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I began this blog in order to share my experiences learning instrument building from my dad, but along with those stories I look forward to sharing my memories of growing up with two busy, musically inclined parents as well as my current experiences stepping out on my own as a female luthier promoting environmental sustainability in her instruments while working to alter gender stereotypes in a male dominated field. If you'd like to use quotes from this blog for interviews or in your own work, please contact me first! (email is henderson.elizabethj@gmail.com)

Wednesday, April 8, 2020

Gambles


I have this memory of sitting at a weathered picnic table, the sun warming my shoulders through my light t shirt. Nine dried, brown speckled beans piled together in front of me, nine sitting in front of my dad, two beans sitting in the middle of the table as though they were preparing for a duel. My dad passes five cards to me and five to himself from a deck he sits between us. I don't remember who won that game, but I remember the rough splinters of the picnic table, the smell of the cards mingling with freshly cut grass, the soft click as one card was laid on top of a pile of other discards, the excitement of risking and perhaps winning a bean. I remember we played with beans because my dad proclaimed that my Granny wouldn't allow gambling of any kind, but she was willing to sacrifice twenty of her baking beans for our game. I remember absolutely loving having something my dad enjoyed doing with me. Something he enjoyed doing with other people, like playing guitar, but I got to be part of it, only a little bit less skilled as he. The memory flooded my senses as Nick and I looked for things to pass the time while we have been at home waiting for the coronavirus currently wreaking havoc on our world to ease. I spotted the deck of cards sitting on our little shelf crammed with board games and thought, didn't I used to play a fun game with my dad? What was it called? Didn't he tell me about how he learned to play?

A favorite of my dad's guitar aficionado friends has always been a guy named John Cephas. He has since passed away, but he was such a bright character highlighting my childhood when he would occasionally pop into the gray everyday goings on of little me. He was an incredible blues musician, but that part was less exciting to me when I was young than was his fiery, no nonsense personality. He was always kind, but didn't shy from voicing his strong opinions and always preferred to be in charge. Hm, sort of like me, now that I'm thinking about it.

One of the strongest memories I have of John was that he insisted on driving the windy back roads of Rugby, rather than simply ride with my dad who knew the area well, as we set off in search of a restaurant for dinner one evening. I am told he always preferred to drive, even in huge unfamiliar cities, such as Boston, where the drivers are unapologetically aggressive. But even those drivers were no match for John, he cut people off and wound in and out of traffic with the best of them, shouting insults as he went.

That one evening though, my dad and several other not especially small guys stuffed themselves into the back of John's minivan while I was presented with the seat of honor next to him, up front. We all clung to our armrests as John swung that minivan around the curves of 58 chatting away as he drove. He asked my dad if he had ever seen any bears wandering around these parts. My dad answered that no, he hadn't seen many bears in his fifty-some years of living in the area, though evidence that they existed was prevalent, especially in the summer. Not five minutes after that exchange, John proclaims, "Well what's that then?!" as we came upon a large black bear trundling up the double yellow lines ahead of us. John increased his speed until the minivan hovered right behind the bear, and we followed, staring in bewildered silence, until the bear finally turned left and headed down the bank and into the dark woods. While there are many bears hanging out near my house in Asheville on any given day, I believe that was the first bear I had ever seen in real life. And I have John Cephas to thank for letting me have the best view in the house.

My dad told me that John taught him to play Tonk, an old card game favored by blues musicians from the deep south, consisting of each player being dealt five cards with the end goal of having the lowest value on the cards in your hand. Players throw money (or whatever is available) into the pot and take turns working toward reducing the value of the cards in their hand by making spreads or playing on other's spreads. Whoever thinks they have the lowest value at any given time is at liberty to say Tonk, and present their cards, thus winning the pot, unless someone else has a lower hand. There area few other rules, some of which my dad accused John of making up as we went, but that is the basic gist.

I learned that my dad was taught to play Tonk on his first tour with the Masters of Steel String Guitar. Some pretty heavy hitters in the guitar world pulled up a chair to also play the game during down time. The likes of John's good pal Phil Wiggins, Jerry Douglas, Albert Lee, Cal Farlow and Ledward Kaapana were among the players from that first tour. John took the game very seriously, holding his five cards close to his chest so no one would try to peek over at them. He also would only play for a nickel a hand. When my dad asked him why not play for a dollar, John was adamantly against it, saying that's simply too much money, a dollar leads to fights. My dad told me that John would never willingly give up his nickels, though he also said, "I am sure he'd give you anything you ever needed or asked for as long as you weren't trying to win it." As we chatted, I asked why (another absolute favorite) Eddie Pennington hadn't been mentioned in any of these stories, as I knew he was also a Master of the steel string guitar. My dad replied that Eddie wasn't on that first tour, but he also didn't remember him playing much in the subsequent games that occurred on the following tours of which he had been a part.

Because having an excuse to chat with Eddie Pennington is never something I will pass up, I decided to ask him what he remembers of playing Tonk and he told me that he only participated in one game while he was out on tour with John. He said that my dad always sat quietly with his hand, unreadable as he played. I remember that about playing with him as well, but I also recall that he would comment if I discarded something low, "A three?! Who ever heard of such a thing?! Wheeew!" Eddie told me that his sole Tonk game was the only time he drank scotch. John insisted that he partake while he was at the table so Eddie reluctantly obliged, as you don't say no to John Cephas. He said he regretted it later that evening when the headache bloomed, but not as much as some of the other folks who may have indulged a bit too much in John's scotch.

Following the tour, my dad brought the game back to Rugby, teaching his friends and me to play. Most Monday evenings, my dad would ceremoniously make a large pot of spaghetti, simmering a little packet of seasoning, butter and tomato paste together to make his signature sauce. I remember him being especially proud of it, though I didn't really understand why. (Don't tell him I said that.) Gerald, Jimmy Edmonds, Tommy Sells, were the regulars, though sometimes a few other local guys would stroll in for a game of Tonk and a bowl of spaghetti at the dining room table.  Daddy would hand me a stack of dollar bills from a coffee can he kept under the placemats in the buffet, insisting I not to mention it to Granny as he counted each one out. Gerald has always taken gambling seriously, as has the used car salesman Tommy, so it was no surprise that I very rarely won a hand when I joined the game. I feel like Tommy never felt much remorse about winning money from a twelve year old girl, but Gerald would oftentimes slip a couple dollars back to me when I inevitably lost all of my dollars. One big regret I harbor is that Gerald mentioned wanting to get the old game and spaghetti night back running the last few times we were together. I sure wish we had.

I thought of those spaghetti nights as Nick and I got into our rounds of Tonk on our couch here in Asheville, gambling with left over Valentine candy hearts I have yet to throw out since their hayday in February. Dealing the cards, I got to thinking about how much of my luthier work is also heavily based on gambling. Setting a guitar neck for instance. So much guess work goes into it; I am pretty sure it is going to work, I should win the endgame if I set everything up just how I have been taught, but sometimes the wood simply has other plans. Occasionally the neck material is very stiff and will back bow even after you perfectly measure and prepare the neck blank, once you glue the fingerboard to it and install frets. Conversely, sometimes the neck will pull too much with the tension that comes with stringing the instrument, causing the perfect measurement I calculated to end up being lower. Sometimes, the humidity surrounding the guitar causes changes to the wood that pull my perfect measurements out of alignment as well. There really is just no way to be sure in the end, I just have to take a gamble. In my job I take the best risk and measure as precisely as possible, and prepare for the unknowns as best I can. Worst case scenario something is pulled out of alignment after the neck is glued into the body and I have to reset a neck. It isn't my favorite task, but sometimes, like pretty much always in Tonk, my best gamble simply doesn't pay off.

In order to get a neck to set correctly and comfortably, I have to consider three angles when I cut a dovetail joint. First, how evenly the joint sits into the angled slot cut in the block of the body, using shims if necessary to make the fingerboard and string height even across the plane of the board. Second, how evenly the fingerboard fits on the neck and over the soundhole rings, making the strings align evenly into the bridge pins. Third, and most importantly, how backward or forward the neck is tipped when it sits onto the sides of the guitar. This angle affects the height of the string action, avoiding making the strings buzz from hitting the frets, or sit too high off of the fingerboard making playing difficult. This important measurement is also the biggest gamble, as so much depends on how the wood moves after pressure from strings is applied, where the other measurements are able to be made more secure with the addition of shims along the dovetail joint. Does that make sense? If not, you're not alone. It has taken me ten years to get consistently competent at neck setting, though I am not, and probably never will be, immune to the gamble that comes from estimating those angles. Below are the steps I take to get a solid neck angle in pictures. Everyone does things differently, but if you were ever curious how I make your guitar easy to play, this is the behind the scenes work necessary to make that happen! I figure if even an expert like Wayne Henderson has to do neck sets sometimes, this job is done only as well as it can be in the moment, and hopefully our gamble pays off. Stay safe and healthy as we all weather this storm of uncertainty!

First, to get the neck angle, measure how far off square the body is. Usually the back is a little higher. 

Cut the neck blank to tip a bit further back than the body angle. Then cut the dovetail using that measurement.

Check the height at where the saddle will be. It shouldn't be flush with the top, but a low angle is ok for now.


Because I set the angle of the blade cutting the sides of the dovetail past square so it matches the angle of the body, the string height angle will temporarily be too forward due to the excess wood on each side. See the gap in the middle? After the heel is cut to size, the angle should be correct
It is important that the joint is snug against the body.
I like to have about 1/8" between the straight edge and my guitar body.

The fingerboard has to be even with the soundhole too! 

Ideally, if you cut your dovetail correctly and the angles are set for the fit of the neck, the fingerboard should be even with the nut/headstock end of your neck blank too! 

Hopefully this angle will allow for a low action with a playable neck when all is said and done!