It was now March, and I was finally ready to give Grizz his Christmas present. We’d just eaten dinner, and he went to sit down and do some work at his desk. I went into the bedroom and brought out his gift. It was heavy.
I sat it on the small coffee table and grinned at him. “Merry belated Christmas!”
He turned around and noticed the present. I must have shocked him. Either he wasn’t used to getting gifts or he thought I’d forgotten I owed him one. He just looked at me.
“Are you going to just sit there and stare at me or are you going to open it?” I teased.
Without saying anything he got up and started to pick it up with one hand, but I think the weight of the box surprised him.
“Whoa, what’s this?”
“You have to open it and find out.”
He picked it up with both hands and sat down on the couch. I sat next to him and pulled my knees up and rested my chin on them. He slowly started to unwrap it. It was a plain brown box. He opened the box and lifted out one of many individually wrapped pieces. I watched his face closely as he unwrapped the first one.
It was a customized chess set, all handcrafted pieces of ivory—skulls and other symbols.
He held up the first piece and looked at me.
“How? How did you get this for me, Kit? If the rest of the pieces are this intricate, it must have cost you a fortune.”
“Doesn’t matter. Do you like it?” I hugged my knees tighter. “Just tell me you like it. Oh, and the chessboard is under our bed! It was way too heavy to wrap. You like it, don’t you?” Suddenly I was worried whether I chose the right gift.
“How did you pay for it?” His eyes were serious.
“That’s a terribly impolite question, Grizz. Don’t worry, I didn’t use your money, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I’m not thinking that at all. I just can’t figure out how you came up with this kind of money.” Carefully he unwrapped every piece, setting them all down in an even line on the coffee table.
I knew the minute he figured it out. I could tell by the expression on his face. It was one of only two times I saw something close to tears in his eyes. The second time was when I showed him a picture of our daughter when I visited him in jail.
In barely a whisper, he said, “You hocked your guitar.”
* * * * *
He was right. I’d hocked my guitar. It was a special guitar, and I’d received a substantial amount of money for it. Thank goodness Guido had picked it up in Delia’s yard sale before she sold it. She never did believe me when I’d told her how valuable it was.
I got the guitar as a gift in 1969. I was nine years old and attending Woodstock with Delia and Vince. The only thing Delia let me bring to keep myself occupied were some magic markers and coloring books. We’d set up our small camp next to a young couple. I wish I could remember their names. The guy had a guitar he would bring out and play when there were no performances. He caught me staring the first day. I think they both felt sorry for me since Delia and Vince were either wasted or asleep. He gave me guitar lessons. He showed me the basic notes and let me practice on his guitar.
It rained that weekend and performances were delayed and it was a muddy mess. The young couple left for home late Sunday night. While his wife was packing up, he called me aside and told me he wanted me to have his guitar as long as I would keep learning to play it. I’d already learned “Jingle Bells,” and he said it was good to learn that, but I needed to practice the notes he taught me, too. He said it was an old guitar, but tuned well, and I could keep it. I was thrilled.
The next morning, most of the crowd had cleared out. I woke up to loud music that was so good I was mesmerized. It was Jimi Hendrix playing “The Star-Spangled Banner” on his electric guitar. I tried to wake up Delia and Vince, but they were completely passed out. Before Jimi was finished with his set, I took one of my black magic markers and my newly acquired guitar and hauled myself up to the side of the stage.
“Sorry kid, can’t let you back here,” some guy with an official-looking pass told me at the gate. He had to yell over the sound of the music.
“My parents are working back there and I’ve been walking around with my dad’s guitar. He’s gonna be so mad at me for running off. Please let me back there before I get in trouble,” I lied, shouting up at him.
He either believed me or figured a kid wasn’t much of a threat. He let me in. I was waiting for Jimi Hendrix when he finally came down off the stage. I barged right up to him and stopped him in his tracks.
“Could you please sign my guitar, Mr. Hendrix?” And before he could answer, “I just learned how to play it this weekend.”
I think this amused him because he gave me a big smile. His face was glistening with sweat, and he used his arm to swipe across it. “Sure, gotta pen or something?”
I handed him my magic marker. He wrote “Gypsy Eyes, Jimi Hendrix, WS, 8/18/69” right on the back of the guitar.
“What are gypsy eyes?” I asked him as I tried to make out the words of his hasty scribbling.
“What’s your name?”
“Gwinny.”
“Well, Gwinny, it’s a song I recorded last year, but since you have the biggest, brownest eyes I’ve ever seen, I think it applies to you today.”
I gave him the biggest smile I could muster. “Thank you.”
He didn’t reply. He just smiled and started walking. I took my newly autographed guitar and headed back the way I came in.
“Hey, your parents are gonna be mad if you take your dad’s guitar out there again,” the guy at the gate said to me.
“No, it’s okay, my parents are out there camping,” I said as I sauntered past.
“What? I thought you told me your parents were on the crew.”
“I did. I’m sorry for lying. But I got Jimi Hendrix to sign my guitar!” I lifted it up for him to see.
“Nice going,” he said with a smile.
When Delia and Vince finally sobered up enough for us to leave I showed them my autographed guitar. They didn’t believe it was an authentic signature. I guess it was just sloppy enough that they thought I signed it myself. Either that or they were too hungover to care.
“Yes, I hocked my guitar,” I answered Grizz, my eyes on the ground. “You’ve given me so much, and I just wanted to give something back. I’m sorry it took so long, but it’s handmade and there was no way I could get it in time for Christmas.”
He stood up and looked down at me. Then he took my hand, pulled me up and caught me in a bear hug that almost took my breath away.
“It’s the nicest present that anyone has ever given me, Kit. Thank you. I love it and I love you.” He kissed the top of my head.
“Now let’s go get your guitar back.”