the phone, and I told her the story. Then I surprised even myself by saying I didn’t need to spend a month’s rent on another guitar. The Yamaha at home still had all the strings on it and stayed in tune fairly well.
Nancy looked at the guitar, then at me, and said the words that can seal a partnership almost as firmly as “I do.”
“If you really want it, you should get it. We can skimp on something else.”
The years have been good to us, and to the L-00. That early skimping that followed its purchase helped us learn to save, and then later to share. Our love is still strong, and thanks to an occasional tune-up from my luthier friend, Mike, the Gibson sounds sweeter than ever. I give it a workout several times a month at nursing home and coffee houses. Sometimes I rest it and pick up one of my other favorite “story guitars,” like a 1966 Fender Villager 12-string that was owned, signed and maybe even played by Ramblin’ Jack Elliott, or the wonderfully tacky La Domino Big Boy archtop that was pressed into shape by Regal in Chicago before I was born, or the sweet little 1956 (first year for the model, made in New York) Guild F20 that Mike reconstructed for me recently. The price of each of these exceeded that of the Gibson, but by today’s prices they’re all cheapos.
The dumbest thing I’d do again? Replacing the old and ornery Kluson Deluxe tuners on the L-00. And no, I wasn’t smart enough to keep the originals. If I had been, I’d have a collector’s item I might be tempted to sell someday. Instead, I’ve got a guitar to play and play again down through the years, reminding me always that I’m one lucky guy. –Paul Cioe
——
Have a good guitar tale you’d like to share? Whether it’s a brush with greatness, an instrument you want to show & tell or just a barnyard find, we’re all ears. Mail it to us at fretboardjournal@gmail.com along with some low-resolution photos. If we select your story for the website, you’ll get a free one year extension to your subscription. Note: we read every submission but may not have time to respond to each submission right away. –The FJ
