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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 younger, 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!