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Meadow Muffins
Uncle Muck's Banjo By:
Ken Overcast
This little Christmas story started back in the late 1800's sometime, and
as incredible as all of this is going to sound, I'll swear on a stack of
Bibles that it's 100% the truth. I'm going to have to give you a little
background information to get you up to speed on this little deal, so bear
with me.
I used to have an old Great Uncle that lived down in the Ozark Mountains
of southern Missouri. His name was Melvin Reese, but everyone just called
him "Muck". Exactly how he got that handle, I don't have a clue. It seems
like all of those hillbilly relatives of mine have nicknames for some
reason.
Because I was the oldest, smartest, and handsomest of all their
grandchildren, my Grandad and Granny used to haul me all over the place on
big road trips to visit our kin folks. Uncle Muck was always everyone's
favorite. He was a tall, long-armed, red headed character with a contagious
laugh. He was always jokin' around about something, and when he'd tell a
story, he'd get so tickled at it himself that he'd have the entire room
crackin' up just watching him laugh at his own story.
In true hillbilly style, Uncle Muck would rather hunt and fish than eat.
He also played a mean five-string banjo, and I can just see him with his
head reared back and his mouth wide open, belting out his famous Ozark
rendition of "Cripple Creek". He was a real hero of mine.
On one occasion we were down in "Bugger County" in the Ozarks on a little
visit, and I convinced Uncle Muck to get out his banjo. He did, and (again)
I was totally enthralled. "Ah, I don't play it much anymore..... in fact I
don't think I've picked 'er up since the last time you was here. ....got
arthur-ite-us in m' fingers."
Bein' smart like I am, I picked up right away that a budding young
musician such as myself (probably 8 or 9 years old....
without arthur-ite-us) could probably use a good banjo like that, and I
spent the biggest part of the next couple of days trying to talk my favorite
Uncle out of that good banjo of his. After all, he'd already said that he
didn't play it much anymore.
Finally, probably out of desperation.... to get me to shut up, he told me
that he just couldn't bear to part with that old banjo, but there was one up
in the attic that I could have if I wanted it. "She might need a little
fixin' up, though.... to make 'er work right."
Well, Uncle Muck could possibly have been the Ozark King of
Understatement. The head was busted, the strings and tuning pegs were
missing, and it had been played so much that there were holes in the neck
where the favorite chords had been played for the last 75 years or so. It
needed a "little fixin' up" all right.
Fast forward about 40 years or so now, and that old 1880's model relic
was still hangin' on my wall. It really didn't take a genius like me all
that long to figure out that the old thing was way too far gone to fix up.
But it DID have character, and it WAS Uncle Muck's so it had earned its spot
on the wall as a decoration. It brought back a lot of good ol' memories of
the long ago days and that favorite old Uncle, now passed on to his Reward.
A travelin' band happened to be playing in town a few years ago, and
because I knew a couple of the guys, they stopped out at our place for a
visit before they headed back out on the road. One of the guys in the band
was Jake Peters. Jake has been the Canadian Champion five string banjo
picker so many times that he doesn't even enter the contests anymore. He
just doesn't have any real competition.
Jake also builds and repairs instruments, and when he spied my old wall
hanging, wanted to know the story behind it. I told him the tale, and he
offered to take it back to Alberta with him and fix it all up as good as
new.
Because it was an old family heirloom, and it would be nice to see it
play again, I agreed.
I got a call from my Canadian friend a year or so later, and he informed
me that he'd found a banjo in a second hand store up north of Edmonton that
was a dead ringer for Uncle Muck's, and he figured that there were parts
enough to make one good one out of the two.
Well, that's just what he did. He had the metal parts re-plated and fixed
the neck and tuning pegs as good as new. Although he'd been very careful to
keep it entirely original, it probably looked even BETTER than it did when
it was new.
"I never did find a maker's mark on it anywhere," Jake grinned proudly as
he handed over Uncle Muck's pride and joy. It looked like it had just come
out of a store window. "All I could see was a No. 25 written by hand on the
inside of the wooden tone ring."
"Did you ever look on the old parts banjo?" I asked. "If you think
they're made by the same guy, then maybe there's a mark on that one."
"Nope, I never did..... let's take a look." We had to back out a
couple of screws and slide the shiny metal ring off to get a look at the
inside of the wooden ring. There it was.... for all the world to see....
in the same hand writing as on Uncle Muck's banjo.... No. 26!! Here
we had two banjos approximately 125 years old....
made by the same guy, that were only one number apart! One of them
had spent most of its life in the Ozark Mountains and the other one had
somehow wound up over 2000 miles away in Canada. It's hard to imagine that
they had actually lain side by side on their maker's bench all those years
before.
Fast forward with me once more.... another six or eight years or so. I
just got an email from a lady last week that I've never met. She's a
musician also, and was wondering if we were related. It turns out we are, as
Uncle Muck was her Grandad. It's funny how families drift apart, isn't it? I
just couldn't resist telling her the entire banjo story, and how incredible
the consecutive numbers were.
She was moved to tears..... you see, her Mother had wound up with that
good banjo of Uncle Muck's when he died, but it had been stolen out of their
house one day while they were away. That was several years ago now, and a
thorough searching of the pawn shops had turned up absolutely nothing. It
appears that old banjo was lost forever.... memories and all.
Was it just a coincidence that Jake Peters found that parts banjo north
of Edmonton with a consecutive number, at least 2000 miles away from its old
partner?.... Maybe.
Was it purely accidental that a long lost cousin happened to contact
me.... a guy she'd never met, and then was moved to tears when she heard a
simple story about a dumb banjo?.... Perhaps.
Is it just a twist of fate that this is the Christmas season....
the time of year when we think most about giving gifts and blessing others?
I heard a guy say once that giving can't actually even be considered
giving.... until we give up something we REALLY want to keep. Well, just by
coincidence, I REALLY wanted to keep that banjo..... but, I also knew
where it belonged.
There's one thing that I KNOW isn't going to be any coincidental
accident. When my new-found cousin Jena gets that surprise package in
the mail with her Grandad's banjo in it..... she's liable to wet her pants.
Keep Smilin'..... but don't forget to check yer cinch.
Ken Overcast is a recording cowboys singer and author that ranches on
Lodge Creek in northern Montana where he raises and dispenses BS.
www.kenovercast.com
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