The Gift(Ric Wooldridge) THE GIFT

“It’sa gift, don’tcha know? I been tickin’ off time like one ‘a them metro Nome gadgets since Ah kin member.”

That’s just how old Zeke talked. Gray headed and not too tall, maybe five foot three with stooped shoulders and a thin frame. All I can say is, “So much for looks.” That old coot could make music.

“Yeah, Ah been pickin’ this old git box since Ah wuz ‘bout six year old. Jus barely could hole it in my lap. Ah had me other gittars, but this’ un suits me bes.”

He was an uneducated, self-taught guitarist whose speech was every bit as coarse as he looked. He took me completely by surprise. When we first heard him tuning up, he was telling some real down home, just so, stories. We were sure that we would hear some hard luck drinking songs, heavy on the twang.

Wrong!

What emerged from that battered old acoustic, whatever kind of guitar, was some of the sweetest magic that had ever been cast. Some of what he played was easily identified classical, as he explained, “Ah heered me some tunes that Segovie feller done that Ah kinda’ liked. So these is them.” Bach never sounded better.

“Ah rit me sum stuff’a my own. It wuz one o them kinda’ warm days, and I was kinda’ dreamin’ and pickin’ ata’ handful o strangs an dis here come out. It’s kinda purty.”

The old gent may have been dreaming when he wrote it, but what I heard then was some of the most serious music I have ever heard in my entire life. As his fingers danced on the neck of his instrument the air became alive. Music sparked like static electricity, as old Zeke hunched low over the body of his guitar. His face was aglow with the lightning that arched behind his eyes.

That music filled the well of my heart. With no words to accompany his musical creation, he conveyed emotion of such depth that exceeded any vocal expression. I closed my eyes and let myself fall into sync with the intense energy that was transforming my world.

I know that sounds facetious. It’s true, music can alter a person’s mood, making them happy, sad, reflective, or even angry. But music is just an accumulation of modulated sound patterns set to various sequences in time. On the day I heard old Zeke play, I learned the truth that set me free. Music is Power! The power to touch the heart. If you can touch one’s heart, you can change one’s life.

My world became an expanding galaxy of magnificence, and I was captured and held in thrall by my own desire to join with that energy. Up until that point in time, my life seemed aimless. I certainly didn’t see where I fit into any greater scheme of things. But that amazing old man seemed to play real meaning into my life. I felt as if I were being completed, that each clear note that old Zeke played was a clarion calling me into focus.

On he played. His fingers spoke, and something inside me listened. My mind summoned pictures of fairy tale castles and flights of dragons, all the impossible things that the heart can make real. Faster than the speed of light, my daydreams raced to fill my life with new possibilities. Possibilities of what I could be. The greatest possibility in my mind was that I could be whatever I really wanted to be. All I had to do was choose.

I don’t recall the exact moment the music stopped. It seemed to be trapped in my head, filling me with amazement. It was nearly a physical pain to be surrounded by silence.

Silence.

I opened my eyes, but the tears blurred my vision. I sat on the grass, legs crossed, right where I had been sitting with my companions all prepared to be entertained by some old coot who couldn’t possibly be more than humorous compared to other musicians who frequented this park. I hadn’t noticed until just then that those who were with me had wandered away, apparently unimpressed by the old man’s wonderful wizardry. I looked around to find that I was completely alone with old Zeke. I looked at him with what I am sure was an expression of awe, feeling that I had been favored by divinity just to hear such cosmic wonder.

Zeke smiled at me. It was a different sort of smile that seemed to say that he was pleased with me. I stood up and searched my pockets for something to toss into his open guitar case, to show my appreciation. I had nothing but some loose change. It was certainly not enough to balance the deficit I felt because I had accepted the treasure he had offered in this music, but it was all I had.

“Sorry, this is all I’ve got,” I said as I leaned over to drop in my few coins. “That was wonderful. I wish I could do that. Beautiful, man.”

Still smiling his strange smile, Zeke said, “You got plenty nuff, boy. But if ya wanna pick a tune, you’re gonna haft’a have some strangs. Dis here should do ya. It dun me real good.” With that, he handed me his old guitar, shook my hand, and walked away leaving me alone in Golden Gate Park.

That was years ago, in the summer if 1968. I have never seen old Zeke again. I wouldn’t even have known his name, but that it was engraved on a small brass plate at the base of the neck of that old guitar. EZEKIEL “Zeke” McCoy.

I still have that old “git box” and I think of old Zeke every time I pick it up and play it. So, the first song tonight, and every night, is dedicated to him. It’sa gift, don’tcha know.”

On a warm summer’s day
In the park by the bay
Such a sight so out of place
The old man sat down and played

The enchantment was such
That every heart that it touched
Gained sight, to dream dreams
Proud hope, treasures much

Just an old man, worn thin and tan
Just the mask where the wizard did hide
Old Zeke touched the strings, his music took wing
And altered the course of my life

It’s a gift that you left, and a wonder at best
But I long to hear your music still
So I lift up this song, to your memory so strong
Your treasured gift in others instill

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