Ruby

There used to be a music shop at Cross Country Plaza in Columbus.  My parents found it one Saturday and out of the blue asked if I wanted to visit.  Not sure what they were thinking, and probably at times they reflected back and wondered that also.

After an hour in the shop I walked out with a Takimine 12-string and a Epiphone Cortez 6-string.   Left there and went by a pawn shop and bought cases for both “before they get scratched up” Mother said.  I was 15 years-old with two out of tune guitars and no idea how to play them.

“Go see your Uncle Buddy”,  Mother commanded, “he can show you how to tune it.”  So I set off with my Epiphone on the 5-minute walk to Uncle Buddy’s house.  Cross the street, through Aunt Dolly’s pecan orchard, hang a left and walk for 5 minutes.

I dreaded going in that house.  Years earlier I had fallen through a hole in their back porch eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  I lay on the ground with strawberry jelly all over my face and hands.  Once I got to Martin Army Hospital I lay for a while on my stomach with thermometer protruding from my butt cheeks.  Not sure why they took my temperature.  But the memories flooded back as I stepped on the porch.

Two cousins met me on the porch and called back over their shoulders, “daddy, Larry is here with a guitar case asking for you!”  Then the older cousin looked me in the eye and said in a gravelly voice, “you want a sandwich?”  They laughed loudly as they led me into the living room where Uncle Buddy sat puffing on a Camel.

“Watcha got there boy?”, he asked grabbing the case and pulling the guitar I had named Obediah (gift of God).   I explained that I was going to teach myself to play, but I didn’t know how to tune it.   He showed me how to tune using the 5th fret, and then showed me how to pick Wildwood Flower to check the tune.   I still do that 43 years later.

Obediah now lives in Utah, but I still have that Takamine.  Twelve-string guitars aren’t that big now days.  Obadiah was replaced by Ruby several years ago.    Ruby has been a close friend and confidant since I stringed her for my step-dad and brought her home. I kept her wiped down and played her with a smile, just as you would put on a well-worn leather glove on a cold winter day.

My friend Chris is a fellow guitar player, and Ruby spent the summer with him at LaGrange Music Factory.   With school back in session my students began to ask me about Ruby, and why she wasn’t in my classroom.  My 1st, 2nd and 3rd grade students learned to sing Arlo Guthrie’s This Land is Your Land from Ruby.   She was a kind accompanist, smiling at their efforts to pronounce “California” and “New York Islands.”

I finally made it by to ransom Ruby the first week of September.  Chris insisted I play a tune on her before taking her home.  You know I picked Wildwood Flower to check the tune.  The old gal was clean, polished and better than I had ever seen her.  Hearing her was like cold water to a parched throat, soothing.   I think Chris hated to see her go as much I was glad to get my hands on her.

You may be wondering why I call her Ruby.  She is a “Second” Gibson Hummingbird my stepfather got out of pawn for $50.  Her only defect was her neck was mounted to high on the body.  Somewhere the bridge had been adjusted to compensate and keep the strings level.

Thank you Uncle Buddy for looking past family differences and teaching me to pick Wildwood Flower.  I still smell stale coffee and cigarettes when I pick it to check my tune.  No Aunt Mary, I don’t need a peanut better and jelly sandwich with strawberry jam.  I will stick to jamming with Ruby.