The Old Man and His Guitar

The Old Man and His Guitar(Dorsey Baker) Early every morning the old man would get up. Go down to 49th Street. Sit in his little folding chair. Sit and play. He had a little 'ol rusty cup where a few people would deposit small change. His singing wasn't much to talk about; his guitar playing wasn't either! But a few people would compliment his effort and courage! He never missed a morning coming to his spot on 49th street. The people had become accustomed to seeing him there. He didn't talk much. Just "Hello". But I never heard the word "goodbye" ever come out of his mouth! He might say something like "It's a nice day, that sun sure feels good!" Even if it was cloudy or raining or stormy, he would still show up. But if the weather was not favorable he would turn around and leave. Telling himself that he had done his duty by showing up! His guitar was showing signs of wear and tear; just like him! The strings had a weary sound; just like him! His chair was starting to creak! He always had a little jug of water nearby. He seemed to be a clean living man; except for his clothes that seemed just a little weathered. It was a Saturday morning. It was misting rain. A few people were walking past 49th street; but they didn't hear or see the old man. No singing. No guitar playing! They looked at the spot where the old man usually sat. He wasn't there! The chair was not there! The jug of water was not there! The guitar was there; but the old man was not!

Bethlehem Eisenhour

07/09/2020

He left his guitar for someone else to play. He went back home to another town.

He left his guitar for someone else to play. He went back home to another town.

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