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Horological Meandering

About forty years ago, Dad and I visited . . .

 

. . . his first boss at his home in Taft, California.  Art Eadie was a geologist by training, and probably the most accomplished person I've ever known.  He made perfume, of all things - replicas of Chanel 5 and the like, but with twice the flower oil content.  Had fabulous collections of stamps, coins, butterflies, and of course, rocks.  He lived modestly, and in the late '70s was still driving his '40 Ford pick-up.  (Not sure if he added a/c . . . Taft is miserably hot almost year 'round.  Probably not.)

He counted being a luthier among his many talents.  As we were leaving, he pulled out a guitar.  "This is Merle Haggard's guitar," he said.  "I'm restoring it for him."  Of course, he strummed it for us.

After a one minute search on the internet, I found these pics. 








Pretty sure that's the one and same acoustic . . . my memory of the soundboard is that it resembled hewed pine. 

Not a musician (tried once, long story!), but I'd give most anything to have this guitar.

Art


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