Feels like Saturday. But then, everyday does when you're retired. I would have said Sunday, but during a life, Sunday was the day before you had to go back to school, or back to work. Neither were something I looked forward to, except for university.
Attending the School of Music at DePaul University in Chicago was something I looked forward to each weekday. The only thing about it, I didn't like was getting up early to take a train to Chicago and lugging 2 guitars, one classical, and one jazz guitar. The classical was light enough, the electric one not.
That was mainly because I had a gem of a jazz guitar. It was a yellow, 1936 Gibson wide-bodied guitar that I, miraculously, came across and bought.
It happened because I was working in a small music store that sold guitar and also had lessons there.
One evening, an elderly woman came into the store with her granddaughter, who, I guess, was about 10 years old. She wanted to buy a guitar for her. I told the lady, for the girl's age, I would recommend a nylon-string guitar because it would be easier on her fingers just starting out. I showed her two models and the girl made the decision.
The grandmother said she had an old guitar in her closet that her husband had bought that year. A few years later he went to WWII and never returned. I asked her if she knew the brand name of it, and she said it started with a G. My heart leaped, and I asked if it was Gibson. She said yes.
I told her my story of music school and how much I loved playing guitar. Before she left, I asked her if she would bring it for me to see, and she did the next day.
As soon as she walked through the door and I saw the metal case it was in, I knew it was old.
The case was not the standard colors for the present year. Instead, it was yellow with two orange wide-stripes across the top of the case. I picked it up, it was heavy, and placed it on top of a table to open.
Inside, this beautiful antique guitar still rested in it's allotted space of deep-red velvet. None of the other velvet had a mark on it. The strings were a little rusty, as well as the tuning keys. I played a short tune on it after I tuned the strings and holding the strings down, even rusty, were like putting your fingers down through a soft stick of butter. I was in love.
I told the lady to call Gibson, give them the visible serial number inside the sound hole, and they could estimate the value. Not only that, but I said it would be much, much more than she paid yesterday.
Then, I reiterated my love of guitar, music school, and said I would love owning that beautiful instrument. However, I only had $150 in my bank and couldn't afford the real value of it.
She shocked me when she said I could have it for$100 and to keep the $50 in the bank. I asked her why she would sell it for that little money when it was worth so much more. She said she would rather know that someone loved it as much as her husband did, and she knew I would.
The next day I called Gibson, gave them the serial number, and they told me it was a 1936 ES-150, hollow-body guitar, And it was mine!
