Chapter 8

Trying to keep up with my first life, I bought a guitar. I will have to say ... I bought a much better guitar this time than I did the last time. Last time, my first guitar was made in Mexico ... by clumsy green leprechaun apprentices who had yet to learn the rule of twelve.

There was a crack from the sound hole to the neck join. Did I say crack? I AM sorry. Chasm comes to mind ... gully works, too ... even canyon was more fitting than crack. The wood surely came from a balsa tree because it had no resonating qualities whatsoever. But I got a deal because of the crack: $22. I loved that guitar.

This time I bought a 1950 German Herman Hauser fan braced rosewood. Brand new. Hauser died in 1952 but new examples of his work were still to be had ... for a price. When I found it at Marshal Music on Washington Ave in Lansing, it was in an open fitted hardshell guitar case in a locked glass display case with a price tag that said 'ASK' ... so I did.

"You can't afford it," the salesman said. I was in my typical summer uniform ... Red Balls, white sox, war surplus British desert tan shorts and shirt, and a starched stiff Deutsches Afrikakorps desert tan Corporals cap. Very classy. NOT.

"The label on the guitar said ask ... I'm asking ... or fetch your manager."

The manager was summoned ... there was a slight confusion about employment. The salesman thought he worked there and the manager said he didn't.

"Now that that's settled, David ... you play?"

"No ... I want to learn."

"This is a really expensive guitar to learn on. Are you sure? We have student models that are under a hundred."

I had to blame it on somebody, so I said, "Daddy told me the more I spend the guiltier I'll feel if I don't practice."

"Well ... you can't get much more guilty than this."

I paid half a weeks allowance for the Hauser. Half a weeks allowance was 20 weeks wages for a line worker at Oldsmobile.

I traded the new case for a used case and walked to the Continental Trailways bus station for my ride home. (Why did I trade a shiny new leather hard case for a beat-up leather case? If you're from Lansing ... you know.) The bus was full of college kids heading north ... heading for fun.

It's only a few blocks from the Saint Johns bus station to my house but the driver let me out at the Shell gas station on M-21. Half a block and I was home. Grace was studying for next year. She was like that.

"David?"

"Grace?"

"What are you going to do with that?"

"Play it."

She was sitting down ... that was good ... at least she didn't fall and crack her tailbone. WSM (Wicked Step Mom AKA Lucile.) rushed from the kitchen ... the obscenely loud and raucous noise brought her running.

"David? What have you done to your sister?" she asked ... then she noticed what I was carrying. "What on earth... ?"

"I'm going to play it."

Now there were two evil wenches on the couch laughing uncontrollably.

Disgusting.

Grandmother Austin soon joined them.

If this keeps up ... I'll have a couch full. There is nothing so humiliating as a passel of women laughing at you.

Ah, yes ... the new secretary ... my life is complete.