Geezerjohn
Fractal Fanatic
Love the nostalgia threads. Really got me reminiscing about the heady days of my youth. That got me thinking about what I went through to get my first real guitar.
I started playing on a POS garage sale acoustic with a hole in the sound board. I was already hooked on guitar after playing trumpet and piano for a little while. I went downtown and stopped by the local music store (Bandstand Music in Westfield NJ). There, hanging in the window was a bright red Hagstrom electric guitar (pictured in the "First Guitar and Amp" thread). Once I saw that, I was smitten. Had to get it. Problem was the usual, no money. I went to my parents and asked (begged) but my dad was like a stone wall. He agreed to pay for half of it, but not a cent more. So, I needed a job. My "half" of the guitar was $60.
I found a job at the local YMCA. I was the custodian's helper. For those of you who understand corporate hierarchy, is there ANY position lower than the custodian's helper? Answer is NO. Who gets to rake leaves and shovel snow in the bone chilling NJ wind, the custodian or the custodian's helper? Who gets to clean the bathroom after some guy ate too many Clark Bars and played too much basketball, the custodian or the custodian's helper? My first "project" was to clean the boiler room. No person had cleaned the boiler room since Gettysburg. Took several days just to organize the stacks of Playboy magazines. You get the idea. I was paid 0.25 cents per hour. Yep. Four hours work to earn 1 dollar. Probably explains why I have so little sympathy for the people that whine about their minimum wage.
But I digress. You would think that trying to earn the first $10 would be discouraging, but you would be wrong. The first $10 was a walk in the park. It's the last $10 that was nerve wracking. It got so bad that I did not even want to go downtown because I just knew my prize Hagstrom would be gone. Still my father was steadfast insisting that I earn my half before we got the guitar. So I kept working. Yes, I finally had the entire amount, so my dad took me to the Bandstand, and there it was, still hanging in the window. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, she was mine.
There is an even better end to my tale. I was well into my 30's when while visiting my folks, my dad confessed that he had actually bought the guitar and asked the Bandstand owner to just keep the guitar hanging in the window. In his words, "I thought it would be good for you". I buried my dad in 1994. The world needs more men like him. He was 100% right. it was good for me.
I started playing on a POS garage sale acoustic with a hole in the sound board. I was already hooked on guitar after playing trumpet and piano for a little while. I went downtown and stopped by the local music store (Bandstand Music in Westfield NJ). There, hanging in the window was a bright red Hagstrom electric guitar (pictured in the "First Guitar and Amp" thread). Once I saw that, I was smitten. Had to get it. Problem was the usual, no money. I went to my parents and asked (begged) but my dad was like a stone wall. He agreed to pay for half of it, but not a cent more. So, I needed a job. My "half" of the guitar was $60.
I found a job at the local YMCA. I was the custodian's helper. For those of you who understand corporate hierarchy, is there ANY position lower than the custodian's helper? Answer is NO. Who gets to rake leaves and shovel snow in the bone chilling NJ wind, the custodian or the custodian's helper? Who gets to clean the bathroom after some guy ate too many Clark Bars and played too much basketball, the custodian or the custodian's helper? My first "project" was to clean the boiler room. No person had cleaned the boiler room since Gettysburg. Took several days just to organize the stacks of Playboy magazines. You get the idea. I was paid 0.25 cents per hour. Yep. Four hours work to earn 1 dollar. Probably explains why I have so little sympathy for the people that whine about their minimum wage.
But I digress. You would think that trying to earn the first $10 would be discouraging, but you would be wrong. The first $10 was a walk in the park. It's the last $10 that was nerve wracking. It got so bad that I did not even want to go downtown because I just knew my prize Hagstrom would be gone. Still my father was steadfast insisting that I earn my half before we got the guitar. So I kept working. Yes, I finally had the entire amount, so my dad took me to the Bandstand, and there it was, still hanging in the window. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, she was mine.
There is an even better end to my tale. I was well into my 30's when while visiting my folks, my dad confessed that he had actually bought the guitar and asked the Bandstand owner to just keep the guitar hanging in the window. In his words, "I thought it would be good for you". I buried my dad in 1994. The world needs more men like him. He was 100% right. it was good for me.
