When I was almost nine, I was offered music lessons. My sister was resuming her ballet career, so I should have something outside of school, too. While I really wanted to learn to play the piano, my mother was a marvelous pianist and quite honestly I did not want to be compared to her (and come up short) as I was already in constant comparison with my 2.5 year older sister, and perpetually coming up short, fat, slow and inevitably, last place. So, when my parents nixed the idea of drums, I went to the guitar.
In school, they passed out those little plastic penny whistle type “flutes” and had us “learn” to play them. Why no one noticed I couldn’t sustain a breath long enough to play a measure is beyond me. Obviously, no one did and my asthma remained hidden…
Anyway, I sucked at the flute-y thing, so no school-based music lessons for me. I ended up taking lessons for three months with a guy who really had no interest in teaching me, just teaching my cousin Michael. Mike was five years older and he really did learn a lot. I didn’t, and practicing plink, plank, and plunk was torture. I wanted to quit, but I still wanted a guitar. (FYI, the "teacher" told my Uncle Bob he'd never had a student with less talent. What an ass! And of course, Uncle Bob Had to tell my mother. Well, we showed him!)
I got my wishes. I quit the lessons and got a guitar for Christmas. And I practiced chords on my own. We had a Reader’s Digest Family Songbook with piano and guitar (chord diagrams!) and it’s amazing how much you can learn with absolutely no guidance.
Anyhow, that first guitar was cheap. The tuning mechanism for the “D” string fell apart, and for the next two years, I played only the top three strings. I needed a better guitar to progress. Besides, this one had no tone to speak of and nylon strings didn’t help.
For Christmas when I was 11, Great Aunt Louise gave me a guitar, with 6 working strings. It was just as small but not quite as cheap as the first guitar. It still had nylon strings. But the six strings were tune-able, and since my fingers had grown, I could begin to play whole chords!
And I played and I played and I played. I even exchanged the nylon strings for steel and oh, how those steel strings hurt my fingers! But this little guitar still didn’t have the sound I wanted, and no amount of practicing would enhance the tone.
I don’t remember who I bought the Sears Silvertone guitar from, but it cost me a whole $25 when I was 12 or so. It had better tone but it was a bear to play. Steel strings like razor cables… it was a minor improvement over the half-size guitar, if that.
I became a freshman in high school, and was playing almost every day. But that guitar was an embarrassment. I wanted to play at the folk masses both at school and at our church, but not with that instrument. And it was all I had.
Then Christmas came, and my sister got some spectacular gift from our uncle (Bill, who was her god-father). My mother told him he’d better do something pretty damn fine too for me. He did. He gave me money. Enough to buy a good guitar. $100, that I didn’t have to put into my college fund.
So, in early January, 1973, my Dad took me into Hartford, to the company that supplied the schools with their music supplies. The salesman brought me a Yamaha guitar. It was a jumbo dreadnought. Now, here I am, barely 14 years old, 5’ nothing, with a guitar that rightfully should have been hanging off of some 6’+ guy… and I played it.
The tone that rang out was sweet, mellow and pure. It was the sound I heard in my dreams. Yes, this, THIS was my guitar. An FG-200.
Well, Dad noticed that it was rather large, and made mention of it, and the salesman quoted a price just beyond my range… $106. And he brought to me the next smaller dreadnought Yamaha, FG-110. It fit me fine, had nice tone, was a nice (100s of times better than anything I’d had) guitar. And at $96, it was in my price range. But it wasn’t the same as that Jumbo. Nope, it wasn’t… I set it down, and picked up the jumbo and played it again.
The same reaction. This was MY guitar. I told Dad. I told him I’d grow into it. Said it was all I’d ever want… So my Dad tells the salesman that they must have some prior year stock (he’d admitted that the price went up with the new year), and this is my guitar.
In doing some research, the MSRP for this guitar was $159.00. We not only got the school discount, but my Dad must have kicked in some money. I wish I’d known that when he was alive.
All I know is I gave my Dad my money and put the gorgeous guitar in it’s cardboard case and brought it home.
From a kid who hated practicing plink, plank and plunk, I had become a daily player, spending hours I probably should have been doing schoolwork practicing chords, changing chords, fingering, etc. If the weather was bad or I didn’t have my horseback riding lesson, I was with my guitar. On those other days guitar just came a little later, like after dinner.
Going to college at the Hartford Branch of UCONN in West Hartford meant hauling my beloved guitar back and forth. By now, I was aware that this cardboard case really wasn’t protecting my precious guitar. No amount of old rags and threadbare towels were going to insulate my guitar from the wild world. As I was turning 18in the fall of 1976, I asked for one thing – a Good case for Sam. I had not gotten a gift for my high school graduation and the morning of my 18th birthday, Mother told Dad not to come home until he had a Good Case for my guitar. (He also sold my car that day, but that’s another story for another day.)
That case is showing some wear and tear, but it’s still protecting my precious guitar.
My precious guitar has a name: it’s is Cecil Samuel Cronin, but he goes by Sam with his friends. I’d marry him but he can’t walk down the aisle. He is a Yamaha FG-200, Jumbo Dreadnought, with a spruce top, nato back, sides and neck, and a rosewood fretboard. Luthiers have all told me the same thing, you can’t beat this model with a stick. It’s a solid, hard-working, rugged model. Then they play him a bit, and they understand my love for him… he’s special, his tone is rich, clear, deep, brilliant, sweet, mellow and pure. If anything, he’s improved with age.
I knew very little about guitars when I got Sam. I know a LOT more now, and I still can’t believe how fortunate I was then. The stars aligned for me, for no matter how many other guitars I’ve played, and how many I’ve owned, none hold a candle to him. Amazing.
For Yamaha guitars, their serial numbers can tell you about their origins. This is Sam’s info:
Serial number: 21208549
Made in Taiwan Kaohsiung Factory
Production year: 08 December 1972
Acoustic FG series (number under end of fretboard)
Made in Taiwan
Since I know when I bought him, I can tell he was finished on 8 December 1972, in Taiwan, and the 549th guitar built that year.
I’ve had a number of people tell me that his top is not solid spruce, but a three layer solid tone-wood ply, not the turned ply that is made today. It’s possible, but the sound that comes out and the vibration is that of solid wood. It’s not really important to me. But the sides are Nato, not mahogany. I wish I still had the paperwork that came with him to prove the Nato wood.
Over the years, I have purchased other guitars. Some because I could, some because they were smaller yamaha’s and needed loving attention (I took them to luthiers) and a few because I wanted them. I’ve given several away, because I could and to encourage others to play. My current collection has three Yamahas and two Martins.
There is Sam. The one.
There is my Martin Backpacker, which I bought to take on airplanes over 20 years ago. We have traveled, but the neck is big and wide and my hands are still small.
No. 3 is my Martin Orchestra, which I drooled over for several years before taking my tax return and splurging about 18 years ago. As is typical with Martins, the neck and fretboard are 1/8th of an inch Bigger than the typical Yamaha. And my hands are still small. But it is a Martin, the action is low and easy it and has excellent sound. Not better than Sam, tho.
No. 4, another Yamaha, an APX-600. Apey is a very nice guitar with sweet tone and is eminently playable, especially with my small hands. (hahaha.) There is a slight buzz in the lower strings when played hard. I rarely play Hard, so that’s not an issue for me. I bought it from a friend who purchased it new for a child who never really got into it. I have the amplifier for it, too. Not that I’ve ever used it. When I travel in my Camper, this is the guitar that travels with me.
No. 5 is a Yamaha FG-Jr. This was my “because I can” purchase. It’s a fun little guitar with decent tone. As I get older, I suspect this will be the guitar I play more often. It’s easy to hold and easy to play. I’ve always wanted to make a coffin case for a guitar and this little “junior” is the guinea pig. I’m not a great carpenter, and I don’t have a lot of tools for this but then again, who cares? Junior will probably be a travel guitar, too.
Junior and his nice leather strap (blue)
The Coffin Case weighs more than the guitar. That will be another blog.
All five, in order of acquisition. Sam, Backpacker, Martin Orchestra, Apey, Junior.
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| Sam and Martin |
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| Sam and Apey |
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| Junior and the Backpacker |
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| Junior and Sam |
As you can see, Sam is bigger than anyone else. He puts the JUMBO in jumbo dreadnought. Geez, I love him.
