 |
 |
| |
The Nick In My Guitar … Redux
Prologue: I wrote this piece way back in early 2002. All of America was still freshly wounded by the 9/11 attacks less than 6 months previous. The George W. Bush administration … and Dick Chaney in particular … were seriously discussing “profiling” as a useful tool for the nation’s security. Mr. Chaney’s toolbox also included torture and other devious tactics. His logic all depended upon stereotyping … fear mongering … and bigotry. My how things are eerily familiar today. I am by no means saying my experience is identical. Looking different than typical white people was my … and my brother’s … personal decision … unlike folks of color. Yet my 1973 story remains allegorical enough. I have a great guitar. It's a 1972 Guild D-50 that my parents 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 Steve 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 … so do a lot of 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 couple cops 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 dutifully 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 friendlier tone ... especially after they found out that granola was a mixture of nuts and stuff that we were going to eat while hiking. “What's THIS son?" "Uh...granola sir". "And exactly what is THAT?" "Um...it's a kind of trail 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 amazed it's still 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 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 transpired. Perhaps we were finally freed because we were white. It seems now if someone 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 are 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 … not WHITE. 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. Epilogue: In these strange days of Covid 19 … a so-called president concerned with nothing but himself … and most tragically … people of color being shot by over-armed, over-zealous cops … the realization is that things have not changed. In fact, they are worse. America is … and always has been … systemically racist. Again, I use my Grand Canyon tale allegorically. I am by no means suggesting I know what it is like to be pulled over for “driving black” … denied basic rights … housing … careers. But I do realize what being “suspicious looking” means … what that feels like. Perhaps that gives me an inkling. We need to work together for a celebratory DIVERSITY. We need to build an America where all peoples are equal and welcome. To create a home for us ALL to live in … together … peacefully … and lovingly. BLACK LIVES MATTER!!!
|
http://leavesofcrass.blogspot.com/ BREAKING NEWS:Dinosaurs Refuse to
|
Fearless Warrior
Rollercoaster
Jimmy Mak's new book,
Gerald Greenburg's new book,
|
