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Photograph by John Peden
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 ere’s one for the books.
I first saw this guitar at a vintage show in Florida more than ten years ago,
and contemplated it some; actually, I had a bad case of the “wants” just for its
look and wildness, but couldn’t bring myself to spring for it. Monetary
resources had to be parceled out carefully that weekend, no room there for
“personal buys,” and I decided to pass, but boy, did I want it. Regretted it
later, but felt I had to marshal my funds at the time, no choice. A year later,
I’m back at the same show, same city, and there’s the same guy sitting at the same
table, with the same guitar. This, I said to myself, is more than a sign: it’s
written. So I start talking to the seller, see if I can get any kind of story
from him, since “the story” is always such a big part of something that unusual,
and he did indeed have one for me. Seems that he had gotten the guitar from his
uncle, who just didn’t want it anymore, had no use for it. His uncle in turn had
gotten it from a childhood friend who, as a young man, had borrowed some money
from said uncle back in the late 1940s, maybe early ‘50s, in Michigan, where they
lived. The friend, who went by the name of Bulldog, was shortly thereafter
arrested for murder, convicted, and sent to the Southern Michigan State
Penitentiary to contemplate his transgressions for a very long time.
Cut to about twenty-five years later and uncle gets a surprise visit from Bulldog,
who has now been released after having seen the error of his ways. Bulldog,
feeling great remorse at this point for having borrowed money which he had never
repaid and still couldn’t repay, offers to give his guitar and its case, both of
which he had spent the last twenty-five years totally covering in hand-tooled
black leather, to uncle as restitution. They are TOTALLY covered, front, back,
and sides a la Elvis, Waylon, and other ‘50s country music stars, with gorgeously
done floral patterns, leaves, and vines, and the quality of the work is absolutely
top-notch. This isn’t your amateur prison-style work: it’s highly professional,
of a kind found only on the very best saddles, holsters, belts, etc. Uncle accepts,
years later gives it to his nephew, who eventually sells it to me, and there it is,
except I have one question: how did Bulldog ever convince those prison officials to
let a convicted murderer have possession of all those sharp tools for all those years?
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