My name is Louie and I live in a beautiful home now, with a loving and talented master. It was not always this way. As a matter of fact, at one point in my life, I was sure my life and dreams for life was over. I thought I was doomed to live alone, never having experienced my greatest joy and purpose in life. It all started 15 years ago, in a little town just outside New York City. Philip, a master builder, had just finished the product of his passion as I awoke for the first time. I felt his warm hands as they lovingly rubbed my back. It was the most wonderful sensation and I remember the smell of the oil he applied as though it were yesterday. I also remember the little tune he was humming as he brought life into my soul and I felt so warm inside, and loved. Then he turned me over, so gently, placing me face up in his lap and he smiled at me as he continued to rub the wonderfully scented oil on my body. I felt such joy then, being born in his arms, as though there were a beautiful song inside me, aching to be played. He then laced the strings from my head to my base, with measured style and precision, tuning each to the perfect pitch of his ear. I felt so whole, so complete, and then with his gentle fingers on my neck, he played me and the vibrations that poured from my body, made such beautiful music. I remember the pride I felt, not only in my master, but also in my own ability to generate such beautiful music. When Philip held me in his arms, we were as one -- one in spirit, one in mind, and one in soul. I remember Philip would put me to bed each night, in a specially padded bed which surrounded me with the scent of leather and that oil I loved so much, and I felt so cared for and so loved. Only a year after my birth, Philip seemed to be having a problem I could not help him with. When he played with me, the tones seemed sad and something inside me said our time together was short. Then early one day, Philip opened my cradle, picked me up and with words of pride and flattery, he presented me to a young man with long funny hair and a gleam in his eye. I shivered some as the young man took me by the neck, swung me into place and then picked at my strings, making loud and obnoxious sounds. Philip called him Willie and with the exchange of something they called money, Willie placed me back in my cradle, and I thought I saw a tear in Philip’s eye as Willie closed the lid. I remember the swinging feeling that made me feel like being sick. I knew I would never see my Philip again. It wasn’t long before all the movement stopped and I felt my cradle bounce to a stop. Loud voices were coming from all round and then my lid was opened. There was Willie and some others of his same age. They all had long, funny colored hair and Willie was pointing at me with a gleam in his eye as he spoke. Then he picked me up and the group watched as Willie began to pick at my strings, first slowly and then strumming me with increasing vigor. The noise coming out of me was loud and I really didn’t like it at all. Soon, the others began to make noises, but at least they were in time with each other. Hours went by with this infernal noise going on and finally they quit. Willie placed me back in my cradle and I was so pleased to feel like I was home again. It was still the same day, I think, when Willie came back alone, took me from my cradle and began to play with me, but differently this time. This time it was gentle and soft and the sounds that came from me were nice, even pretty. I was surprised and delighted as he continued to play. We were actually making music, and I liked it. This was a side of Willie I hadn’t seen before and I began to think he might not be as bad as I thought. Days ran into weeks, then months as Willie played with me. Loud and noisy with his friends and then soft and beautifully when we were alone. We went on trips together from time to time, but his friends were always there and when we stopped, it was always the loud noise we made. Then we would make the trip back. Practice and more practice, then a trip and all the noise again, but every once in a while, Willie would be alone and it would be so nice then. Then one day, when the air was cool, Willie put me in the back of the truck for one of the regular trips, but this time, something seemed different. The voices were louder and seemed to be more angry for some reason. Once, the shouting got so loud it made my strings vibrate. Finally they all got in the truck and we sped away. My cradle was sliding around as we went and I could hear the screech of tires from time to time. Then something happened. My cradle slammed into something hard and at the same time tires screamed; there was a very loud crunching sound from up front. There was this floating sensation I had never felt before, then a crashing sound as my cradle slammed into the hard surface again. Finally it was quiet; I couldn’t move and I felt so bruised, but my cradle was still intact. It seemed like hours passed in total quiet, then I heard a distant siren that speedily got louder and closer. Soon it stopped, very near to where I was lying. I knew something was very wrong but there was nothing I could do. Again there were loud voices, different voices and the sound of footsteps all around, but no one opened my lid, so I couldn’t see. Then the sirens sounded again and sped away, still leaving some voices, but muffled and softer now, but still no one opened my top. I felt so helpless and lost. A few minutes passed and one of those voices was near. I heard the latches on my cradle click open, then my lid was slowly raised. There was a chill in the air as a light mist was falling, but I didn’t care. There was this stranger, looking down at me, a soft smile on his face, then he said something to his companion about how sad it was and that at least I was OK. What was he talking about? I thought. Where was Willie, and the others, yes even the others that were so noisy? Where were they? What was wrong? I needed to know. Then a stranger, dressed in a tan shirt with a funny looking, shiny star pinned to his chest, gently lowered the lid, but at least he didn’t latch it. Thank goodness, I thought, I can see a little through the opening, as the man walked away. Smoke, yes there was smoke and a variety of other smells that were new. As I focused through the slightly open lid, I could see a mass of twisted metal with little curls of smoke, but I did not recognize what it was. As I looked out at all I could see, a sense of sadness came over me. I knew something was drastically wrong. Now, other feet were coming up to me. The lid opened and a familiar face was there. Oh yes, it’s the older man that lives with Willie, but where is Willie? The older man smiled a little smile but said nothing. Tears were streaming down his face for some reason, and I wondered about that. The lid closed gently, and I heard the latches click shut. I was lifted again, placed in a vehicle - I could hear the familiar sound of a motor as motion began, toward home I hoped. It would be two days or so before my lid would be opened again. I could hear voices, quiet voices, from time to time, but I didn’t know where I was or whose voices they were. Then the familiar click of my latches and my lid slowly opened. Philip, it was Philip, oohh, Philip, I thought as he picked me up. Smiling, he took a rag from his pocket. He laid me in his lap and began to rub my back with that wonderful-feeling oil I had loved so much. Philip was talking to the older man who lived with Willie, but Willie was still not here. So I listened as they spoke. The older man, whose name was Bill, was saying to Philip, "You were his favorite uncle, you know. All the things you taught him about the guitar, well that thing became his whole life. He really loved that guitar." Bill broke down crying as did Philip and they embraced each other. Then Philip said, "I would love to play the guitar at the funeral. I will play with all the heart I taught Willie to play with." Philip continued, " It would be an honor to do that for him and for you, my brother." Then I understood. I would not see Willie again and my heart broke as they cried for him. The next day, I was taken to a large building and Philip was there too. He picked me up, put a colorful strap on me which ran from my head down to my base; then he took me in his arms and tuned my strings so I was in perfect tune, like old times. He then walked with me in front of lots of people who were mostly dressed in black; they were all sitting quietly. Philip sat on a stool with my new strap around his neck, said a few words, and we began to play. I couldn’t remember having made such beautiful music before. Philip picked and played my strings with such love and tenderness. It was purely beautiful, the music we played together. Tears flowed down Philip’s face as he played and of the many I could see in the crowd, tears were also flowing from them. When Philip was done, he took me to the back, gently placed me in my cradle, but before he closed the lid, he leaned over me and tears flowed like I’ve never seen before. Some even fell on my face, and then he closed the lid, slowly fastening my latches. I was taken someplace, but I didn’t know where. Days went by, maybe weeks, and my lid stayed closed. There were few sounds around and I was feeling lonely. I kept wondering, where is Philip, or Bill or anyone? Then I heard Bill’s voice close by, saying something like "I’m sorry, I just have to do this." Then he picked up my cradle and we were going somewhere. It was quiet during the ride but at least I wasn’t cold this trip. Bill carried me from the car. I heard a door open, one with a little bell on it, and then he put me on a flat place and while talking to another strange voice, he opened my lid. There was a man with a long mustache, looking at me as Bill was talking and pointing at me. The other man had dark beady eyes and as I looked around, I could see lots of other guitars hanging on the walls. There were many things all over the place and even the counter I was on had all kinds of things inside. A sign on the wall read "Big Bob’s Music and Trade". Then the beady-eyed man gave some money to Bill and then Bill left. Another person came up then, saying, "what did ya get, Bob?" "Got me a Guild and it’s a nice one too," Bob said, "except for a couple of stains here on the front". Bob was referring to the places where Philip’s tears had landed, I guess, but I didn’t mind them at all. They were a part of Philip and I was glad they were there. Bob took me out of my cradle, laid me on the cold counter, then he rubbed me a little with a dusty rag and then he placed a tag around my neck that had some writing on it. He shoved something inside me then he took me to the wall with all the other guitars on it and hung me in an open place with them. I felt so exposed and vulnerable, hanging on the wall like that. I missed the comfort of my cradle and the familiar smells there. Days, then weeks went by as I hung there, wondering if I would ever have a master that would treat me as well as Willie had. Oh, there were guys that came in, took me from the wall and toyed with me. Some were tender, some were rough and noisy; and others just looked me over, glanced at my tag and then placed me back on the wall. I remember one man though, who was special. His friend called him Jack and when he played me, he sat on a stool and did things to my strings that made me want to smile. The music, and yes, I can call it music, he played was so different and nice. Sometimes it gave me a chill how he ran his fingers up and down my neck with a precision that I really loved. His friends who sometimes came with him, called the music Jazz and some of it was really great for me. But each time Jack took me from the wall, he always ended up looking at the tag on my neck, then he’d frown a little then place me back on the wall. Yes, there were lots of guys that seemed to like me, yet here I was, still exposed, hanging helplessly on this wall. After what seemed like a very long time, I lost faith that I would ever have a home again. There was something about that tag around my neck that was making everyone put me down and I couldn’t do anything about it. With the loss of Willie and the second loss of Philip and this endless loneliness here on this wall, a great sadness came over me and I just didn’t care any more. The weather was cold again, just like when I first came here to Bob’s, and people were coming in all the time, dressed in bright colors just like before. There were new tags placed on most of the guitars near me and it seemed like the new tags made a difference. Many of the other guitars were finding someone to care for them and as they left, each to a different master, my hopes sank that I would ever find a new home. It was the time of year though, with bright colored lights in the window, and people dressed up in funny red clothes and ringing a bell constantly. Sometimes that bell about drove me nuts, but hanging here in this wall, there was nothing I could do but listen. There were so many people around, some of them even took me from the wall and tried to play with me, but you know, my heart just wasn’t in it and no matter who tried, I always had this little rattle inside that would make them put me down. I hadn’t noticed the little rattle when Philip played me that last time in the church. Now that I think of it, maybe that rattle is why Philip never came back. Well, the colored lights would be coming down soon and the fat people in those red clothes would soon leave. Then it would be quiet and it would be a long time before anyone would pick me up again. I didn’t even notice the door open this time. Any more, I wouldn’t even look and this time was no different. I felt the little bit of cold air that came in with each person coming through that door, and as before, it sent a little shiver down my back. No sooner had the cold air splashed against my face, than I felt a warm hand embrace my neck and lift me from the wall. I couldn’t believe this; I was being taken to the cold counter where this nightmare had started. Who was this, this person who came right in and took me from the wall? I couldn’t see because whoever it was lay me face down on the cold counter, but I could feel warm hands rubbing my back. I could hear muffled talking and with the noise of the bell constantly ringing out side, I couldn’t tell what was going on. Maybe, just maybe, someone was going to take me home. Whoever it was did have nice warm hands though, so this might not be so bad. To the side, I could see my cradle, which was placed beside me. If I could just cry, I would. I hadn’t seen my cradle in such a long time, I thought surely that I would never see it again, but here it was; I was so happy now. I saw some of that paper they called money placed on the counter, and then I was picked up, turned over and placed in my cradle. The bright light above shined right in my face and as soon as the man’s arm cleared my face, a soft scented rag was draped over me and the lid was closed. I still had no idea who was taking me, but for now I didn’t care. I was in my cradle, with the faded scent that had been there long ago, and I was happy. I would never again hang so exposed on that wall and never again have to listen to that bell outside. I could feel the gentle sway of being carried and the muffled sounds of voices outside my cradle. The clanging of that bell grew ever quieter in the distance. Then I was placed inside; I could hear the sound of a motor, like the one I used to hear when Willie would take me places. Some time passed and then the motor stopped. I was taken into another place again, with all sorts of things going through my mind. Who was this person who took me? Where was I, and how long would I be here? Gosh, there were more questions too, but I guessed they would all be answered in their own time. For now I was safe and warm and in my own cradle. What more could I ask! Then it happened. My cradle was no sooner placed on a table, than it was opened and the rag was still draped across my face. There were soft sounds of talking all around and I knew there were several people around my cradle. The soft scented rag was held to my face as I was lifted from cradle and handed to someone. I could hear the sounds again, like the ones I heard in the church the day Philip played me last. At last, the soft rag was removed and I recognized the older man who had lived with Willie. Yes, it was him, I was sure of it, but he wasn’t the person holding me. I looked up just in time to feel another teardrop splash on my face, but this time the rag quickly dried it, and as I looked up to see where it had come from, I saw Philip, holding me in his lap. More of those teardrops ran down his face as he ever so gently cleaned my face with his rag. I was so afraid Philip would play me now and hear that rattle, and then what would he do? I felt so loved as Philip rubbed and cleaned me and I could hear his voice as he talked with the others who were there. There was the sound of laughter as Philip lifted me into playing position. He adjusted my strings for a moment and then began to play me again and I thought my heart would burst open with love as the beautiful sounds poured from me. Suddenly, the rattle was heard, but Philip lifted me and shook me just a little and I saw the little piece of plastic that Bob had put inside me so long ago. It fell out and down on the floor and Philip began again to play. The rattle was gone and I felt whole again. When he had finished, Philip placed me back in my cradle but left the lid open as the others talked. The older man who had lived with Willie told this story. When the accident happened, and Willie had died, there were expenses that the older man could not pay. Then he said, "That is why I had to sell Guild to pay the bills". He continued, "I wanted to give Guild to you but we needed the money so bad and pawning Guild was the only way we could get it. After all this time, we were finally able to pay back that very nice man at Big Bob’s Music. He promised that under the circumstances he would not let anyone buy it till he heard from us. And he was as good as his word. He didn’t let anyone buy it. What a good friend he turned out to be, holding Guild that way so we could get him back." Well, I have been with Philip now for about eleven years and my life has been pure joy and beautiful music all that time. The reason I tell you my story is this: If bad things happen to you and life looks really tough, be patient, have faith and things will turn out for the best. It did for me and it will for you. * Back to Stories *