Hardi, Hardi's brother, and I were at Hogeye Music in Evanston (Chicago area) recently on vacation, and a young man came in.

"I'm building a banjo!" he announced. "I need parts!"

"OK," said the young shopkeeper. Nearby, the store owner sat at his repair bench, where he works with some of performing pros' finest instruments.

"What do you need?" inquired the shop fellow.

"I dunno!" said the young creator. "The metal parts!"

"OK," said the perky, helpful shop tender, as the shop owner continued to monitor events at a remove. "Let's see.... you'll need this... and this... and this.... but do you want this finish, or that one?"

"I dunno!" said the young enthusiast. "What's best?!? I'm using the instructions from my Foxire book and...."

The shop helper picked out a matched set of all sorts of arcane things, and carried them over to the store owner at his bench. He explained the situation... the owner looked up slowly over the rims of his glasses and said with a straight face and flat tone, "Either will be adequate. The less expensive set will work just as well. It's a matter of personal choice." He returned to the guitar whose setup he was correcting. His body language suggested that perhaps he had not enjoyed being disturbed with such elementary matters.

The shop assistant left him to his work and conferred with the young pup, fella to fella. A decision as to style was eventually made. The shopman began to ring up the purchase. We all thought it was going to end there, and that the tension in the air would be released soon when the youngster left.

"What kind of wood should I use?" blurted the kid.

"Uhhhh.... I dunno for sure..." said the helpful attendant.... "Uh, Jim....? he said as he turned to the owner.

The owner looked up again from his delicate task and said, quietly and in a firm and neutral, not quite unfriendly tone, "I'm not the one building it." To all present, it seemed this reply did not invite additional discussion.

The young feller (he was SO young) quailed now, realizing for the first time that... the entire world... might not... quite... share... his enthusiasm for himself as a banjo builder.

He and the assistant now conferred again for a time, looking over a number of fine, beautifully-made instruments of all price ranges and tones, hanging on the wall. Various woods used in them were noted.

The young man now returned to the repair bench and asked, on his own, of the rather reserved shop owner, "Well.... will it work to use xxxxx and xxxx, for the xxxx and the xxxx?"

The owner looked up, thought a moment, then paused, looking the boy dead in the soul, and said, "... Yes." And looked back down at his work on the old Gibson.

The boy stood there... gulped... paused... took a breath.... and asked in a small voice, "Do you know where I could get some that would be good enough to use?"

"Evanston Lumber." (No glance up.)

Well that was about all she wrote. There was a brief discussion with the assistant about making a wooden-headed banjo, while he finished ringing things up, and what that funny fifth peg was for.... and the boy went on his way. We let out our breath, and exchanged a look with the assistant, a look made all of eyebrows.

He seemed somehow as excited as when he had burst in, but in a more manly, thoughtful way.

When he left no one said a word about what had happened... until we got in the car.

"Man!!!" said Hardi. "That was ROUGH!"

He and his brother sort of giggled.

I guess, though, that's how men are made, and banjo's.

~Susan