My father was a self-taught mandolin player. He was one of the best string
instrument players in our town. He could not read music, but if he heard a tune
a few times, he could play it. When he was you anger, he was a member of a small
country music band. They would play at local dances and on a few occasions would
play for the local radio station. He often told us how he had auditioned and
earned a position in a band that featured Patsy Cline as their lead singer. He
told the family that after he was hired he never went back. Dad was a very
religious man. He stated that there was a lot of drinking and cursing the day of
his audition and he did not want to be around that type of environment.
Occasionally, Dad would get out his mandolin and play for the family. We three
children: Trisha, Monte and I, George Jr., would often sing along. Songs such as
the Tennessee Waltz, Harbor Lights and around Christmas time, the well-known
rendition of Silver Bells. "Silver Bells, Silver Bells, its Christmas time in the
city" would ring throughout the house. One of Dad's favorite hymns was "The Old
Rugged Cross". We learned the words to the hymn when we were very young, and
would sing it with Dad when he would play and sing. Another song that was often
shared in our house was a song that accompanied the Walt Disney series: Davey
Crockett. Dad only had to hear the song twice before he learned it well enough to
play it. "Davey, Davey Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier" was a favorite song
for the family. He knew we enjoyed the song and the program and would often get
out the mandolin after the program was over. I could never get over how he could
play the songs so well after only hearing them a few times. I loved to sing, but
I never learned how to play the mandolin. This is something I regret to this day.
Dad loved to play the mandolin for his family he knew we enjoyed singing, and
hearing him play. He was like that. If he could give pleasure to others, he would,
especially his family. He was always there, sacrificing his time and efforts to
see that his family had enough in their life. I had to mature into a man and have
children of my own before I realized how much he had sacrificed. I joined the
United States Air Force in January of 1962. Whenever I would come home on leave,
I would ask Dad to play the mandolin. Nobody played the mandolin like my father.
He could touch your soul with the tones that came out of that old mandolin. He
seemed to shine when he was playing. You could see his pride in his ability to
play so well for his family. When Dad was younger, he worked for his father on
the farm. His father was a farmer and sharecropped a farm for the man who owned
the property. In 1950, our family moved from the farm. Dad had gained employment
at the local limestone quarry. When the quarry closed in August of 1957, he had
to seek other employment. He worked for Owens Yacht Company in Dundalk, Maryland
and for Todd Steel in Point of Rocks, Maryland. While working at Todd Steel, he
was involved in an accident. His job was to roll angle iron onto a conveyor so
that the welders farther up the production line would have it to complete their
job. On this particular day Dad got the third index finger of his left hand
mashed between two pieces of steel. The doctor who operated on the finger could
not save it, and Dad ended up having the tip of the finger amputated. He didn't
lose enough of the finger where it would stop him picking up anything, but it did
impact his ability to play the mandolin. After the accident, Dad was reluctant to
play the mandolin. He felt that he could not play as well as he had before the
accident. When I came home on leave and asked him to play he would make excuses
for why he couldn't play. Eventually, we would wear him down and he would say
"Okay, but remember, I can't hold down on the strings the way I used to" or
"Since the accident to this finger I can't play as good". For the family it
didn't make any difference that Dad couldn't play as well. We were just glad that
he would play. When he played the old mandolin it would carry us back to a
cheerful, happier time in our lives. "Davey, Davey Crockett, King of the Wild
Frontier", would again be heard in the little town of Bakerton, West Virginia. In
August of 1993 my father was diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer. He chose not
to receive chemotherapy treatments so that he could live out the rest of his life
in dignity. About a week before his death, we asked Dad if he would play the
mandolin for us. He made excuses but said "okay". He knew it would probably be
the last time he would play for us. He tuned up the old mandolin and played a few
notes. When I looked around, there was not a dry eye in the family. We saw before
us a quiet humble man with an inner strength that comes from knowing God, and
living with him in one's life. Dad would never play the mandolin for us again. We
felt at the time that he wouldn't have enough strength to play, and that makes
the memory of that day even stronger. Dad was doing something he had done all his
life, giving. As sick as he was, he was still pleasing others. Dad sure could
play that Mandolin!