Army Gear

I can't remember what happened to the Cort violin shaped guitar; it must have stayed in Manhattan. Probably at the pawn shop. When I returned to the Hays area I had a blond Les Paul Junior double cutaway. The peg head had been broken off and crudely glued back on. I found it at one of the pawn shops in Ogdon near the entrance to Ft. Riley, I believe. The Junior was playable, but it didn't like to stay in tune. I needed something better so I went back to Hays Music. I guess I'd established a not so reliable reputation with the people there, but I was able to come away with a new Danelectro that seemed decent enough for the low cost. The lipstick tube pickups had a pretty cool sound. For some reason I cut a hole in the back of it and installed the guts from a Maestro Fuzztone inside the guitar. I'm not sure of exactly what I was trying to accomplish, but I'm sure I had the first guitar around here with a built in effect.

The Danelectro was what I had when I was drafted in May of 1968. I didn't take it to boot camp, but I must have had it in Alabama for advanced training. At the Redstone Arsenal Missile and Munitions Center and School (also NASA headquarters at the time) a couple of other trainees and I started the first trio I ever joined. It's very difficult to make any definite plans in the Army. Uncle Sam has a way of imposing his own agenda, but I think we were able to play a few gigs. Mostly at the EM club on base. We called ourselves the Post Toasties (a pun on Army post).

A buddy asked me if I wanted to visit his hometown of Chicago during Christmas break that year. Hell yeah, I wanted to go to Chicago! He introduced me to the first hippies I ever met. They introduced me to brown rice, incense, herbal medicine, In-A-Godda-Da-Vida, and lots of lots of other cool stuff. The riots at the Democratic Convention had happened that spring and they were still all fired up about it. It was very heady stuff for a Kansas hayseed. Then the most amazing thing happened. I had been introduced to a gentleman named John Mellar, who actually owned the apartment building where the hippies lived. John was a successful research engineer, who just happened to be enamored with the counter culture. He immediately developed a particular fondness for me and enjoyed sharing the many cultural aspects of Chicago. He knew where the most incredible little hole in the wall museums, galleries, and shops were located as well as the mainstream tourist attractions. We visited the Museum of Science and Industry, Chicago Art Museum, Planetarium, Old Town and dozens of other places. One place just held relics from the Great Chicago Fire.

One day John decided that I needed a better guitar. He said if I gave him my Danelectro he'd buy me something nicer. It seemed like a fair trade to me. We went to a Manny's Guitar Center that was managed by a friend of John's. Then he said, "Get whatever you want." My head seemed to spin for a minute. I said, "What?" He said, "Find one you like and it's yours." I don't think I've ever been faced with a more challenging decision. I finally settled on a cherry red Epiphone Casino. The same model that John Lennon famously removed the finish from and favored in those days, although it was unknown to me at the time.

I took the Casino to Germany and it shared the really formative years with me. That guitar and I taught each other a lot. It remains the only Gibson type, semi-hollow body I've ever owned until recently. While in Germany I answered an add in a local music store. It turned out to be some German high school students looking for a guitar player. They were affable enough, if not quite accomplished as musicians. None of them were very good at English, either. It made things sort of difficult. Once, when they weren't familiar with a song I'd suggested, I said, "Aw, just fake it." The leader, Ollie, pointed toward the upstairs and said, "Shhh, my father will hear!" I guess he thought fake it meant something else. They didn't have a name and I suggested OUR OWN, and drew the logo out in large block letters. For one reason or the other I didn't stay with that band long, but about a year later I saw a hand bill advertising a show featuring OUR OWN. I smiled, they'd kept the name.

When I shipped home from Germany I had to put my guitar in hold baggage. We landed at JFK International and went to claim our bags. Everything was there except my guitar. " Hey, where's my guitar?" Puzzled looks and scratched heads. It's late at night and we're the only arrival. The place is pretty much deserted. It was in the hold when we took off. This can't be that difficult. Then I notice a few pieces on a carousel way at the other end of the terminal. I run that direction, and half way there I see my guitar. Something's obviously wrong, though. Up close I see the damage. Some bastard's ran over the tip of my case with a fork lift. I see the tread marks.

The tuning head is smashed to pieces. There's no hope of repair. What's with the heads breaking off these damned Gibsons, anyway! I'm furious. I go to customer service and complain loudly. Demanding to know what they're going to do about my beloved Epiphone. No, I didn't purchase insurance. I'm informed that hold baggage is insured for 50 cents a pound. That makes my Casino worth about $10. Do I want to file a claim? Oh God, I just want out of here. It was 1971 and that was the beginning of a period of inactivity that lasted until about 1975. I think I had a little Stella beginner's acoustic that a girl gave me during that period. It was her first and only guitar. She never played it, and I didn't play it much. Not that I didn't want to play. I just sort of lost my direction for a while after the Army.