#24: A 1938 Martin (and one that got away)

(Guitar nerdery)

1938 Martin 00-18, my main squeeze

There have been some requests for me to comment on the guitar (pictured above) that I used in the recent video of There Goes Mavis. Happy to oblige! But first I have to talk about another guitar: the one that got away.

Sometime in 1987, not long after moving to Manhattan, I took the ferry over to Staten Island. It was the first of several pilgrimages to Mandolin Brothers, which at that time was still the vintage instrument mecca it had been when Joni Mitchell wrote the lines, “I went to Staten Island, Sharon, to buy myself a mandolin”.

The idea was to play some old Martins, see what the fuss was about. I was green when it came to vintage guitars. But when it came to guitars in general, I knew what I liked: mahogany for the back and sides, a 1-3/4” nut width, and 14 frets to the body. I had no interest in dreadnoughts. The 000-18 was what I was curious about. But like I said, this was just a fact-finding mission.

The owner, Stan Jay, introduced himself, offered me a chair with no arms, and then proceeded to place one revelation after another into mine. I had told him I wasn’t in any position to buy anything. No matter. He was delightful throughout, coming across more as the expert enthusiast he was than a shop owner trying to make a sale, though I did detect a wee glint in his eye when he produced a certain 1937 000-18.

It took exactly one strum of a first position G chord to know that this was the one. Stan must’ve noticed my reaction. He knew. I knew he knew. He knew I knew he knew. Still, I tried to put up a fight. Maybe there was something terribly wrong with the bridge plate. Anything I could use to bring the price down. But no. Stan rattled off the relevant details: all original, no cracks, a bit of finish wear, etc. He also made sure I had seen the little hearts and initials some happy couple had etched into the back in 1975. I suppose some collectors might scoff at such public displays of affection. I found it endearing. And Stan knew I found it endearing. And I knew he knew, & etc.. In other words, he had me. I was a goner.

Bless their hearts

If he came down on the price at all, it wasn’t much. But he did agree to hold it while I figured out how to come up with $1200. Yes, you read that right: very low four digits, $200.01 away from three digits and change. Even so, I’d have to scramble, sell a few things. A friend helped with a short-term loan (thanks Carla!). Two weeks later I was on the ferry again, heading back to Manhattan with the guitar. I wrote my entire first record on it, and a few from the second record (including Fishing).

The one that got away

So how on earth did it get away? What could have come between me and this beloved, miraculous instrument, this thing that one day appeared in my life, lit up some region of my brain and changed everything? Did I leave it in a taxi? No. Did I bet it away it in a poker game. No. Did United Airlines lose it? As much as I’d love to be able to pin the blame on United Airlines, again the answer is no. The guitar slipped through my hands because… show biz. Show biz and being broke.

When Sparrows Point came out (in 1992), I started touring. Out on the road—long winter drives to the Midwest in a Mazda 323, or flights from Laguardia to far-flung, sun-drenched summer stages—it became clear to me that an old, fragile, valuable, historically significant prewar Martin was not going to cut it. It had no pickup, and I wasn’t going to be the one to make the kinds of modifications a pickup install would’ve required. Problem was, I didn’t have the cash to just go out and buy another guitar. I’d have to sell the Martin to finance the purchase. 

Thinking about it now, I wonder why I didn’t try harder to find a way. Surely I could’ve found a serviceable road guitar for a few hundred bucks. But at the time it seemed impossible. Sometimes we talk ourselves into corners.

So I took the ferry back over to Mandolin Brothers. This time it was Laurence Wexer fielding the walk-in. He opened the case, looked it over, said a couple of nice things, then strummed—you guessed it—a first position G chord. I’ll never forget his reaction: “oh my”. I think I got $2000. The ferry ride back to Manhattan was awful. 

Since then, that ‘37 has occupied a special place in my memory as “the guitar that changed everything”, and “the greatest sounding guitar I’ve ever played”. There’s truth in both descriptions. And both are wrong, or only true as far as they go. Everything’s been changing ever since. It wasn’t a one shot deal. And “the greatest sounding guitar I’ve ever played”? How do I even calibrate for that kind of judgment? Can’t be done. What is undeniable is that guitar inspired me to write my first songs. Later, other tools inspired me to write other songs. I try not to dwell on the loss.

Besides, when it comes to guitars I’m not exactly leading a life of deprivation. I’ve got three old Martins. All are what we call “players”. For those of you who are not guitar nerds, “player” means something along the lines of “a great sounding, vintage instrument of lesser interest to collectors due to its poor condition and/or modification from original materials or specs”. Since the collectors are less interested, players are more affordable. The guitar in the video (and pictured at the top of this post) is an early ‘38 00-18. There’s a lot of 1937 in that thing. How does it compare? Hard to say. What I do know is, I can’t imagine ever needing a guitar that sounds better. Here are some specs, followed by some highly subjective notes.

Specs:

brand: 		Martin 
model: 		00-18 
year:		January, 1938 
serial# :		68888
neck shape:   hard V
finish:		Shade Top 
nut width:	1-3/4"
wood:		mahogany back and sides, spruce top, ebony fingerboard and bridge
frets to body:	14
weight:		Nothing. You must believe me when I say it weighs nothing. 
condition:	Played. A little beat up, but sturdy

Some absurdly inadequate descriptives:

- spooky sweet
- notes of flint, aged Gouda, passion fruit, baseball glove
- mahogany shimmer (esp. via bone conduction)
- my best acoustic (although that Vega...)
- throw in a sound hole pickup, plug it into a Fender tube amp and it transmogrifies into my best electric! 
- ICan’tBelieveIt'sNotButter! Oh wait. It is.
- Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

What else can I say about this guitar? I suppose I could tell stories. But I don’t have any. Why? Because it never leaves the house! It leads a very dull life. On the other hand, from the looks of it I’ll bet it’s seen some action over the course of its eighty-five years. But I have no way of knowing what kind of action that was. As far as I know, it’s never been won or lost in a poker game, or climbed Mt. Washington. I have no idea how and where it rode out WWII, Korea, Vietnam, where it was when JFK was assassinated, or with whom it spent the Summer of Love.¹ It shows no signs of having endured either fire or flood. All previous owners are lost in the mist. Without a shred of evidence, I like to imagine it being passed to Woody Guthrie at a hootenanny. I know nothing about the life it lead before it got to me. It’s just a really old, really good guitar.

1. Unless it was with “C.D.” and “B.A.”.