Junior Burke

At nineteen, I, who did not read music, who had capriciously left my one and only guitar lesson never to return, decided to be a songwriter.  

I contacted a fellow I knew who owned an area music store and asked if he could help me get my hands on a Gibson Everly Brothers.

The only one I’d ever glimpsed was worn by Steve McQueen, playacting at playing guitar in the film Baby, the Rain Must Fall. I’d never even seen the Everly Brothers wearing one. But I thought it was the most beautiful instrument, black with over-sized double tortoise-shell pick guards and gleaming white five-pointed stars adorning several of the frets.

The storeowner got back to me and said yes, he could order one, and we worked out a deal. While most young songwriters at that time were coming to songwriting via folk music, I was coming from Chuck Berry and Buddy Holly. This was the guitar I wanted because, although acoustic, it looked like rock n’ roll.

It didn’t arrive for several months. What I didn’t know until later was that Gibson was phasing this model out, having sold but a few hundred in going on ten years.  But it was the guitar for me. Within a week I’d written two songs on it. Thankfully, it’s still with me, on its stand in the living room, half a century old. A few scuffs and scratches and suitably mellow.