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1969 Martin D-28 #250121 I first met this Martin in 1984, in Texas, where fajitas taste better than anywhere on earth and weather blasts in from the gulf like a chapter out of the old testament. Ken had owned the D-28 for several years, and i beseeched him to let me know if he ever decided to part with it, which he did in 1997. Apparently it had met with a dynamic incident involving an iron, and the binding was all smashed on the left waist, and there was a withering crack on the bass side of the neck, between the first and third frets. The back had two sizeable cracks, one of which had been repaired (in a less-than-craftsman-like fashion), the other not at all. The top was also cracked; twin fissures running from either corner of the bridge straight down to the tail block. A mere shell of its former glory, yet still glorious. I’d not seen Ken for several years, though we’d kept in contact with occasional phone calls and the odd letter. He's quirky, Ken, but then so am i, and we became friends during my single Army tour, when Ken was several years into making a first career of the medical branch of the military. He was a cardiac cath tech, and retiring after 20 years in the service, went on to pursue a medical career, which paid well. His hobby was music, and he began acquiring Taylor guitars, having a taste for music suited to the Taylor sound. The Martin was neglected and suffered the aforementioned date with destiny involving an iron. He never did tell me the whole story, though i gathered the iron had been thrown by his first wife, and the wounded guitar afterward only served as reminder of that tense (and soon-to-be defunct) relationship. And so it came to me. It came as a gift. Ken called me one night to tell me it was in transit, having been packaged and shipped via UPS hours before, and that i should expect it in a couple of days. No telling what that guy was going to do. Breezing past the details of its condition, he merely mentioned something about the iron, mainly talking about the Taylors he’d been collecting, and their various traits. I saw some of them once when he visited: beautiful guitars, easy to understand his addiction. Ken was a dabbler, a collector, with an income that allowed such an expensive hobby. He was also generous, and he knew i was not able to afford the guitar-of-my-dreams. Perhaps the sum of generosity plus the circumstances of the iron incident served as sufficient motivation for him to act on the impulse and give me that Martin. On arriving home from work on a Friday, i found the UPS redemption ticket in the front screen door, and quickly drove to the office to claim it. Opening the box (right there in the UPS parking lot) was thrilling and chilling at once, for even in it’s wrecked and thoroughly unplayable state, it was to me a thing of beauty. The spruce top had a deep caramel color from years of solar exposure, and the look of those Brazilian back and sides (this 1969 being one of the last D-28s made with Brazilian, just prior to the famed Martin factory fire) caused me to breathe in quickly, like it always does. But the instrument was unplayable; tuning it up to pitch would have worsened the already looming cracks, possibly rendering it forever a relic rather than a workhorse. From UPS i drove directly to the Guitar Cellar, at that time the best stringed intstrument boutique and repair shop in the city. Chuck Adair was the chief repairman, and i surrendered it to his keep, and for many days knew not the outcome. John Cole, the Guitar Cellar’s owner, called a couple of weeks later to let me know repair had been completed and the guitar was ready for pick-up. The Cellar was a mere two miles from our house then, but for all my anxiousness the drive felt like an hour. Walking through the showroom into the repair area, i felt like a visitor in a temple, invited because of special circumstance to enter the holy-of-holies. Chuck was at the bench, and greeting me, gestured toward the Martin on the center table, laying in its open case, with an envelope slid 'tween the stings and the neck. In a flash i knew the whole story, even before opening it. I'd had a conversation with my sister—who’s been my biggest musical supporter—and mentioned the circumstanses of the guitar coming into my keep, and she had covertly contacted the Guitar Cellar and arranged to cover the cost of the repairs, which i have to imagine was sizeable. In the envelope was a card and note of encouragement and blessing, and as i finished reading it, John handed me the receipt and congratulated me on the new acquisition, as well as evidently having a great sister. I am indeed grateful for both. Chuck had performed some masteful surgery: repaired the various cracks on top and back, mended that nasty fault in the neck, restored the binding, and later set the guitar up for medium (.013-.056) strings, assuring me that it could bear that tension—and it has. It had arrived with .12s, but didn't quite project in accordance with its potential. With the mediums it came alive. All this occurred in early fall of 1997, just as i was completeing work on my second record, which for some reason i titled yer pal mr snake in the grass. I played the D-28 at that album's CD release party, and proceeded to gig heavily with it for the following two years. In 2000, it was featured on Raise Both Hands, an album recorded live in the Saint Elizabeth Cathedral in Norwood, Ohio. The guitar has been incredibly stable, only having two significant repairs since then: re-gluing the bridge and replacing the inner bridge plate, and repairing a treble-side crack in the upper bout. It holds a great tune, has a round organic kind of tone, and will shriek like a banshee when thumped with vigor. A workhorse. For years i used the old Barcus Berry transducer installed by an owner prior to Ken. At the time of this writing, i've installed Seymour Duncan SA-6 pickups in two other guitars, compared with which the Barcus sounds very thin. The brass bridge pins are a recent addition at which collector purists might scoff, but with all its repair scars, this thing is a million miles from showroom. And besides: it sounds better with the brass pins. The aforementioned treble-side upper bout crack has lately become more pronounced, so until properly repaired, i'm not taking the guitar out, though i did some recording with it for we raise up our glasses. If the bout repair goes well, i'll install an SA-6, which will yield far more of the real magic of this fantastic instrument. Thanks again, Ken (and Cindy)! |
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