The RAISING of LAZARUS
A YEAR HAS passed since my friend and fellow aging regional rock guitarist John Dougherty called me out of the blue and asked when I might be coming up his way, to Collinsville, Oklahoma. I said I had no plans but could come up if he needed me. He then explained that he had a guitar he wanted to give me. I was, to say the least, surprised, and asked if we could meet the next morning at the local mom-and-pop diner on Main Street around 11:30. He said that would be fine, and we hung up.
En route to my appointment, I was fearful of what exactly he might give me. I’d known him to be an avid collector of fine guitars ever since his career as a drug representative had sent him all over the state to visit physicians. On those trips, John would hit every pawnshop and music store within his itinerary. I thought of the old adage about not looking a gift horse in the mouth and proceeded to meet him at the appointed time and location.
When he entered, he did not have the instrument with him. He explained it might be too “loud” for the establishment. When I followed him out meant . He proceeded to remove plastic bags concealing the ugliest 1950s brown Gibson case I had ever seen. I grew more apprehensive. When he opened the case, there appeared a most hideous and pitiful old guitar. Not only was it ugly and smelly but neither he nor I could determine what model Gibson it was. He did have the wiring and pickups to go with the guitar. They included two P-90s of early manufacture, a single tone control and two volume controls.
