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{"id":405,"date":"2014-09-27T11:08:07","date_gmt":"2014-09-27T16:08:07","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/?p=405"},"modified":"2014-09-29T13:05:14","modified_gmt":"2014-09-29T18:05:14","slug":"let-the-music-begin","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/?p=405","title":{"rendered":"Let The Music Begin"},"content":{"rendered":"Let The Music Begin<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Satan, From The Stretch<\/p>\n <\/p>\n By the time I was a sophomore in high school my family was so well entrenched into the religion that we were now not only attending every single service that was held in the church during the week, we were spending most Saturday afternoons attending bible study classes; and most all day Sunday attending morning, afternoon (prayer circle), and evening services.<\/p>\n Within a few months of his conversion, my father (with the lobbying help of the reverend) had been elected president of the Sociedad De Hermanos (The Society of Brothers), a post that required him to ensure that the adult male membership was regularly attending the Thursday and Sunday night services, was active in recruiting new members, and most importantly, tithing at least ten percent of its earnings into the church coffers. The female and the integrated youth memberships had similar leadership posts and comparable responsibilities.<\/p>\n In fact, Reverend Villa had been so successful in building up the old church\u2019s membership and wealth that by late 1957 he had been able to arrange the sale of the church building, along with its adjacent dining room, to an aspiring young black preacher and his budding congregation. During the few years that we had been attending our church the surrounding neighborhood had slowly evolved from a mostly Hispanic population to one now predominantly black. The black reverend\u2019s growing congregation, lacking a proper meeting place, was elated when it was announced that their leadership had purchased our little church\u2014especially because for the last few years they\u2019d been holding their spirited services under a circus-like tent a couple of blocks away.<\/p>\n Both reverends considered the transaction a holy act of God.<\/p>\n With the proceeds from the sale of the church, and a healthy infusion of cash from the treasury, Reverend Villa was able to make an eighty percent down payment on a mortgage for a recently vacated Methodist Church. And with a couple of year\u2019s worth of \u201cspecial offerings\u201d and a little arm-twisting on the tithing, the remaining twenty percent should be paid off.<\/p>\n The Methodist church\u2019s previous owners, noting that their neighborhood had recently added a couple of fairly affluent but still very Hispanic neighbors, decided to quickly reassess their future \u201ctemple of worship\u201d needs. After a meeting with the church elders they all agreed that the handwriting on the wall appeared to be written in Spanish. So taking quick stock of their finances they listed the building at a bargain price hoping for a quick sale. At the same time they went hunting for a more appropriate location, and in no time their realtor came back to the church leadership with the news that he\u2019d found a newly vacated property conveniently located in a more\u2026appropriate area. Clearly this was yet another act of God.<\/p>\n The Methodist church, easily four to five times the size of our old church, was barely ten years old, and its location in the still mostly white middle class subdivision was definitely a step up for our congregation. The property consisted of a main auditorium and two attached buildings that housed meeting rooms, classrooms, and a fully equipped kitchen and dining room.<\/p>\n Centrally heated and newly air-conditioned (a rarity during this time), the church\u2019s main auditorium was finished with nicely upholstered theater style seating, a built-in sound system, a three-tiered altar area with a large pulpit, and a set of retractable hidden steps behind the pulpit that would allow the congregation to be able to fully view even the very shortest preacher. On one side of the altar, and on a slightly raised stage on the top tier, sat a large black grand piano (included in the deal), with plenty of room (and electrical hook-ups) for amplified instruments and two sets of drums. The floor was richly carpeted, the walls exquisitely draped, and the main auditorium was illuminated by several grandly ornate crystal chandeliers. During prayer circles, meetings, and meditation services, the chandeliers were left off and soft illumination was provided by what later would become known as track lighting\u2014strategically installed in the church\u2019s tall peaked ceiling.<\/p>\n It took just a few days to move into the new building, and most of that time was taken up with moving the kitchen equipment and utensils from the old dining room to the new one. Of course my father volunteered to help and ended up doing most of the work. Already planning to retire from his job at Younger Brothers, he took a few unpaid days off, borrowing a trailer from the paint shop to help move the larger items. On Saturday he pressed me into indentured servitude, sorting and putting away silverware, pots and pans, and the church\u2019s ample supply of mismatched dining ware. I did get a nice supper afterwards from the grateful and very happy cooking sisters.<\/p>\n The following day the very first Sunday school service was held, and as part of the opening ceremonies Reverend Villa announced that from that day forward the church would be known as \u201cLa Nueva Iglesia Pentecostal de Jerusal\u00e9n\u201d. A spiffy new, and very expensive, sign saying just that would soon be delivered and would hang proudly over the two large oak doors leading into the main auditorium.<\/p>\n This church was so remarkably different from what the congregation had grown accustomed to that for the first few weeks of services instead of concentrating on the various aspects of the service, including the sermon, most of them spent their time\u2014heads back and necks craned\u2014gawking at the beauty and opulence of the exquisite mahogany woodwork, the luxurious carpeting and drapery, and the lavish lighting. It was not until Reverend Villa finally had all he could take and delivered a scathing Sunday night sermon titled, \u201cSatan\u2019s Clever Little Temptations\u201d<\/em>. In it he angrily pointed out to the highly distracted congregation that the devil could covertly but effectively work his evil black magic by simply diverting attention and focus from Godly matters to the seemingly harmless, but ultimately damning, admiration of beautiful earthly objects.<\/p>\n Using examples including the worship of golden calves, the salty transformation of Lot\u2019s wife at Sodom & Gomorrah, Judas\u2019s thirty pieces of silver, and even John the Baptist\u2019s head-removing infatuation with the beautiful but deadly Salome, he bluntly reminded them all of man\u2019s fatal and sinful lust for beauty and his resulting inevitable fall from grace. Villa, pacing furiously from one side of the altar to the other, harangued the membership (in magnificent eardrum splitting stereo); and with sweat flying and spittle spraying, reminded them that this type of sin, although just short of idolatry, would just as surely result in their permanent and eternal damnation deep in the pits of fiery Hell. I wasn\u2019t even saved and it terrified the hell out of me.<\/p>\n The call to the altar at the end of the sermon that night was extraordinarily well attended, even attracting the usually disinterested trumpet players; and the customary \u201cmea culpa\u201d cries from the most devout of the group seemed extra-energetic and exceptionally vocal.<\/p>\n As my mother left her seat to join the kneeling, screaming, and wildly arm-waving throng at the foot of the altar, she shot me a look that said, \u201cGet your sinful ass up and follow me to the altar or you\u2019ll surely fry in Hell for eternity.\u201d <\/em>Cowed momentarily by her silent but deadly invitation, I started to get up when out of the corner of my eye I saw Joni leave her front row seat and glide deliciously up to the piano.<\/p>\n Fully aware that the devil had just thrown me a vicious curve ball, I nevertheless made a quick decision to go ahead and take a full swing at it anyway. See, from where I was sitting, even though I couldn\u2019t see her face, I had a perfect view of Joni\u2019s beautifully flawless legs. And as she manipulated the foot pedals I would surely score an occasional flash of her lust-provoking upper thighs. Ignoring my mother\u2019s burning glare I slid back into my seat, crossed my legs and focused my attention on the drummer, the bass player and that beautiful shiny black grand piano. Hi Satan. It\u2019s nice to meet you. I\u2019m Frankie.<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Frankie Gets An Ax<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n On the way home one evening, after a later than usual Sunday night service and a few months after moving into the new church, my father caught my eye in the rear view mirror while we were stopped at a traffic light and said, \u201c\u00bfOye, Pancho? You awake?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYup.\u201d I answered disinterestedly.<\/p>\n \u201cHow\u2019d you like to learn to play guitar?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?! Guitar? Why?\u201d I was dumbfounded.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, I think you oughta learn to play so maybe you can sit up on the stage with those other fellows in the church.\u201d He said, as the Dodge shuddered through the intersection protesting my dad\u2019s bad habit of shifting to third gear directly from first.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t have a guitar, dad.\u201d I asked, trying to talk over the moaning of the little engine. \u201cHow\u2019m I gonna learn to play one without one?\u201d I quizzed.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah,\u201d my brother piped in from the other side of the seat, \u201che don\u2019t have one, daddy.\u201d<\/p>\n My mother spun around in her seat, \u201c\u00a1C\u00e1llate, Ricardo! Tu pap\u00e1 is not talking to you!\u201d Then turning back to my dad, \u201cAre you Bob?\u201d<\/p>\n Looking quickly to his right my dad started to say something to her, but probably thought better of it. Instead he looked back up to the mirror. \u201cWe could buy you one, boy. A cheap one, you know\u2014cheap.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow cheap?\u201d I asked curiously, wondering about the quality and size more than the cost.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah viejo, how cheap?\u201d My mother asked, now turning her full attention to my dad and cocking her head just so.<\/p>\n \u201cAy, I don\u2019t know, vieja. I\u2019ll have to find one first. I don\u2019t know, maybe twenty-five dollars?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201c\u00a1Est\u00e1s loco, viejo!\u201d (You\u2019re crazy!) She yelled, startling me. \u201cTwenty-five dollars is a lot of money. Where we gonna get that kind of money from, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n I sensed a big fight coming on, and apparently so did my brother as he flopped over on the seat bringing his knees up to his face and squeezing tightly into a fetal position.<\/p>\n \u201cLook vieja, if you don\u2019t mind, I\u2019m talking to Frankie now. So could you please just butt out and let me talk to my son without you trying to stick your two cents in?\u201d He was getting a bit exasperated.<\/p>\n \u201cSure,\u201d she replied in a singsong way. \u201cNow he\u2019s suddenly \u2018your son\u2019, now that you want to spend twenty-five dollars on a stupid guitar. Ha!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGot\u2026\u201d he clipped the full word short. \u201cDios m\u00edo, could you just pipe down, vieja? Please?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFine!\u201d She snapped her head forward and stared out the windshield. \u201cGo ahead and talk to\u2026your son! Fine!!\u201d She crossed her arms angrily and whispered, under her breath but loud enough so she could be heard over the straining engine, \u201cEst\u00e1s loco, viejo pendejo.\u201d (You\u2019re crazy, you ignorant old man.)<\/p>\n Sucking in a very long breath he jammed the gearshift straight up into second gear, finally realizing that the car was about to stall out. \u201cDios, dame paciencia.\u201d (God, give me patience.) He whispered to himself\u2014and through the mirror I saw him rolling his eyes.<\/p>\n After a few minutes of silence, except for the strains of the Dodge\u2019s tortured engine, \u201cOK Pancho, listen. Tomorrow during my lunch hour I\u2019ll borrow a pickup from work and I\u2019ll check around to see what I can find. There\u2019s a Jew pawnshop close to the paint shop and I know I they gotta have guitars. If I find one there I know I can bargain those cheap kike bastards down to a fair price. What\u2019d you think?\u201d (Even washing him in the blood of Christ didn\u2019t seem to have cleansed him of his anti-Semitic comments.)<\/p>\n \u201cOK.\u201d I said softly. \u201cBut how am I going learn to play? Teachers cost money, right?\u201d<\/p>\n My mother snapped her head to the left and with a snarl said, \u201cYeah Bob, teachers cost money!\u201d<\/p>\n Completely ignoring her now, \u201cOK, I\u2019ll buy you a book. You\u2019re smart. You can learn from the book. I\u2019ll see if they have one they can throw in with the guitar.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBook, book, book! Learn with a book!\u201d My brother mumbled from his dark side of the seat. I pinged him on top of his head.<\/p>\n \u201cOw!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell,\u201d I said to my dad as I tried to block my brother\u2019s retaliatory kicks. \u201cI guess that\u2019ll be OK.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSure,\u201d my dad said, \u201cyou\u2019ll learn to play, and before you know it you\u2019ll be sitting up on the stage with the rest of the musicians.\u201d<\/p>\n Wait! Hmmm, <\/em>I thought, being able to sit up on the stage really close to Joni without incurring the redheaded brothers\u2019 wrath. Well, that may not be so bad after all.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cOK.\u201d I said, trying not to sound too interested.<\/p>\n I guess a couple of weeks went by when one late afternoon my dad came home from work and called for me from the porch.<\/p>\n \u201cOye Pancho, ven para ac\u00e1.\u201d (Come here.)<\/p>\n Putting down my homework I got up from the kitchen table and fell in behind my brother, who upon hearing my dad\u2019s voice had speedily left my mother\u2019s side where he\u2019d been hungrily surveying her every move as she cooked up some watery rice with tomatoes and refried beans for dinner.<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019re coming daddy!\u201d My brother screamed as he flew through the screen door and onto the porch.<\/p>\n \u201c\u00bfDonde est\u00e1 tu hermano?\u201d (Where\u2019s your brother?) My dad asked as Ricky flew into his arms.<\/p>\n \u201cAqu\u00ed estoy.\u201d (Here I am.) I said as I came through the door and stepped out on the porch. \u201cWhat\u2019s going on?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell boy, let\u2019s take a look in the back seat and see what we got.\u201d He responded cheerily as he turned and walked down the stairs toward the car as he swung my brother from one arm to the other.<\/p>\n \u201cGo ahead and open the door, boy.\u201d He instructed cheerfully.<\/p>\n I opened the door and pushed the front seat back up towards the steering wheel. On the back seat sat a black case, in the shape of a guitar.<\/p>\n \u201cIs it a real guitar, dad?\u201d I asked excitedly.<\/p>\n \u201cLemme see, lemme see!\u201d Ricky yelled as he tried to squirm out from my dad\u2019s arms.<\/p>\n \u201c\u00a1C\u00e1lmate Ricardo!\u201d My dad said angrily. \u201cEsa guitarra es para Frankie.\u201d (That\u2019s Frankie\u2019s guitar.)<\/p>\n Reaching into the back and grabbing the handle I pulled out the black cardboard box. The lightness of the case surprised me as I thought that a guitar would be a little heavier than that.<\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s get it inside so you can open it and see how you like it. I\u2019m sure you\u2019re gonna be surprised.\u201d My dad said excitedly.<\/p>\n Lugging the case up the stairs and into the house my dad put my brother down and followed me in.<\/p>\n Dashing around me as I pushed through the door, Ricky began yelling as he headed for the kitchen. \u201cMOM! COME QUICK! FRANK GOT A NEW GUITAR AND IT COST A LOT!!\u201d<\/p>\n Well, that certainly set the tone. Hearing my brother\u2019s hysterical yells my mom came out of the kitchen still holding a large dark blue speckled porcelain spoon dripping runny tomato sauce.<\/p>\n \u201cI knew it, Bob! How much did you spend on that stupid thing?\u201d She asked breathlessly, sending thick droplets of reddish sauce airborne as she menaced us with the spoon.<\/p>\n \u201c\u00a1Ay vieja! Why do you have to be like that? I told you I would Jew those bastards down, didn\u2019t I? God\u2026.\u201d He stopped the curse short.<\/p>\n Ricky, having started everything magically disappeared by suddenly scurrying out the back door and was now no doubt crawling for safety under the house.<\/p>\n \u201cAw\u2026. you!\u201d Was the best she could come up with as she spun on her heel and retreated back into the kitchen with my dad following her closely.<\/p>\n Turning my attention to the black case I tuned my parents\u2019 yelling out and looked to see how it opened. The case was made in the shape of a guitar, and after laying it on the floor I saw it had three latches: one on the neck, another midway down and the third on the bottom.<\/p>\n Snapping open the latches I lifted the top up and got my first look at the instrument. A slightly dusty and woody smell drifted up from the green felt-lined case, and lying snugly inside was a mid-size concert style six-string guitar. Lightly tinted blondish wood made up the main body, darkening to deep reddish brown near the round sound hole. An ebony neck sectioned with brass frets supporting six shiny gold strings.<\/p>\n Picking the instrument up with one hand on the neck and the other supporting the body, I noticed how light the guitar felt. In a concealed compartment in the case I found a small cardboard box with three different colored plastic picks in a waxed paper envelope. A colorful length of thick twine was coiled up at the bottom of the box, and after pulling it out and inspecting it, I determined that it was probably meant to be some sort of shoulder strap that attached to the neck and the little button-like attachment at the base of the guitar.<\/p>\n The yelling in the kitchen was subsiding a bit as I put the guitar down carefully and looked back inside the case. There was a large white envelope that contained a thin, but colorful, pamphlet. Pulling it out I saw the bold black title: \u201cYour New CENTURY Guitar Instruction Manual\u2014With Practice Songs And Chords Included!\u201d The sub-title read: \u201cLearn To Play In No Time!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell Pancho? What do you think?\u201d It was my dad asking, and I was a bit startled, as I hadn\u2019t even noticed that the yelling had stopped.<\/p>\n \u201cOh gee dad, I don\u2019t know what to think. It looks new.\u201d I stuttered.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah boy, it\u2019s brand new!\u201d He said proudly. \u201cAnd\u2026\u201d he paused for effect, \u201cit was only twenty dollars! Those Jews wanted thirty-five dollars, since it was new, but I held my ground and ended up paying only twenty. Pretty good, eh boy?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah,\u201d I said, still inspecting the little guitar trying to read the label pasted on the inside through the sound hole. \u201cBut I thought that a new guitar would cost much more.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell sure!\u201d He added. \u201cIf it was a Gibson or a Martin\u2014but that there\u2019s a Century. Not a real famous brand, you know, but it\u2019ll do the job. After all, you\u2019re not a Carlos Montoya yet.\u201d He ended with a chuckle while snapping his fingers and doing a quick flamenco heel stomp.<\/p>\n I had no idea what a Gibson or a Martin was; nor did I have the faintest idea who Carlos Montoya was. I was more an Elvis man during those days.<\/p>\n \u201cOh, right.\u201d Was all the response I could think of.<\/p>\n Grabbing the guitar from me he sat down on the bed (their bedroom was part of the front room of the house) and cradled the instrument over his crossed leg. With his stiff right index finger he roughly strummed down across the strings, eliciting the most horrendous sound I had never imagined a guitar could make.<\/p>\n \u201cUm, looks like it needs tuning up, eh boy?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI guess.\u201d I ventured. \u201cHow do you do that?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGotta twist these keys at the top of the neck until each string is tuned and sounds right. Read the book, boy. Read the book! I\u2019m sure that\u2019ll be right in the front.\u201d<\/p>\n I picked the book back up and opened the thin cover. The first page basically congratulated me on my \u201cwise purchase\u201d and explained how I was just hours away from entertaining friends, family, and being the life of every party. The next few pages were devoted to explaining, via diagrams, how to hold the instrument, how to properly strum the strings, what each string\u2019s assigned key was, and\u2014finally\u2014how to properly tune each string. First, it suggested that I tune it to a piano.<\/p>\n \u201cDad! It says I need to have a piano to tune each string!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBullcrap!\u201d He said. \u201cYou shouldn\u2019t have to need a piano for that. Here, let me see the book.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHere, look!\u201d I insisted, pointing to the words printed over the diagram of a piano keyboard. \u201cIt says to sound the low E on a piano and tighten or loosen the top string until its sound matches the piano\u2019s.\u201d I whined.<\/p>\n Grabbing the book from me he looked at the diagram then turned the page. \u201cHere!\u201d He said. \u201cIt says here that if you don\u2019t have access to a piano you can use a \u2018Chord-O-Matic\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s a Chord-O-Matic?\u201d I asked simply.<\/p>\n \u201cWait!\u201d He said, as he continued to read. \u201cOK, it looks like it\u2019s a small harmonica; and when you blow in its six different holes the sound that each string should be making is produced. There! See? Don\u2019t need no doggone piano!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDad?\u201d I ventured to ask. \u201cIs there a Chord-O-Matic included with this guitar?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell. Well, I\u2019ll be da\u2026. darned!\u201d He exclaimed running his hand through his hair. \u201cThose crafty little kikes got to me after all!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, when I paid them for the guitar this one Jew-boy asked me if I wanted a Chord-O-Matic to go along with the guitar. Said he could let me have one for a few more dollars. Thinking that they were trying to pull a fast one and try to sell me some other instrument we didn\u2019t need I told him that I already had one. Crap!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo how much did he say it would cost?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know, I didn\u2019t ask.\u201d He said a bit dejected now.<\/p>\n Probably attracted by the hideous sound the guitar had made when my dad strummed it, Ricky, knees smeared with dirt, came hopping into the room. \u201cWow, can I play it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNO!\u201d I exclaimed, and picked up the guitar to put it back in the case. \u201cAnd, that also means you can\u2019t take it out of the case either.\u201d<\/p>\n Not satisfied with my answer he said, \u201cDad, can I play it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo mijo. That\u2019s Frankie\u2019s guitar. Besides we need a Chord-O-Matic.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s a chordamakic?\u201d Ricky asked.<\/p>\n \u201cNada mijo.\u201d My dad said. \u201cJust don\u2019t touch Frankie\u2019s guitar, OK?\u201d<\/p>\n With that the guitar went back into the case and my dad slid it under the bed.<\/p>\n Yelling from the kitchen while making as much noise as possible while setting the table, my mom said, \u201cOK, enough about that stupid and ugly sounding guitar. It\u2019s time to eat.\u201d<\/p>\n Never having to be called to the table twice, my brother leaped off the floor, leaving a dusting of dried mud flakes on the linoleum, and scurried into the kitchen yelling, \u201cMam\u00e1, I want muchos frijoles!\u201d<\/p>\n My dad made a beeline for the restroom and I slowly got up, still leafing through the pamphlet. After a couple of pages, illustrating how to form chords, I came to the songs section. There were two songs with small chords printed above the music and the lyrics. The first song was \u201cOld Black Joe\u201d<\/em>, and the second one was, \u201cWhen The Saints Come Marching In.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n Oh yeah, my days of entertaining friends and family were right around the corner\u2014and just as soon as I mastered those two hit songs I should be a real star.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Frankie Joins The Band<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n A few days later my father came home from work and presented me with a brand new Chord-O-Matic with which to tune my guitar. Similar in sound to a harmonica, it was flat and circular, and had six small holes along the outer edge\u2014each corresponding to a particular guitar string note: E, A, D, G, B, E. Blowing into each hole would produce a harmonic sound, and all one had to do then was to tighten or loosen the string\u2019s key until it produced the same sound.<\/p>\n Everyday, after school, (and before my homework), I would spend most of my time tuning and re-tuning the cheap little guitar, as it refused to stay in tune for more than an hour at a time. Between tunings I practiced my finger placements as displayed in the book for the various keys and their related chords. After a few days I found that the fingers on my left hand ached miserably and the tips of my fingers, save my thumb, were excruciatingly sore.<\/p>\n One day in school, as I pondered a tricky question while taking a test in Mr. Krohn\u2019s[1]<\/a> English class on Shakespearean literature, I was tapping my fingers on the desk when I noticed that the ends of the four fingers on my left hand were becoming\u2026well, hard. Curious, I put my pencil down and began to study the tips of my fingers with tremendous curiosity, marveling at the degree of hardness by rubbing each one in turn with my thumb.<\/p>\n Mr. Krohn, whose eagle eyes never missed anything in his class, abruptly ripped me from my hypnotic digital fascination by quietly sneaking up behind me, and in his best stage projection voice bellowed:<\/p>\n \u201cMr. DeLe\u00f3n!! By chance, hast thou written, on the tips of thy fingers, the answers to our noble quiz in microscopic print, and are now trying to decipher such without benefit of thy super-duper magnification tool?\u201d<\/p>\n Snickers and guffaws from the rest of the students, most of who had also been startled by the loud and sudden outburst.<\/p>\n Dropping my hands down to my lap I meekly said, \u201cUh, no.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNO? Dost thou say\u2026NO?\u201d Striking an exaggerated stage-like pose. \u201cI ask thou then: What dost thou seek that can be found at the tips of thy very digits?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cUh, nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAh, ignorance is not thy best cloak, sir. Let me examine those stealthy digits, if I may.\u201d<\/p>\n Slowly pulling my hands out from under the desk I presented my fingers for inspection. The room had suddenly become excruciatingly warm.<\/p>\n Taking my left hand he turned it palm up and began to look closely at each of my fingertips\u2014his face all the while twisted into a Sherlock Holmes-like caricature. Eyebrows arched and eyes bulging, he announced, while waving an arm theatrically, \u201cAnon, I see nothing here but that a good nail file wouldn\u2019t make quick work of.\u201d<\/p>\n The class, now realizing that he was putting on a show at my expense, now began to laugh out loud.<\/p>\n \u201cAh, and these white spots on thy nails tell me you are in dire need of more goodly vitamins, good fellow.\u201d He continued.<\/p>\n Ceremoniously laying my left hand down on my desk and resuming his Mr. Krohn persona he said, \u201cOK now, back to the quiz. And that means everybody.\u201d<\/p>\n Completely humiliated I unsteadily picked up my pencil and struggled to remember where I\u2019d left off. But before completely re-immersing myself into questions dealing with Shakespearean drama, I made a mental note to remind myself to further examine my fingers when I got home.<\/p>\n ***<\/p>\n Within a couple of months I had memorized a few basic chords on the guitar and had finally co\u00f6rdinated my right hand and arm to strum the strings in rhythm to the two songs I was trying to learn. Having taken choir in my freshman year I could read a bit of music, but I still needed to actually learn the melody to \u201cOld Black Joe\u201d<\/em>, having never heard it before, so I had to tolerate my dad\u2019s rendition of the song over and over again until I (and my mom and my brother) had at last committed it to memory.<\/p>\n After dinner on a Friday evening, as we were getting ready to leave for church, my dad asked me if I wanted to bring the guitar to the service.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat for?\u201d I asked stupidly.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, so you can play it, of course.\u201d He responded.<\/p>\n \u201cDad! I don\u2019t think anyone at church wants to hear me play the guitar while I sing \u2018Old Black Joe\u2019<\/em>!\u201d I protested.<\/p>\n \u201cNo, of course not!\u201d He said, raising his voice a bit. \u201cBut you can sit up on the stage and play along with the coritos and the hymns. No one will really hear you since the guitar is not amplified.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, Dad!\u201d I continued to protest. \u201cThe only chords I know are D, G, and C. I don\u2019t even know what key they play the coritos in.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell,\u201d he continued, \u201cyou can sit up there and just follow along, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, dad. Sorry. I\u2019m just not ready to do that.\u201d I quickly ran into the restroom to avoid any further discussion. A few minutes later I heard my mother call for me to hurry because we were ready to leave.<\/p>\n We arrived at the church, and as usual, my dad took off to find Rev. Villa, while Ricky, my mom and I walked slowly from the parking lot and into the large dining room to have a cookie or two before the service.<\/p>\n I saw Joni talking amicably to Gilbert and spotted her two brothers lurking near the back doors, arms crossed, quietly surveying the crowd and keeping a close eye on their sister. Ignoring them, I busied myself reading last week\u2019s Sunday school attendance statistics posted prominently on a fancy wooden display case hanging on one of the walls. Within a few minutes one of the sisters walked in from the main auditorium and rang a small hand bell signifying the start of the evening service. Finding my mother, and tearing my brother away from the large platter of Mexican cookies, I led them into through the main doors and directly to my most favorite (and visibly strategic) seat.<\/p>\n As Joni took her seat at the piano and began to play an introductory hymn we all stood to welcome the group of church officials as they filed onto the stage from a side door housing administrative offices.\u00a0\u00a0 Because of his position as president of the Sociedad de Hermanos, my dad was now required to enter the church with this group and take a seat on the stage. As he stood in front of his chair facing the congregation, clapping and singing along with the hymn he caught my eye and gave me a little wink. Odd.<\/p>\n The hymn ended with a loud chorus of \u201calleluias\u201d and \u201cgloria a Dios\u201d from the gathered, and we all took our seats. Ricky, sitting to my mother\u2019s right suddenly pointed and said, in an almost too loud voice, \u201cMam\u00e1, what\u2019s Frankie\u2019s guitar doing up on the stage?\u201d<\/p>\n Snapping my head to the right intending to shush him, I froze as the meaning of his question filtered through my brain. My head ricocheted to the left and my eyes stopped and focused on the ridiculously tiny Century guitar sitting on the floor with its neck leaning on an empty chair next to Brother Cant\u00fa and his humongous bajo sexto. Looking slowly around, I noticed that everyone in the musician\u2019s area, including Joni, was looking at me. The trumpet twins were rapidly fingering the valves on their shiny horns and grinning obscenely. The pit of my stomach froze and my bowels sent out an urgent SOS.<\/p>\n Regaining what little dignity I had left I turned to my mother and loudly whispered, \u201cMom, who put my guitar up there?\u201d<\/p>\n Staring blankly ahead she slowly raised her left arm. Uncoiling her index finger and pointing it straight ahead she said, \u201cMira. O, Mira.\u201d<\/p>\n As I sat glued to my seat and unsure of what to do next Reverend Villa made his entrance. Since this was a Friday night, the entrance wasn\u2019t grand, nor was it made through the main doors in his usual grand manner. Walking in through the same doors that the preceding group of officials had used, he, nonetheless, glided in, in semi-grand fashion\u2014toothy smile plastered on, and enthusiastically waving his large white bible clenched in his left hand.<\/p>\n Passing in front of my dad he stopped and whispered something to him while vigorously shaking his hand. Then they both looked over to where we were seated and smiled. This was not a good sign for me. Continuing on to the pulpit he waited patiently until the congregation\u2019s shouts and ovations finally drifted off.<\/p>\n \u201c\u00a1Buenas noches, y que Dios les bendiga!\u201d This set off another round of holy acclamations.<\/p>\n Raising both arms to quell the crowd he continued. \u201cTenemos una gran sorpresa esta noche, hermanos. Parece que Dios nos ha presentado con otra bendici\u00f3n en nuestra poblaci\u00f3n humilde.\u201d (We have a great surprise in store for us tonight. It seems that God has presented our humble population with yet another blessing.) Then, looking directly at me, he continued, \u201cPor favor, si nuestro hermanito, Frankie nos pueda hacer el favor de subir al altar con los otros m\u00fasicos por la Gloria de Dios. \u00bfQu\u00e9 dicen hermanos?\u201d (Could our little brother, Frankie, do us the favor of coming up to the altar and joining the other musicians for the glory of God? What do you say brothers?) The whoops and holy acclamations started again and, first a few, then the whole congregation rose to cheer me up to the stage. Even Joni was standing and quietly clapping her hands daintily. Brother Cant\u00fa was actually dusting the empty chair next to him with his tent-sized bandana and grinning broadly. Trumpet boys were leering and the drummer twirled his sticks looking a little bored.<\/p>\n I stood slowly, then my knees gave out and I sat back down in a heap.<\/p>\n \u201c\u00a1\u00c1ndale, pronto!\u201d My mother said, a little too loudly.<\/p>\n Ricky was saying, \u201cGo, go, go, go!\u201d<\/p>\n Standing up again I very ungracefully edged out of my row and headed for the stage. Passing behind Joni I heard her say, \u201cI can\u2019t wait to hear you play\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n Great. I wondered if she knew how to kick off a cool riff on, \u201cOld Black Joe.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n The Benefactor<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n That first night on the stage I spent most of the time vainly trying to figure out what key we were in and where the chord changes were. It didn\u2019t turn out too well. After the service Brother Cant\u00fa kindly congratulated me for my courage in even coming up and told me how cute my little guitar was. Reverend Villa made a point of coming over also to say a few encouraging words, assuring me that it would get easier for me as time went on\u2014and I learned more chords. Joni didn\u2019t even bother saying anything. After the last hymn she just closed the piano up and walked off. I thought that maybe I should\u2019ve suggested playing \u201cWhen The Saints Come Marching In\u201d<\/em>, but then she would\u2019ve probably played it in some weird key like F, or even B flat. My little book didn\u2019t go past D major.<\/p>\n As I was looking around for my guitar\u2019s case I heard someone behind me call my name. Turning around I saw a man, maybe in his mid-forties, whom I didn\u2019t ever remember seeing before, walking toward me. He stood out a bit because he was dressed really well in a tucked in silky looking sport shirt and dark pleated slacks over glossy dark brown loafers.<\/p>\n \u201cSo, first night playing in public, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYup, I don\u2019t think it went really well though.\u201d I responded.<\/p>\n He put his right hand out. \u201cMarcelo Ruiz.\u201d<\/p>\n He was a short man; his face round, dark-skinned, and slightly pockmarked. He had an abundance of wavy black hair, and although his name was Hispanic, he looked more Asian\u2014almond shaped dark hazel eyes, high cheekbones and a short wide nose. The hand he extended was adorned with a large gold ring topped with a shiny black stone. His nails were flawless and although his grip was firm, his hand was soft and warm.<\/p>\n Putting my guitar case down I extended my hand. \u201cFrankie\u2026uh\u2026DeLe\u00f3n.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSure! You\u2019re Brother DeLe\u00f3n\u2019s son, right?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes.\u201d I answered simply.<\/p>\n \u201cI saw you and your family at the other church a few times when you were first visiting, but I never got the chance to introduce myself. Well, it looks like the Lord reached out and saved them while I was gone.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSorry?\u201d I said, a little confused. \u201cYou were gone?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, well, I\u2019m a merchant mariner. Do you know what that is?\u201d He asked as he pulled one of the chairs up and sat down.<\/p>\n \u201cNo, not really.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, I work on ships and I\u2019m gone sometimes for two or three\u2014sometimes even six months. It depends on the trip. There\u2019ve been times I\u2019ve been gone for up to eight months.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cReally?\u201d I put the case down and pulled a chair up. \u201cWhat do you do, and where do you go?\u201d This was really interesting.<\/p>\n \u201cOh, I don\u2019t do too much now. Since I\u2019ve got a lot of seniority I usually just make sure the cargo logs match up with the cargo at the destination, as they were when we departed. I\u2019m called a Cargo Master. And, yeah, I\u2019ve really been just about everywhere.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat sounds cool.\u201d I was really impressed. \u201cBut, do you get to go to church when you\u2019re on a trip?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNot usually. See, the Lord saved me a long time ago when I was a young seaman just starting out. But because I travel a lot I don\u2019t get to attend church very often. I just worship the Lord in my heart when I travel. That\u2019s what I promised Him I\u2019d always do, way back when.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI see.\u201d I said. \u201cDo you have kids?\u201d I asked curiously.<\/p>\n He broke into a short jolly little laugh waving his well-manicured hand. \u201cOh no! I\u2019ve never had time for that with my traveling all the time. Quickly turning a bit pensive he added, \u201c I\u2019m afraid I\u2019ll always be a life-long bachelor. Anyway,\u201d he continued, \u201cenough about me. I really wanted to talk to you about your future plans\u2026I mean, about playing the guitar in church.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cUm, I don\u2019t really have any plans, really. I\u2019m just learning now, and I\u2019m not really very good. I just know how to play in three keys; so most of the time I spend trying to figure out if the song Joni\u2019s playing is in a key I know. Then, I really didn\u2019t know the chord changes. It\u2019s hard.\u201d<\/p>\n He smiled. \u201cYeah, I guess it is. But I have to compliment you on your courage to come up here not knowing what you were doing.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, I didn\u2019t have much of a choice, really.\u201d I confessed. \u201cIf I hadn\u2019t, I would\u2019ve heard about it from my parents when we got home. A little embarrassment here is better than being yelled at by my parents at home.\u201d<\/p>\n He chuckled, and patted me on the shoulder. \u201cWould you be willing to, or better said, would you like to take a few lessons?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, sure.\u201d I answered immediately. \u201cBut, we don\u2019t have the money to spend on lessons. My dad already got in trouble with my mom just for buying this guitar for me.\u201d<\/p>\n He smiled, and looking up to where my dad was busy conversing with Reverend Villa and a couple of other brothers, he said, \u201cWhat if I asked your dad to let me teach you\u2014say every Saturday while I\u2019m in Houston\u2014at your house. I think I could do maybe an hour each week.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, I think that would probably be great, but really, we don\u2019t have the money to pay you.\u201d I explained.<\/p>\n \u201cNo, no. That\u2019s OK. I wouldn\u2019t charge you anything. See, I felt God move me tonight and I think He put the thought into my head when I saw you called up to the stage.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, that was embarrassing. Well, I don\u2019t know.\u201d I said. \u201cFor sure you\u2019ll have to ask my dad.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOf course!\u201d He said. \u201cI\u2019ll go ask him now.\u201d<\/p>\n Marcelo patted me on the shoulder once again as he got up. \u201cOK, I\u2019ll talk to your dad and let you know.\u201d With a quick smile, he gave me a little wave and got up. \u201cSee ya.\u201d He moved to where my dad was still deep in conversation with Villa.<\/p>\n Of course my dad agreed, and the following Saturday Marcelo showed up at our house at one o\u2019clock in the afternoon. He was driving a new two-toned beige Studebaker Commander Coup\u00e9 that looked as if it had just been driven off the showroom floor, and it attracted more than a few of our neighbors\u2019 attention as he cruised into our dirt front yard.<\/p>\n My mother had gotten me up early that morning and made me spend extra time cleaning the front room. \u201cNext week,\u201d she\u2019d told me, \u201cwe\u2019ll be living in a better house with a real living room.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cReally?\u201d I was surprised. \u201cWhere\u2019re we moving to?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, just up the street. You know that big house on the corner a block from the bakery?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYup. Some Anglo family lived there. I don\u2019t think they had any kids.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cRight! OK, your dad made a deal with the owner after the people who were living there moved out, and we\u2019re renting it for almost the same as we\u2019re paying here.\u201d She said proudly.<\/p>\n \u201cCool.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201c\u00a1Ay! No me digas, \u2018cool\u2019. \u00a1No me gusta esa palabra!\u201d (Don\u2019t say \u2018cool\u2019. I don\u2019t like that word.) She said, annoyed.<\/p>\n \u201cOK, mom, but that\u2019s what everyone says.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNot to me!\u201d<\/p>\n As promised we began moving out on a Wednesday evening, and by the time we were ready to go to the Friday night service we were all moved in. As a bonus my brother and I got a bedroom to share as our very own. Of course it was a bit sparse, with just a couple of rollaway beds and an old worn out dresser. But it was my first bedroom and I was overjoyed with the privacy it afforded me.<\/p>\n ***<\/p>\n As I waited on the porch he waved as he got out and walked to the back of the car and opened the car\u2019s ample trunk pulling out a black guitar case. It looked almost twice the size of mine.<\/p>\n \u201cHi, Mr. Ruiz.\u201d I said as he walked up the stairs.<\/p>\n \u201cHey, hi Frank; and please call me Marcelo.\u201d He stretched out his soft skinned right hand.<\/p>\n \u201cOK. Come on in.\u201d<\/p>\n I invited Marcelo to sit in our rickety armchair that mom had thrown a sheet over to cover the worn spots, and I pulled up one of our kitchen chairs.<\/p>\n Laying his guitar case on the floor he popped the four latches and opened it up. Inside lay the most beautiful guitar I had ever seen. Deep brown body that faded to almost black with a beautiful sunburst center, it shone like it had been layered in deep acrylic paint and hand polished for days. As he gently raised it out from the case I looked at the brand: Gibson.<\/p>\n \u201cWow, that\u2019s really beautiful.\u201d I said admiringly.<\/p>\n \u201cOh, well she\u2019s a bit old. It\u2019s a model L00, flat top. Want to hold it?\u201d<\/p>\n I wasn\u2019t even sure how to properly hold my little Century so I wasn\u2019t about to take a chance on his Gibson.<\/p>\n \u201cOh no.\u201d I gasped. \u201cMaybe later when I get better at playing.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOK, let\u2019s start with the basics first.\u201d<\/p>\n That first lesson lasted a little over an hour and not once did we even attempt to play either guitar. Instead, he coached me on the proper way to sit or stand with the guitar; tune, hold, strum the instrument, and how to hold the pick. I learned that there were several types of picks, and many different thicknesses\u2014each affecting the sound and feel of the strings.<\/p>\n For homework he had me memorize the key that each string was in, and the three-chord progression for each major key. \u201cNext week,\u201d he promised, \u201cI\u2019ll introduce you to the associated minor chords.\u201d<\/p>\n For the next three months Marcelo visited and tutored me on the guitar. A few times he let me practice on his beautiful Gibson, but most of the time I had to struggle on my little Century. I was amazed at the difference in the feel of the two different guitars. While I had to exert heavy pressure on the strings of my guitar to press them into the fret board to produce the desired note, it seemed that I just barely touched the strings on the Gibson to make the same sound.<\/p>\n During this time I continued to play along with the church\u2019s musicians on the stage. I quickly got over my stage fright as I gained more confidence in my ability to follow along and even anticipate the keys and chord changes that each hymn and little coritos required. Although I remained unplugged (no amplifier) I did my very best to make myself heard over the other instruments.<\/p>\n During one of our lessons Marcelo brought with him a cardboard cutout of a piano keyboard, and with that he taught me how to tune my guitar to the church\u2019s piano before the service started. It wasn\u2019t long before I was experimenting with the piano\u2014forming chords that I was familiar with on the guitar with the piano keyboard. Plus, I found that with my newly developing talent I was scoring a bit more face time with Joni. Although her demeanor towards me began to warm up a bit, she continued to remain strangely aloof\u2014keeping our conversations centered mainly on musical subjects.<\/p>\n Marcelo usually only attended the Sunday and Friday services, so each Saturday, he would review my performance from the week before, offering up hints and suggestions to make my accompaniments more effective. After each lesson he would spend a little time telling me about his past voyages aboard ship and describing the various countries he had visited. After a while I began to dream about someday being able to travel to foreign lands and learning about new cultures. But I knew I didn\u2019t want to do it from a boat. Sailing was never my favorite pastime. I would have to think about some other way.<\/p>\n Finally, one Saturday he let me play the Gibson for most of the lesson. I was getting pretty good at executing chord changes smoothly without having to pause my strumming, but when I played his guitar it seemed as if I didn\u2019t even have to think about the chords. After the lesson, and as I was putting away my little guitar he asked me how I liked playing the Gibson.<\/p>\n \u201cOh, I really love it!\u201d I answered. \u201cThe finger action is so smooth that I hardly have to exert any finger pressure to get a clean chord sound.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, that\u2019s the mark of a well-made guitar, you know.\u201d He said. \u201cYours will eventually become harder and harder to sound out chords because the neck is all wood, and the tension of the strings will warp it, as it has no neck support built-in. The Gibson has a metal rod running through the neck to keep it from warping\u2014so it\u2019ll stay true forever.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWow!\u201d I exclaimed. \u201cMaybe someday when I\u2019m older and have a job I\u2019ll be able to buy one of these for myself. Until then, I\u2019ll just have to take good care of my little cheap one.\u201d<\/p>\n He looked at me kindly and put his hand on my shoulder. \u201cYou know, I wanted to tell you sooner but I thought I\u2019d just wait until today.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTell me what?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI just got a new marine assignment, so I\u2019ll be leaving next Thursday.\u201d He said, half smiling.<\/p>\n \u201cOh\u2026\u201d Was all I could think of to say.<\/p>\n \u201cCan you guess where I\u2019m going?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, I don\u2019t have the slightest idea.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell,\u201d he started, \u201cthe ship I signed up with will be leaving Galveston, and we\u2019ll head south until we get to the Panama Canal.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh yeah,\u201d I said knowingly. \u201cWe studied that in my history class last year.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOK, then we\u2019ll sail west and north docking in San Pedro, California, for a couple of days to pick up cargo. Afterwards, we\u2019ll sail to Hawaii, then visit several Asian ports of call.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow long will you be gone?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019ll be about six months, maybe more. Depends on the weather.\u201d He answered.<\/p>\n \u201cThat long, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, so while I\u2019m gone I expect you to continue improving on your guitar playing. You have all the basics down now, so all you need now is a lot of practice.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOK, I\u2019ll try.\u201d I said, a little disappointed now that I realized I wouldn\u2019t have a personal instructor.<\/p>\n He got up and asked, \u201cCan you get your mom and dad? I want to say bye to them.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSure,\u201d I responded. \u201cI think dad\u2019s outside working on the car and mom should be in the kitchen.\u201d Although our new rental was old, it was roomier than our old house; and someone sitting in the living room couldn\u2019t just turn around and see the kitchen.<\/p>\n \u201cOK.\u201d Marcelo said. \u201cI\u2019ll pack up while you go and get them.\u201d<\/p>\n I ran out the front door and found my dad, as expected, working on the car that my uncle Frank had sold to him just before he left for California. So far it was the best car we\u2019d ever had: a 1955 Ford Fairlane\u2014two-tone powder puff blue and white.<\/p>\n \u201cDad, Marcelo\u2019s ready to leave but he wants to say goodbye before he goes.\u201d<\/p>\n My dad, in his usual white \u201cwife-beater\u201d undershirt and khaki pants, looked up from under the hood. \u201cSay bye to him for me, I\u2019m busy.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo dad!\u201d I said, a little too aggressively. \u201cHe\u2019s leaving for about six months on a trip, so you have to come say goodbye now!\u201d<\/p>\n He stepped back from the car, wrench in hand. \u201cSix months? Where\u2019n the devil\u2019s he going\u2014the moon?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFunny dad. No, he\u2019s going on one of his trips\u2014somewhere farther west than even Hawaii.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHawaii? OK, let me clean my hands and I\u2019ll be right in.\u201d<\/p>\n I ran up the back stairs through the back door that opened up into the kitchen. Mom was rolling out some of her fat tortillas.<\/p>\n \u201cMom, come say bye to Marcelo. He\u2019s leaving and won\u2019t be back for about six months.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201c\u00bfY tu pap\u00e1? \u00bfDonde est\u00e1?\u201d (And your father? Where is he?)<\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019s coming, but he\u2019ll probably walk around the house and go in through the front door.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBueno. All\u00ed vengo.\u201d (All right, I\u2019m coming.) She grabbed a wash cloth to wipe the sticky dough off her hands.<\/p>\n I quickly ran back through the small dining room (yes, we even had one of those now) and into the front living room.<\/p>\n \u201cThey\u2019re coming, Marcelo.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGood.\u201d He said.<\/p>\n He had packed up his Gibson and had put the case on the chair.<\/p>\n \u201cSo now I need to tell you something and ask you for a big favor.\u201d He said seriously. \u201cFirst, when I return I expect to see you in church playing the guitar without having to look at your left hand. Next, you have a good voice, so I would like for you to practice some hymns that you can sing while accompanying yourself. When you think you\u2019re good enough I want you to sing that hymn on a Sunday night in church during the special hymns part of the service. Can you do that for me?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGosh, I don\u2019t know. I guess.\u201d I said, a little nervous.<\/p>\n \u201cI know it\u2019s a lot to ask, but I\u2019m going to give you something that should help.\u201d He reached over and picked up the Gibson in the case and held it out to me.<\/p>\n \u201cShe\u2019s yours to practice on, to play, and to take care of. At least until I get back.\u201d<\/p>\n My eyes began to burn a little and suddenly I got a little lump in my throat.<\/p>\n \u201cMr. Ruiz\u2026\u201d I stammered.<\/p>\n \u201cMarcelo.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMarcelo, I, I, can\u2019t\u2026I, don\u2019t know..\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSure you do.\u201d<\/p>\n Mom and dad came into the room, both wiping their hands for different reasons.<\/p>\n \u201cAh, buenas tardes hermanos.\u201d Marcelo said, holding his hand out for my dad to shake.<\/p>\n \u201cBrother, I hear you\u2019re going away on a trip?\u201d My dad said, pumping Marcelo\u2019s hand.<\/p>\n \u201cYes. Have to get back to work. But I\u2019m leaving my guitar with Frankie. I hope you approve.\u201d<\/p>\n Both of my parents just kind of stood there with blank looks on their faces.<\/p>\n Finally, my dad said, \u201cHermano Ruiz, that\u2019s a really expensive instrument and I wouldn\u2019t want him to damage it while you\u2019re gone.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe won\u2019t\u2014of that I\u2019m sure. I think he loves that guitar more than I do. Besides, he\u2019s got some, well, homework\u2026to take care of while I\u2019m gone.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201c\u00bfSi?\u201d My mother managed to say.<\/p>\n \u201cYes.\u201d Marcelo said. \u201cI\u2019ll let him tell you about it later. Now, I have to get a couple of other things out of the car. Would you excuse me?\u201d<\/p>\n He turned and walked out the front door. The three of us just walked slowly and watched as he opened his trunk.<\/p>\n \u201cFrankie!\u201d Marcelo called out. \u201cCome out here and give me a hand.\u201d<\/p>\n I ran down the steps and around to the back of his car. From the trunk he pulled out and handed me a small amplifier, then he reached in and took out a small cardboard box.<\/p>\n \u201cThis is an electrical pick-up that you\u2019ll install over the sound hole. I\u2019ve already had a receptacle installed on the guitar where you can plug in the amplifier. It\u2019s small, but I think it\u2019ll help you make yourself heard when you play in church. With these you\u2019ll be able to be heard over the trumpets and the rest of the musicians\u2014especially brother Cant\u00fa and his big bass guitar.<\/p>\n I was stunned, and just couldn\u2019t find the right words to say. So, I just stood there holding the little box containing the pickup and unashamedly cried a little. Marcelo grabbed me by the shoulders, pulled me close and hugged me. I believe this was the first time ever that I\u2019d been hugged by another male.<\/p>\n \u201cJust take good care of her until I come back\u2014and make me proud.\u201d He said as he stepped back with his hands still on my shoulders.<\/p>\n I glanced up at my parents, who were still standing on the porch\u2014my father with his arms crossed and wearing a strained little smile, and my mother just looking confused. Marcelo patted me heavily on the back and walked slowly up to the driver\u2019s door.<\/p>\n \u201c\u00a1Adios hermanos! Cu\u00eddenlo.\u201d (Take care of him.) He said to my parents\u2014waving as he got into his car.<\/p>\n One final wave as he pulled away from our house.<\/p>\n As I sadly waved back I had no way of knowing\u00a0that it would be the last time that I, or anyone else, would ever again see Marcelo Ruiz.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n [1]<\/a> Mr. Charles Krohn left Jefferson Davis Senior High School a few years later and went on to become a very successful actor. His film credits include: \u00a0Futureworld<\/a>\u00a0(1976),\u00a0Sugar Hill<\/a>\u00a0(1974), The Bad News Bears in Breaking Training<\/a>\u00a0(1977), Red Alert<\/a>\u00a0(TV Movie, 1977), and Adam: His Song Continues<\/a>\u00a0(TV Movie,1986). He and his wife are major benefactors at the Alley Theater in Houston, and until lately starred in, and directed, the theater\u2019s production of Charles Dickens\u2019, A Christmas Carol. He was last employed as Professor of English at St. Thomas University, in Houston, Texas.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Let The Music Begin \u00a0 Satan, From The Stretch By the time I was a sophomore in high school my family was so well entrenched into the religion that we were now not only attending every single service that was held in the church during the week, we were spending most Saturday afternoons attending … Continue reading Let The Music Begin<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-405","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-general"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/405","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=405"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"https:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/405\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":415,"href":"https:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/405\/revisions\/415"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=405"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=405"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=405"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
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