NNAOPP Update
April 2014
I knew I would be driving through
middle Tennessee near the hometown of the company who built my second favorite
banjo, of the two I own. I had not
bonded with this particular instrument, so I called the number on their website
and told the owner of my concerns, making it clear I was a tyro player.
"Everything sounds too tinny
and bright." I said.
The banjo maker, who I would
later learn had been a first rate performer in the 1960's and 1970's, told me,
"Yes, I've had arch tops, and I'd love them for a period of time, and then
I'd prefer something a little softer.
However, six months later I'd want to return to that harder sound. I have a conversion tone ring on order
that will change an arch top to a flat top. But, I'll forewarn you there will come a time when you'll
want to return to the arch top sound." I told him that I was interested in the conversion kit and
when I might be traveling his way.
A few days later, I received a
package in the mail with a CD featuring my new acquaintance, two hats with his
company's logo, a new set of strings, and a bridge that would lower the action
(the space between the finger board and the strings) on my not-so-beloved
banjo.
Before heading through Tennessee,
I called again and inquired of the status of the conversion kit and confirmed
the date of our rendezvous. He
told me of his difficulties getting the needed parts from the machinists and
chrome plating operations on which he depends, but said, "I'll have
something for you when you arrive."
I called the morning of our
appointment to say, "I'm here."
The man with whom I had now spoken to on three occasions said, "I'm
glad to hear from you because I've got all the pieces to convert your
banjo. I hope you've set aside
some time, because I'm prepared to spend the day with you." He gave me directions, along with a
warning about a speed trap along the way.
I was halfway expecting to meet a
geezer in overalls with a chaw of tobacco wearing a moonshiner hat. But it wasn't to be. Instead, I arrived at a 500-acre estate
nestled in the heart of walking horse country, with a federal style home
overlooking immaculately groomed grounds.
I was directed to two outbuildings on the property comprising the banjo
manufacturing operation.
I was greeted warmly, introduced
to some other guests who quickly departed, and then received the full attention
of my host. I spent the next seven
hours with a man who knew nothing of me other than I had purchased, used, one
of his banjos, and that I had only been playing three years.
My host was a chatty fellow, but
also very interesting. While it is
my nature to want to get on with things quickly, I was sufficiently intrigued
to recognize that this was a time to 'just go with it.'
He said, "Did you get a chance
to walk through the barns?"
Then he took me on a tour of his farming operation including a building
housing dozens of immaculately restored trucks and cars, most impressively
featuring two 1948 International Harvester coal trucks, one red the other
green. His array of large and
small tractors, dozers, backhoes, and assorted other machines was sufficient to
give me a major dose of farm equipment envy.
I said, "You've got a lot of
toys."
To which he replied, "Yes, I
do."
Then it was off to the banjo
operation that was surprisingly small, consisting of two buildings, one the
size of a mobile home and the second the size of a double wide. They contained an immaculate
woodworking and machine shop, a ventilated paint/varnish room, assembly area
and storage. He walked me through
the entire process of building a quality banjo including how he shapes the
necks, sets the pearl inlays on the fingerboards, builds the resonators, etc.
He demonstrated the nuances in
sound between walnut, mahogany, and maple necks and trim and chrome, gold and
nickel-plated tone rings.
Walnut/chrome (what I have) creates a bright, bold sound. Maple/gold plated is softer and more
melodic. The tone ring, the metal
piece that clamps the head down on the frame of the banjo, is the most critical
piece of the puzzle. He said,
"When I started to make banjos in the early 1970's I focused my attention
on the tone ring. I would start
with a relatively heavy casting, assemble the banjo, play it, shave 1/10 of an
ounce off, re-assemble, and play again.
I'd do that until I thought I hit the sweet spot, note the weight, and
then keep going."
I said, "Are you self taught
at building banjos?"
He expounded, "Yes and
no. I knew a lot, but I didn't
know how much I didn't know until I hired a genius from Gibson. He had learned from the masters who
built the Gibson banjos in the 1930's and helped me take our craftsmanship to a
higher level."
He said, "I'm sure glad you
showed up, because I made two extra trips to Nashville to get these castings
machined and chromed for you.
Let's take a look at your banjo."
He picked it up and started
playing. In his hands my banjo
sounded like the most perfect instrument ever created. He said good-naturedly but sternly,
"It would be a crime to convert this banjo to a flat top. This is one of the best sounding arch
tops I've ever made. Are you sure you want to change it?" Until this point in time, I had little
appreciation for the distinction in tone created by one skilled v. one
deficient in such matters. I gave
pause, and he added, "You will be a much better banjo player if you learn
on an arch top. It will force you
to play more crisply. You'll hear
every mistake you make."
"And that is a good
thing?"
"Yes, it is."
It was noonish, and he said,
"I'll call my wife, and we'll take you to lunch." She drove down from their home, and we
were introduced while he went off to give some instructions to a part-time farm
mechanic.
We drove along a winding country
road to nearby Bell Buckle, TN to dine.
During the course of our trip we chatted amiably. They mentioned that they were both from
the coal country of southwestern Virginia near the Tennessee/Kentucky border
and were married at age 19. I
mentioned my basic training tussle with a redheaded 'Deliverance-like' boy from
the hills of eastern Tennessee. My
host's wife commented, without a molecule of mirth, "You are very lucky to
be alive to tell the tale." She went on to say, "Growing up in that
region, you learned early to stay way from those folks. They are born with a rifle in their
hands, and they'll use it."
Bell Buckle is an old railroad
village of preserved and restored Victorian homes and churches. The Bell Buckle
Cafe features a giant display of Moon Pies for $.91 and terrific food. I enjoyed a tasty lunch of chicken
fried steak, pickled beets, black eyed peas, oatmeal cake, and coffee. The place was packed and for good
reason.
I offered to pick up the tab for
our lunch, but my hosts' would not hear of that. "You may not pass this
way again, so I've set aside the day to show you around my shop, introduce you
to my collection, and I'll give you a lesson while we're at it." And he proceeded to do all of the
above. And this man did not know
me from Adam.
He started playing banjo at age
5. I asked him how he got
interested in banjo at such a young age.
"My uncle was a serious player, and he left his banjo around and
encouraged me to play around with it if I wanted to. And I did." I told him of one of my grandson's
interests in sitting in my lap and strumming along, and he said, "Just
leave a banjo near him and let him know he's welcome to pick it up. The worst he can do is break a few
strings." (I didn't argue the
point, but three days after this conversation I was attending my twin
grandson's 4th birthday party, where I was to provide the accompaniment for a
game of musical chairs. I left my
banjo in its case in the presence of a few small boys and later espied one of
them trying to ride it like a rocking horse.)
I mentioned an article I read in
the WSJ saying it takes about 10,000 hours to become accomplished with an
instrument. He responded with the
following anecdote. "A fellow
once encountered Chet Atkins, possibly the best guitar player ever, and said,
'I'd give anything to play as well at you.' And Chet responded,
'would you give your life?'"
In 1969, Earl Scruggs and Lester
Flatt split up their band, the Foggy Mountain Boys. Lester needed a banjo player to replace Earl, and he offered
my host the job. He declined, and
I inquired, "Why?"
He said, "Lester offered me
$200 a week, but I was making many times more than that with my coal mine. In addition to being a banjo maker and
performer, I would learn that I was dining with a tycoon with a degree in
electrical engineering. He and his
wife have owned coal mines, apple orchids, radio stations, and cell phone
towers, all dwarfing the banjo business in dollars, if not in passion.
After lunch, we took a tour of
his mountain on which one of his cell towers stands. He told me of the necessity of getting a DC law firm
specializing in FCC matters when negotiating with Verizon or ATT. If one were to judge this man by
his dress or dialect, he would severely underestimate his sophistication.
After the mountain tour we went
to his studio situated above his four-car garage. Four banjos were on stands in the middle of the room along
with two guitars, a piano, and a standup bass. Two of the banjos were 1934 and 1935 Gibsons, gold-plated
and engraved, possibly the most valuable banjos that exist. One of them was previously owned by
Earl Scruggs and was used in the recording of his Foggy Mountain Breakdown
album. The two guitars were
pre-WWII Martins. A nearby closet
contained about 50 pre-WWII banjos of varying makes including a Gibson
Florentine and several Degas. I
noticed a photo dating back to the 1960's of my host jamming with Jerry Garcia,
John McKuen, and Steve Martin. I
was duly impressed.
He played a few tunes for me and
rhapsodized about times past performing in the 60's. He picked a catchy version of "Puff the Magic
Dragon", first on one of the Martin guitars and then on the 1934 Gibson
banjo and said, "I would introduce this song by saying, 'now we're going
to play some hard core bluegrass.'
Folks loved it. We'd get
our biggest applause of the evening."
Then he said, "Okay, it's
time for a lesson. Get out your
banjo." He listened and
watched me play a few tunes. He
winced slightly when I mentioned the beginning instructional books I'd been
using. Then he had me mimic a few
rolls he played, each a little more complicated than before, and then he
declared, "You have what it takes to become a banjo player."
We went into his recording
studio, and he put an Earl Scruggs record on a turntable. He slowed it down, and played along,
then speeded it up. Then he put on
one of his records and did the same thing. "See how crisp that sounds, at both slow speeds and
fast? Spend time trying to play
these songs in time with the record.
Start real slow, and then get up to speed."
He gave me some helpful tips,
showed me how to replace broken strings rapidly, as if one were on stage, but
mostly he encouraged me in my quest.
Although he had incurred a
significant expenditure of time and money getting a conversion kit ready for
me, I decided to follow his advice and leave my Walnut Deluxe arch top
unaltered. I offered to compensate
him, but he declined. "I'll
be able to sell those kits to someone else."
As I was leaving, his wife came
out of their house to bid farewell.
They gave me directions to the interstate. I left in a state of bewilderment with my arch top in tact.
*****
Sales of NNAOPP continue to
trickle in and are now up to 1,294.
If you're in their respective neighborhoods, please patronize the
Sanibel Bookshop and Bruce Smith Drugstore. They continue to be my best selling venues. I've been invited to speak to a Rotary
group in a few weeks, so I haven't gone completely dormant. Best wishes to all.
Chuck
Charles A. Wells, Jr.
3317 W. 68th Street
Shawnee Mission, KS 66208
816 289-1924
Author of: Nude Nuns and Other Peculiar People
Follow my blog at: http://www.nudenuns.blogspot.com
Available at:
Rainy Day Books, 2706 W. 53rd Street, Fairway, KS
The Raven Bookstore, 8 East 7th, Lawrence, KS
Architectural Salvage, 2045 Broadway, Kansas City, MO
Sanibel Island Bookshop, 1571 Periwinkle, Sanibel, FL
Twisted Sisters Eclectic Gifts and Floral, Albany, MO
Bruce Smith Drug Store, Prairie Village,
KS
