Thursday, February 1st 2007

What It Takes to Build
the World’s Greatest Guitar

My friend Johnny Robinson is more mountaineer than seasoned hiker, so when he called last week and invited me to join him to take a walk around Grayson Highlands State Park, before dropping in on world famous guitar luthier Wayne Henderson, my radar immediately went up. I was even more suspicious when I heard his brother Kit, a former marine aviator, would be joining us. “I wonder what a ‘walk’ around Grayson Highlands State Park really means to these guys?”

I soon found out that it meant a nearly two mile ascent up a section of Mt Rogers to an elevation of roughly 5500 feet with the temperature at 27 degrees and winds gusting to nearly 50 MPH. If this was a “walk,” I now know what to say if I’m asked on a “hike.”

In reality, it was a uniquely wonderful time to be on the mountain. It was a day of transition, as an arctic cold front drove the previously stationary warm air from the region. The winds were relentless and pushed the ever changing clouds at amazing speeds. They cast deep shadows that whipped across the open land, bending over the black rocks, heavily frosted trees and golden ground cover beneath. When we reached the summit we could see for miles and the remoteness of the location added to the sense of freedom. Tough things are indeed happening in a world that spins precariously on, but being in such a place on such a day reminded one that ultimately all will be well. It was a feeling that was about to be significantly confirmed by a man many consider to be the world’s greatest luthier.

We departed the mountain around 3:00 PM and made the short drive to Rugby VA (Pop. 7) where Wayne Henderson was born and raised and still builds guitars in a small shop behind his house. Wayne recently achieved a level of notoriety that he doesn’t seem entirely comfortable with, via a book entitled, “Clapton’s Guitar,” written by Allen St. John.  As the title implies, the book gives an account of the circumstances surrounding the building of a Guitar by Wayne for Eric Clapton, but St John winds up going far beyond that simple precept and I highly recommend it to anyone who enjoys a good “journey” – guitar lover or not.

Walking into Wayne’s small shop is to leave the world utterly behind. As soon as the warm smell of freshly cut spruce, maple and rosewood fills your nose, and your feet begin to enjoy the soft comfort of sawdust beneath them, you can’t help but smile. We were greeted by the hearty “Hello’s!” of Johnny’s cousin, Bob White (Wayne calls him Quail), and renowned Mandolin player Scott Freeman who sat together in the corner picking out a bluegrass tune with reckless abandon and considerable skill.

My first glimpse of Wayne Henderson found him sitting just a few feet away from the music whittling intently, yet patiently on a rosewood mandolin neck. Wayne looked above his glasses and gave us a friendly welcome. “Hello fellas - I’m glad you could make it . . . Take a look around the shop while I finish this thing up.” He returned his attention to the thin sliver of wood in his hand and calmly continued. There was something soothing and peaceful in the way he gently carved as his words floated above the music. Maybe it was just the laid back atmosphere or the comfortable disarray of tools and wood – or maybe it was something else, but somehow in that moment I felt like I knew something of why Christ was both born in a stable and the son of a Carpenter.

We took Wayne up on his offer and began to peruse the assortment of items strewn and stacked on every available surface, and while I could fill this whole newspaper talking about the glory of that place, it was the visit with Wayne a few minutes later that I will always take with me. As soon as he completed his task he came over and began to answer our questions, giving us an introduction into the basics of wood selection and what he felt separated a truly great guitar from a “really good one.” He showed us how to inspect a raw piece of wood for grain flow and inclusions and what part of a “one of a kind piece of walnut” could really be used. He showed us where and how to tap the wood to hear its “real identity,” lightly tapping one piece with a smile and another with a look that said, “hmm, not so sure.”

It didn’t take long to realize that we were receiving an extraordinary lesson on a craft that only a few people truly understand or appreciate. I also knew that if Wayne stood somewhere near the windy summit of his calling, then the rest of us were clearly in the sheltered valleys below.

Before we left I asked Wayne how things were now that “Clapton’s Guitar” had become so popular. He gave me a bit of an exasperated look. “Phone rings every day,” he said, “I tell them all the same thing – send me a letter and I’ll put it up on the board . . . But I also tell them I have more requests than I could possibly build in three lifetimes.” I asked him if he had ever thought about adding on to the shop and hiring a bunch of workers to capitalize on his fame – certainly he could make the hundreds of thousands, if not millions so many “discovered” instrument makers before him have. Wayne paused a moment to size up the question. You could tell he had thought about it – but no more than a second.

“Well then – they wouldn’t really be one of my guitars, now would they . . .” he replied. He then added matter of factly, “It’s not what I do.”

“Amen,” we all responded.

He asked me what I thought of the book. I told him that I felt it was remarkable for many reasons, perhaps the greatest of which is that St John appeared to go through such a transformation while writing it – that somehow the highly confident northern journalist seemed to discover something about himself after several weeks in Wayne’s small shop. Wayne raised an eyebrow slightly and advised me that he was glad someone else had noticed that. He thought it might be the greatest thing about the book.

I then told him that I firmly believed what St John ultimately implies about those  who are able to produce such perfection and that “otherness” that is beyond the ordinary, or even extraordinary, in their life’s callings. Wayne stared straight ahead, seemingly uncomfortable in the compliment but accepting the truth of its premise. St John sums it up in a response he received from one of Wayne’s contemporaries when asked what separates guitars like Wayne’s from all the others.

“I discovered that an instrument is the sum total of not only the builder’s experience, but his experiences.If you’re rigid or you’re distorting reality it goes into it and when you play it, it comes back out . . . I’ve never had any proof of it, but I’ve played enough handmade guitars and then later met the maker and sure enough it’s inseparable . . . You need to be a good man to build a good guitar.”

Isn’t life like that?  Don’t we all see this simple truth lived out on a daily basis - genuineness and humbleness of character bringing forth beauty and goodness in whatever it is a person “does?” I’ll never be to theology what Wayne Henderson is to guitars, but I’d like to suggest that such authenticity is fundamental to that which is Holy – a perquisite to the very indwelling of the Divine.

Which should lead us all to the question, how are we building our own “guitars?” And what sound will our wood make when we’re given that gentle tap . . .

We would all do well to take a lesson from Wayne.

 

Note: Not surprisingly Wayne Henderson happens to be one the world’s finest guitar players as well, and will be performing with Scott Fore and “No Speed Limit” at the Jefferson Center on Friday March 2nd at 8:00 PM in Fitzpatrick Hall. Tickets are available at the Center or online at http://www.jeffcenter.org/ (Ask him for a guitar - You never know!)

- Stuart