Circa 1950 or '51, I wanted to learn to play guitar. My parents wanted me to take piano lessons, which I suffered for about a New York minute. They finally acquiesced, but as a penalty for dropping piano, my Dad picked up a used Stella from a pawn shop. The poor soul who pawned it couldn't have made $5 on the deal. It was dreadful, but it was my first instrument. The sound was dead. There was no resonance to the box. The neck was fairly true in the first position and potluck after that. I later complemented it with a badly worn Kay banjo, with the resonater missing in action. I was on a ranch, six miles from nowhere and taught myself in the barn. When you start with something so inadequate, it really makes you appreciate an average guitar and a decent venue, never mind my first Goya or Martin D-28.