I was rummaging through my desk and came across this flyer recently. I can’t quite bring myself to toss it.
And it inspired me to post this goodie but oldie for my Substack homies.
A few years back I left my Squier telecaster in the van one night. Not sure why I left it there. But I suspect it’s because I brought it along when I went down to Bimbo’s to sit in with Alejandro and the Sensitive Boys one night. Afterward we did some socializing, as one does.
Anyway, I drove the van home after Al’s show that night, cruising the ‘hood with a song in my head, and parked it. I guess it didn’t feel like I was coming home from playing a gig. I was just a civilian that night. So it’s easy to forget about the guitar I’d tossed into the back seat.
I was out of the groove.
A few days later walking through the ‘hood, I noticed the driver-side window of the van had been smashed. Pretty typical. It’s the San Francisco tax.
I took it in to a glass replacement joint in the neighborhood here. But, in terms of clues, I did notice something odd. There were several fives and ones in the cupholder. That didn’t quite jibe. I mean, if someone was going to break in, you’d think they would take the cash. That’s a couple rocks worth of cash right there. Then again, who knows with inflation and San Francisco being the kind of town it is. God only knows. Nothing makes sense. And you have to know that before you try to make sense of anything around here. Perhaps they broke in, looked at that measly twelve dollars of wrinkled ones and fives, and said, “Who is this loser?”
It’s possible.
A few days later, new window successfully installed, we were loading the van, heading out for a run up in the Pacific Northwest. Portland, Eugene, Seattle, Vancouver… that kind of thing. And I just couldn’t find my guitar. It was nowhere to be found. Wait a minute! It occurred to me, maybe that’s why the window was broken.
When was the last time I saw that guitar?
Oh boy… panic and dread washed over me.
Not good.
I was shook up. But we had to get to Portland. Time’s a-wasting. So, I grabbed another guitar (the Creston Stephiecaster) and hit the road. Meanwhile, springing to action, I posted this on the socials:
My 1984 Fender Squire Telecaster is gone. I’m offering a reward of $500.00.
It was taken from my van after someone smashed the window. I’ve never left home without it.
Feeling pretty gutted right now. It was in my van in a leather soft case.
The guitar has a lot of history with me. I purchased it in 1984. It cost something like $150.00 at the time. I don’t think it has a serial number. It’s just a lucky guitar. Like a lucky pen. I’ve hardly played a gig or made a record without it. It’s been my constant companion for all these years. It knows all the songs. Please let me know if you see it. I’m offering a reward of $500.00. No questions asked.
Thanks,
CP
Oh man, I gotta get that guitar back. Really though, not sure how to describe it, but playing that Squire Telecaster through a Deluxe Reverb is kind of like holding a baby giraffe in your arms. It’s perfect. Hell, if everyone had a guitar like mine, I’m sure I’d be selling insurance or something. Leo Fender worked miracles. He should be taught in school.
Oh man, gotta bust a move, gotta get strategic. Got to get out amongst it. See if we can bring it home.
And we did. No one took Bin Laden to the ground, but some true blue heroism went down all the same.
Here you have the timeline:
We headed up to Portland, while word got around on the socials. Kara Johnson and Patrick Winningham came up with an action plan. Kara created the poster you see below and flyered every SRO on Market Street, down through the 6th Street corridor and up into the Tenderloin.
And lo and behold, a couple days later I received a cryptic text from “Mike.” I texted him back with “Mike, you’re a hero. How can we get you your reward?”
I was up in Seattle. So I called Patrick, who took it from there. With Tom Heyman in tow (wearing a belt buckle the size of a turkey platter), they headed out for the handoff, pockets stuffed with cash. They negotiated a meet-up at the Starbucks on 8th and Market—neutral territory. “Mike” showed up with a crumpled flyer instead of a corsage. After a few pleasantries were exchanged, another guy wheeled around the corner on roller blades—with the guitar strapped to his back! Where’s the film crew when we need 'em? Patrick and Tom paid the ransom and drove off with the guitar.
I should mention, it wasn’t all smooth sailing. Patrick’s wife Marion wasn’t thrilled with Patrick heading into the Tenderloin with $500 in cash. She said, “You’re going to get jacked!” Patrick didn’t know what to say to that, (think fast, Paddy!) so he looked around the room and spotted a Bible. He grabbed it, held it up, and said, “No one is going to jack somebody holding a Bible, Honey.” And I guess that satisfied Marion. I called Tom Heyman for backup. And told him to take precaution. That’s when he told me about his belt buckle the size of a turkey platter he planned to strap on.
I was tired and got sloppy. I was sick about it. But I got a break, thanks to the love and support of so many people.
And hell, if “Mike” and the Roller Blade Man were high as Johnny Thunders after the exchange, God bless 'em anyway, they did the right thing.
It’s crazy to think that Kara, my old high school sweetheart, and my oldest friend Patrick (and best man at our wedding) came to the rescue (along with all the rest of you). The two people in my life who’ve been there for me longer than that wandering guitar.
With all the awareness put out there, there was nowhere for it to hide.
Love and kisses and broken fingers,
–CP
PS: We’ve got tour dates. Gonna dust off some old songs and play them. Or maybe they’ll play us. We’ll see. See you down at the swimming hole, campers.
Did you hear the one about the guy who left his banjo in his car one night? When he got back there was a smashed window and two banjos in his car.
Hey, this would make for a good story on stage before song............?also I remember your somber mood that night in Portland, I was there. My name is Mike, but not THAT Mike mind you. Carry on.