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whole experience.
I bought a guitar for $2.00, from Louie Miller. The ones I had before that were mostly toys. On my frequent trips to Flint Hill to milk Uncle Robert’s cow when he was on graveyard shift at the Viscose plant, I picked up pop bottles on the road, and took them to Bradford’s store. I finally got the $2.50 I needed for a set of real Black Diamond strings from the pawn shop in Front Royal. Dad said that was like putting a $10 saddle on a $5 horse. And, perhaps it was.
Mom sewed up a white feed sack that middlings came in, and that was my guitar case. Many evenings after supper was done, I would carry that guitar in its feed sack up on the hill, to the little house where J.W. lived with Uncle Clarence and Aunt Lelia.
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