Inexpensive, not cheap.

A few months ago while killing some time at a flee market in Dover, DE, I spotted a very dusty twelve string guitar lying on a table with a lot of other junk. As I walked past it, I looked a little closer and spotted the word ‘Kay’ on the headstock. My mind drifted back some forty-three years to a simpler time in my life. It was a warm Saturday afternoon in Oxford, PA. My dad had walked into Cambles Corner Store. As was often his custom he left my mother and us four kids in the car. By and by he emerged from the store with a brand new jumbo Kay guitar in his hand. There was no case, no strap and no pick. He carried it as one would carry a broom or a shovel. He announced to the family that he bought it for Barbara. Barbara was the oldest of us four children at that time. With the addition of our sister, Shirley a few years later, we are now five. Dad loved guitar music and wanted one of us to be able to play some day. As the next few years passed, it became evident that it would not be Barbara, who would become the guitar player in the family. When I got big enough to sit with the big Kay guitar in my lap, and get my arm over the jumbo-sized body and reach the strings, I began to strum and pick. The big six string Kay is no longer in my possession, but I am picking and strumming once again.

This brings me back to the twelve string Kay at Spence’s Market. Upon close examination, it was obvious that other than being very dirty, the guitar was in like-new condition. Then the fun began. There was no price on the item. I picked it up, tuned it a bit and strummed a few chords. “How much?” I asked. This is a question that almost never gets a straight answer.

“I paid $260 for it last year,” the man said. At that I placed the guitar back on the table with all the other junk. “Make me an offer,” he said.

“It’s not worth $260,” I answered. Then, to get a feel for where we were really going, I said, “I’ll give you $60.”

He fired back, “$160.” I walked away. About fifteen minutes later, I walked past the table again. The guitar hadn’t been touched. “You know you want it,” he said with a smile.
“Not for that price,” I answered.

“$140,” he said. I smiled and walked away. An hour went by. I approached the table from another direction. He caught me looking at it again. I picked it up, brushed a little dust off it and said, “I’ll give you $75.”

He said, “$125.”

I put it down and began to walk away again. Then I turned to see if I could get it down just a bit more. “I have a $100 bill in my wallet. I’ll make you an even trade.” To my surprise, he said, “Ok!”

It was the best $100 I ever spent. The guitar cleaned up nicely and it sounds every bit as good as any twelve string guitar I have ever played in music shops selling for $700 - $800. Now I just need to find a case for it.