Great to hear everyone's stories. Here's mine. I've had an affinity for history, machines and the phonograph for as long as I can remember, and recall creating a paper model of an upright phonograph before I ever had a real one. I also remember standing in utter awe, in the Edison Winter Home and Museum in Fort Myers (now the Edison-Ford estates), gazing at the wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling display of cylinder players sprouting morning glory horns in such profusion that it looked like a massive, enchanted garden. I have to admit reaching out to touch some of the uprights and consoles there, lined up behind velvet barrier rails, just so I could feel the history.
In 1974 when I was 12 my family moved, and within bike-riding distance of our new home was a restaurant called "Flynn's Dixie Ribs". For ambience, it was decorated with old relics, including Singer sewing machines and several mostly 1920s phonographs. I don't recall if they were for sale, but my first phonograph, a "Berg-Artone" portable, was procured from there. The management was very kind, letting me tinker with the machines in the off hours, and it was there that I got my first hands-on phonograph mechanism education. I recall that I paid for the Berg-Artone with a fine Morgan silver dollar and $5.00 hard-earned from mowing ten lawns in the Florida heat. That portable had a broken mainspring, a punctured, wrinkled aluminum diaphragm and a dangling needle chuck. You might say that the management got the better end of the deal, but for me it was a major coup to get the solid makings of a viable machine. I got two records with it; a tired copy of Jimmie Lunceford's "R hythm is Our Business" on Decca, and "Till We Meet Again" (paired with "Have a Smile") on Victor. First I sorted out the reproducer and for a time I just spun the records by finger-on-the-label, enthralled at how so much sound could come out of a purely mechanical device. I was already into electronics and had built some kits and a little transistorized amplifier, so discovering that acoustic reproduction could yield such bold volume and detail was a revelation. I also learned that the motor's centrifugal governor worked quite well to regulate my hand-driving of the platter, and that in its own right was an education. Eventually I got brave, liberated the mainspring and repaired it, and from that point forward the Berg-Artone was capable of playing records without human intervention, once set in motion. Well-meaning adults would ask how I knew what to do, which I always thought was some kind of trick question. It never occurred to me that they wouldn't necessarily know a lot more than I did about that sort of thing. For needles, I used whatever was in the little spring-lidded needle cup and found that the pointy ones sounded better than the blunted ones, and resulted in less black powdery buildup on the needle tip. After that, I scrounged through the needle bins of the other phonographs in the restaurant, weeding out the obviously worn ones. In search of more, an experiment of cutting the heads off of little brads from the local hardware store yielded poor results, but added to my evolving education. I remember the great moment when at a hi-fi store, I found several new blister packs of 25 needles for 25 cents each, and bought them all. They must have been old stock then, as none further appeared to replace them. The big event when I was 13, was the acquisition from the same restaurant, of a "Cecilian Melophonic" upright model; something of an Orthophonic wannabe, but in fine condition with attractive burl overlay accents. I derived hours of pleasure listening to that machine and its comparatively full-bodied tone. The record I played most often on it was a cornet solo of Carry Me Back to Ole Virginny on a blue-label Columbia. It had a mournful quality, and a perceived richness that seemed to also carry me back in time. The performer's name remains embedded in my memory; Nellie Hoone Wetmore. Guess I was an odd kid. At 14 I worked for a time at a low-level antique store cleaning up things in the back, and arranged to trade my time for a tantalizing Edison Home with a brightly repainted red MG horn. With heavy heart I terminated my employment when they sold this treasure to a cash buyer. Later that year came the next milestone, when I managed to buy my first Edison phonograph, a near-mint BC-34 console, from a phonograph enthusiast named Mark Stark whom I met at the Miami Tropicaire Flea Market. Two weeks prior, Mark had sold me some Diamond Disc records, but I quickly realized I was doing them harm, attempting play with a steel needle. Mark had the BC-34 across the back end of his pickup truck when I bought the records. The following week I went back, and running through the aisles soon found Mark and his pickup truck, but no BC-34. He told me that he just hadn't brought it out that day. I don't recall what I did to raise the $135.00 for that machine, but it must have taxed every horse-trading avenue I had at the time. I used to collect coins, and it's likely I turned in some of the collection. The big bonus for me, however, was going to Mark's house to pick up the machine (with much arm-twisting of my new-driver older brother). There, my host provided us with a guided tour of his phonograph collection. My eyes must have been big as saucers, and my ears standing at attention to pick up every sound. My first cylinder phonograph finally came to hand about two years later around 1978, courtesy of Les Goldberg at his store "Everything Audio". This shop was clear across the city, a harrowing drive on three expressways to the unknown treasures that lay at the other end of the journey. Everything Audio inspired me endlessly with the restored radios, phonographs and occasional Jukebox in its little front showroom, while Les toiled in back, dealing with the day-to-day life of TV and tape player repair, and unappreciative consumer-customers. In his showroom, however, he had seemingly endless piles of 78's standing precariously tall and at an affordable fifty cents each, and I would spend hours sifting through these, hobbling out in the early afternoon with bent knees and numb legs, to get sustenance from the burger joint next door. The rest of the afternoon would be spent sorting the records into the "can live without", "maybe" and "have to have" piles. A glance inside my wa llet would often dictate the final cull, though. One day Les gave me the unexpected, golden opportunity to take my pick of one of two non-functional Edison Home phonographs, in exchange for returning one to him working and salable. These were my phonograph beginnings. I've loved the mechanics of it, getting to know the artists and records, reading the histories and enjoying the simple, aesthetic pleasure of seeing the machines. As time goes on and I mature, I find myself feeling less possessive about the machines, and spending far more time thinking about the generosity and support of the people I've met over the years through this passion, one of whom continues to be a prized mentor, and others whose wisdom I've been privileged to dip into with a dedicated question now and then about a particular machine. My phonograph collection these days numbers a dozen machines, which in the rush of life tend to fade into the woodwork when left alone, but shine forth when interest from other, and sometimes younger people gives them an added reason to be played. In roughly chronological order they are: An early Edison banner Triumph improved for performance with a 2/4 setup, a prized Medved-rebuilt O-reproducer and Gfell Music Master horn; a Victor Type E front mount (Monarch Junior), a Zonophone Grand Opera, Edisons: maroon Gem and Home model D's, early A-250, a Victrola XVIII, a Brunswick 17 with the dual-diaphragm Ultona, an Amberola 50, a Kameraphone & Thorens Excelda, and an electric-motored Victor Orthophonic Credenza. Andrew Baron Santa Fe _______________________________________________ Phono-L mailing list http://phono-l.org
