Thoughts at Large

January 24, 2013

Mother Nature gifted us with an unusual middle of January in Geauga County. Instead of battling typical mountains of snow, suddenly, we were treated to spring-like temperatures.

My nephew, Justin, suggested a Sunday trip to celebrate the good weather. He wanted to visit the Ohio Guitar Show, sponsored by Guitar Digest Magazine. This event was to be held at the Aladdin Shrine Temple Complex, on Stelzer Road, in Columbus.

My last interaction with a collection of vintage instruments was at the home of Cleveland hero Dennis Chandler, a few years ago. So pondering the opportunity to attend this show made me smile.

Justin, younger nephew Steven, and I left early in the morning. Because I was working late, this required figuring out the alarm setting on my iPhone. But it was a worthwhile chore. I managed to arrive early at their home in Hambden.

While making the trek down I-71, I entertained them with stories of my past guitar conquests. Many thrift stores, flea markets, garage sales and music shops had contributed to my familiarity with plectrum instruments. But of particular distinction was Art Covert’s pawn shop, in Painesville.

I reflected on his notable selection of guitars, from the 1980’s: a vintage Mosrite Celebrity 12-string hollow-body electric; Gretsch Country Gentleman; Gibson Barney Kessel; and an Ampeg Dan Armstrong with the clear Lucite body. None of these axes was tagged over $500. Sadly, at the time, I worked for Fisher’s Big Wheel. So buying even one of these relics was out of the question. In modern terms, this group would be worth many thousands of dollars. The Chicago Music Exchange currently had a 1968 Kessel model listed for $4295, for example. The Music Zoo boasted a Dan Armstrong six-string available for the meager sum of $2699.

“If only Doctor Who could give me a lift,” I observed. “I’d get those guitars and time-travel back to the future!”

We had to struggle for a parking space at the Shriner temple. I noted a car with California plates, while circling the parking lot. Eventually, a spot became visible far from the entrance, in a sea of gravel and mud.

Even in the lobby, vendors were hawking guitars. Cases were opened and closed with cautious rapidity, in clandestine bids for purchase. Wads of cash changed hands while those involved tried to hide the deed from other buyers. I squinted for a glimpse of the articles on sale.

When we entered the arena itself, there was a rush of emotions. Tables of collector pluckables were everywhere. Gibson, Fender, Rickenbacker, Danelectro, Harmony, Kay, National, Bigsby and so many others.

Not far into the menagerie, I spied a Dan Armstrong bass. Its see-through body sparkled like the one I had described to my nephews. Then, a 1964 Gibson SG Custom with three pickups met our eyes. And a Mosrite Ventures model. Even a 1958 Fender Stratocaster valued at nearly $30,000. Each vendor’s stand offered something new. Stained-glass artwork, carved tops, or hand-painted designs.

But the axe that captured my attention was one more humble in character. In a remote corner of the show, behind boxes of industry magazines, was a student-sized Stella flat-top acoustic. The kind of guitar that so many used as a student model during the 50’s and 60’s.

I was amazed by the blue-collar relic. It stood alone on a table of newsprint and accessories. Even the seller himself seemed confused by my obvious interest.

“Every guitarist has had a Stella in their life,” I reflected. “Whether one of their own, or something held by a neighbor or friend. My grandparents had a Stella in their front room. Every kid who passed through the house played that guitar. Later, I got one of my own. And my compadre Archer had one. They were a universal talisman of our generation.”

I recalled that my Stella had cost around $10, with a chipboard case. The vendor took out his iPhone, and tapped an icon for eBay. He pointed to a listing that insisted upon $325 for a particularly pristine model.

I was speechless. The legacy of this bygone twanger seemed secure.

Stella was originally a brand of some distinction, I explained, after a meaningful pause. Blues legend Leadbelly played one of their 12-string instruments. So did Charley Patton. Oscar Schmidt of Jersey City, N.J., produced every model. But after the Great Depression, they were forced by financial hardship to sell their fretted instrument division to the Harmony company of Chicago. Thereafter, Stella became a student-grade brand used by many fledgling artists.

Justin and Steven had disappeared into the crowd while I talked with the vendor. Suddenly, I was lost in a sea of musicians, collectors, groupies and roadies. The moment provided an opportunity to pause and take photos of the event as a whole. From my vantage point in a far corner of the room, the vast acreage of equipment on display was truly impressive to consider. Quietly, I wished that my own Rock & Roll odyssey had produced more than a few short years of youthful abandon.

Then, my phone chimed with a message.

“We’re over here, Uncle Rod,” it read. “By the entrance.” They were wondering where I had gone.

When we reached the car, it was 71 degrees outside. Truly, a day in January like no other. Now, it was time to go home to Geauga County, USA… and begin working on my next newspaper column.