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Bob Wire Has a Point (It's Under His Cowboy Hat)

Another Birthday, Another Pawn Shop Prize

By Bob Wire, 11-17-08

Most of these guitars are probably not stolen.

Nothing like a brand new used guitar to light a fire under a performing musician.

Friday afternoon I walked into my favorite local pawn shop, with $235 unfettered (read: birthday) dollars burning a hole in my wallet. I wasn’t quite sure what I was looking for as I scanned the dozens of guitars hanging from hooks on the wall. There were several Strat knockoffs, a couple of pointy Jackson and ESP metal guitars, and a mishmash of various sticker-covered six-stringers that were suited more for a high school shredder, not for a discerning practitioner of maximum honky tonk such as myself.

It’s the same thing every year. I receive a modest windfall, and before the birthday candles have even cooled off, I come home with a new pawn shop prize. One year it was a bass. The year after that, an Epiphone Dot. After that, a mandolin (there should be a five-day waiting period on those things). The next year it was a Strat. The bass and mandolin are still hanging in the studio downstairs, and I sold the Strat last year to help finance the kids’ new laptop. So my guitars, as with most guitar enthusiasts, come and go. That’s why pawn shops are so popular with us musicians. These instruments are like currency, and on any given day, you might stumble upon some treasure that a desperate guitar slinger had to unload in order to get the money to pay for his addiction/bail bond/ex-wife.

So, not hearing any instrument call out to me, I turned my attention to the hefty, gray-haired dude sitting on an amp, jamming on an acoustic with another guy. Next to him was a Gretsch Jet, a Les Paul-like solid body guitar, leaning up against an old Airline tube amp. The guitar had a $270 price tag hanging from it. I picked it up, powered up the Airline, and tuned it. Even though it was coated with dust and the hardware was caked with grime and DNA, I could see that it was nearly new.

“Here you go,” said the acoustic dude, and he started to pick out a bluesy boogie rhythm in E. My fingers automatically found their place on the neck, and I matched his rhythm with a shuffling bass line. “Take one,” he said. Playing the blues in E, for me, comes as naturally as a dog licking his own weiner. (Which they wouldn’t have to do, incidentally, if they could only make their paw into a fist.) I took it for 12 bars, and gave the guy a nod. I switched to rhythm as he took a little lead run on the acoustic, and then started to sing “Candy Man.” We played together for about five minutes, long enough for me to realize that, one way or another, I was going to leave the pawn shop with that Gretsch.

“Man, I knew you were into this kind of music the moment you walked in the door,” the guy said, offering his hand. “I’m Sonny.” I shook his hand and introduced myself. He said he lives right around the corner, and his job is to come into the pawn shop each morning and tune all the guitars. The Gretsch was pretty close when I picked it up, I told him. He began telling me his story as I inspected the Gretsch—sighting down the neck, checking the security of the hardware, feeling the tuners, and running my hand along the neck to feel the milling of the frets. There were a couple of small dings and scratches on the body, but they likely happened right there in the pawn shop. I held up a finger to interrupt Sonny, and told him I had to see a man about a guitar. He just smiled and nodded. He knew I was hooked.

At the counter, I asked Nick if he’d consider $225 for the Gretsch. That would leave me ten bucks for some new strings. He took a look at the secret coding on the price tag. “Sure, that’ll work,” he said. I asked if it came with a case. He went into the back room and returned with a beat but sturdy hard case. “How about an extra ten for the case,” he said. Ah well, I’ll get strings tomorrow.

As he laid the guitar in the case and started writing up a receipt, I walked back over to thank Sonny for jamming with me. But he was already deep into another song, and had been joined by two new customers playing their own pawn shop prizes. I caught his eye and gave him a thumbs up, and he shot me a wink. Hell of a salesman, I thought. He’s worth whatever they’re paying him.

I retrieved my receipt from Nick, and hefted the case, looking forward to a long, thorough disinfecting and set-up session with the newest member of my guitar brood. I bought my first Gretsch last year, and this will make a fine companion piece, a capable addition to my tonal palette. I thanked Nick and headed for the door.

“See you next year, Bob,” he called with a smile.

[See the new toy onstage at the Top Hat this Friday! Meanwhile, bookmark NewWest.net/BobWire right now before you forget. Don’t worry, I’ll remind you.]

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