Op Ed
NakedSunfish ~ Issue 2
The
Nick in My Guitar
Rick Brown
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I have a great guitar. It's a 1972 Guild D-50 that my parent's helped me buy for my 21st birthday. I still own it. I still play it. I try not to get attached to "things" but to tell you the truth I LOVE my guitar. I have three other guitars...good instruments all...but I don't love them like I do this Guild D-50.
So back in 73
when I worked out a special program with my college to volunteer at a drop
in center for high school kids out in Ventura, California I took it with me.
My buddy John, who was enrolled at Trinity Lutheran Seminary, was serving
his year of internship at the center. He played guitar also. He had a Yamaha...which
is pretty good...but it's not a Guild. I spent the good part of six weeks
in this slow paced (at least at the time) little town some 70 miles north
of Los Angeles on the coast. I made a lot of friends. I played a lot of guitar.
I couldn't really afford Spring Break. This was better anyway. Six weeks on
the west coast and I get credit for a sociology course. I was there the entire
month of January and part of February. I had a wonderful experience. My brother
Don and another friend were out there with me and that made it all the better.
When it came time to return to the snowy landscape of central Ohio...John,
my brother and myself decided to take a drive out to the Grand Canyon. Steve
was a bit homesick so he flew directly back. The rest of us wanted to squeeze
out just a little more time together and do something exciting. We settled
on hiking into the Grand Canyon, spending the night, hiking out and driving
to Denver where Don and I would board a plane back to
Cleveland.
The three of us borrowed John's next door neighbor's new VW Super Beetle.
Into this egg shaped auto we managed to pack 2 suitcases, 3 backpacks, food
for a few days, a pair of snow shoes (really) and, of course, my Guild D-50.
It took us a good hour just to get everything into this little vehicle. When
the three of us finally squeezed into the bug the guy in the back seat had
to look through a snowshoe. We took turns. We didn't care. We were young.
And being so inexperienced with traveling of course we figured we could drive
to the Grand Canyon, spend a night in it, drive to the Rocky Mountains, spend
the night camping, drive to Denver the next day, get on a plane and fly home.
All this...in
about 3 days time. The schedule was tight...to say the least.
We were having a grand old time until we pulled into a tiny burg in Arizona
called Kingman. It being the early 70's and all, my brother and I had really
long hair and beards. Back then that was enough to have truckers throw lit
cigarettes out of their rigs at you. Ironically, a lot of truckers now days
look more like hippies themselves...not to mention Vietnam Veterans. But back
then the long hair so enraged people some of them would call you names...or
perhaps spit at you.
As soon as we crossed the Arizona state line and drove past the sign for "Kingman,
Az." I heard the police siren and saw the lights. We were being pulled
over for some unknown reason. John was almost having a heart attack. He was
driving...and if I had to describe John in a nutshell he was a likable goody
two shoes. John was worried.
Two stern looking highway patrolmen...who both had the disposition of a cop
on a donut free diet...ordered the three of us out of the car. I was told
to "shut up" after asking why we'd been stopped. Then, I along with
John and Don were each frisked, spread eagle on the hood of the VW in his
own turn. When they found nothing on us we were instructed to take everything
out of the car...which we did. These two cops (this is NOT the word I would
have used at the time) tore apart everything...our suitcases, our packs, our
food bags. As the search went on...and it lasted for hours...3 to be
exact...it was becoming more and more apparent to these officers that we had
nothing on us. Their mood began to take on a more friendly tone...especially
after they found out that granola was a mixture of nuts and stuff that we
were going to eat while hiking. ³What's THIS son?" "Uh...granola
sir". "And exactly what is THAT?" "Um...it's a kind of
trail
mix sir". "Oh." Geez...if I had taken 5 ounces of oregano with
me I'd probably STILL be serving time.
After searching everything their attention turned to my guitar case. They
tore it open, pulled out my beloved D-50...which I had owned for about
3 months now...and began shaking it violently while holding it upside down.
"Nice lookin' git fiddle son." One cop exclaimed as he shook it.
I suppose he was sure I had put a pound of marihuana in there or some such
thing. When he was done having his way with my guitar...while he was putting
it back into the case...he slapped the headpiece against a buckle on the case.
And when I looked down there it was...a gash about an inch long on the back
of the head stock. The cop didn¹t seem to notice. By this time, knowing
we had nothing incriminating we were told they pulled us over because we looked
suspicious. Both of them were almost embarrassed by this time. Getting the
news over
their radio that the car hadn't been stolen...and yes...a dispatcher had talked
to the owner...they were downright apologetic. "Gee you guys are one
of the few clean stops we've ever made". This, in no way, made me feel
like buying tickets to their Policeman's Ball". I was biting my lip so
hard I'm still amazed it's on my face.
We hurried to the Grand Canyon, parked the car, and started down. We didn't
have much sunlight left for the day so we hurried. The time was about 4 in
the afternoon...in February. It's a 7 mile hike down...11 out. It's much steeper
going down. Beat feet was the day's slogan from that point on. We all tried
to put what happened in Kingman behind us and enjoy ourselves. After we marveled
at the sunset John took out his flashlight. Our ONLY flashlight. Somehow,
mysteriously, it had been turned on and the batteries were now completely
dead. It was dark. It was February. We had almost five
more miles to hike.
My eyesight in the broad daylight...even at the tender age of 21...wasn't
good. Night vision is still more adventure. "Hey Don! Is that the path
over there?" "Rick! Come here! That's the Colorado River."
We did find a candle...for whatever THAT'S worth in the middle of the Grand
Canyon. I probably didn't realize just how much danger was involved while
it was happening. Now I know we all could have been hurt quite badly...possibly
killed in a fall. Yet we made it. Slept overnight, hiked out and eventually
made it home. I'm not sure how but we did.
I suppose it would be wrong to blame the cops for turning and leaving on our
only flashlight. But why would any of us do this? Perhaps it was inadvertent...I
don't know. I really don't care. And I'm not trying to make myself out to
be a victim. I knew at the time my long hair and beard and clothes could make
these types suspicious. And hey...it makes for an exciting story right? Still...to
this very day I blame the cops for the flashlight...whether it was intentional
or not doesn't matter to me.
I've thought about this experience a lot since 9/11. Our paternalistic leaders
assure me that profiling is necessary for our safety...our security. And I
think about how had I been a young African American kid that afternoon what
might have conspired. Perhaps we were finally freed because we were white.
It seems now if some one gets too dark of a tan they're increasing their chances
of being "detained". I have international students working for me…some
Muslim…most of them from somewhere in Asia (which covers a lot of ground
considering how ignorant most Americans of any place farther away than say…Canada.)
who were afraid to visit their families back home during the past break from
school. They were concerned…for good reason…that they would not
be allowed to return. Why? Because they look different…suspicious. Hey…labels
are back in vogue folks. Terrorists. "They're not soldiers they're TERRORISTS."
I'm not by any means implying there are no terrorists. I just don't trust
people like Donald Rumsfeld or Dick Cheney deciding who is and who isn't.
Especially Cheney…whose whereabouts and meetings are as clandestine as
the Nixon Administration's during the early days of Watergate. "We know
what's best for you." Yeah, yeah. I'm sure these two cops knew what was
best for Kingman, Arizona too. "The Evil Doers." "The Evil
Axis". George W.'s nicknames used to seem so cute...albeit nonsensical.
Now his nicknames are dangerous.
My guitar is pretty beat up these days. Anyone who has seen me play knows
I'm not a gentle guitarist by any means. But those scrapes and cracks and
nicks were all put there in the passion of a song...a friendly jam session
where perhaps I'd had one too many beers...or a rousing encore. All those
abrasions on my 21st birthday Guild D-50 were lovingly put there by ME...with
the exception of one. The first nick. The one on the Guild head stock. And
I certainly have no intention of forgetting exactly who put it there.