Alabama Bound
By Bill Shepard
If I ever knew the man’s name I don’t recall it. If I ever knew where he lived I can’t remember. In short, I knew nothing about the man except that he could play the guitar and I liked that.
At the time of which I write, I was about ankle deep into my teen years. I had learned to play a few chords on a guitar myelf and I enjoyed playing with others. I have told in some of my earlier writings how I made my first guitar. I used a cigar box, the kind that cigars were packed in when they were delivered to the stores. They were made of wood and when empty they could be used for many things. I had asked the owner of the village store if he would give me one when it came empty. He agreed then asked, “What will you do with it, Bill?” I answered, “Make myself a guitar!” I made the neck for my guitar from a piece of pine board and used some sandpaper to smooth it. Metal keys, used to open cans of potted meat, Vienna sausages, etc., I used to wind the strings with. The strings were single wires stripped from larger pieces of screen wire. Yes, it was crude, but I could stretch them tight, and pluck them and make a noise. That first guitar was a forerunner of the one I later bought at the “Old Barn” on North Main operated by Angus Gainey. The purchase price for it was around $3.00.
Bill Shepard
Yes, I liked the guitar and the man in this story did, too! I was part of a group that labeled themselves as the “Carolina Ramblers,” and we had a fifteen-minute program that aired over WOLS in Florence every day at noon. Anyone remember?
The group was made up of Elvin Baker, Hob Baldwin, William O’Neal, and a big man whose name eludes me. He played the mandolin. Yes, I played my guitar and sang some of the tear-jerking songs of that time.
Elvin played a steel guitar, Hob played a fiddle, William played a harp, and this writer played the guitar. We had a good group and enjoyed making music together.
A popular group at that time was “Byrun Parker and the Old Hired Hands.” They entertained over WSM Radio in Columbia. Our group played with them at one of their appearances in Florence. We really thought we were moving up in the music world.
Our group met and practiced our program each day at the Shell Service Station located at the corner where East Hampton Street and South Main Street in Darlington intersect. The station was operated by Hob Baldwin and his brother, Fenny. I was employed by them as a helper at the station. Other buildings now stand where the station once stood. Hob, being one of the operators of the station and also one of the musicians in the group found it practical to allow the station to be a place of practice. Often crowds would gather at the station to listen to the group practice. One day a stranger showed up and continued to do that almost daily. One day he asked if he could play one of the guitars and his desire was granted. He proved to be a fairly good guitar player. He had no desire to join the band, but seemed to enjoy showing up at practice time and joining in playing music with the band. It was obvious that he did not own an instrument.
A friend of mine had a beautiful guitar that he wanted to sell. His asking price was ten dollars. Not much in today’s world, but at that time it was a lot of money. I owned a cheaper guitar at the time but I knew the one being offered for ten dollars was a bargain. I don’t recall how I managed to get the money needed for the purchase, but I bought the beautiful instrument. I was so proud of my new instrument and liked to show it off every chance I got. One day, my stranger friend showed up at the station for one of his visits. It was not a day of practice so we sat and talked a while. He asked to see my guitar and he said, “Bill, could I borrow your guitar and carry it home to practice picking?” he continued, “I will return it later today.” “Of course,” I said. “Go ahead!” It was then that he told me where he lived. It turned out that he was boarding with a lady at a boarding house on East Broad Street.
I will never forget the tune he was playing and singing as he left the station that day. A line goes like this, “I’m Alabama bound!” Was he trying to tell me something? I don’t know, I never saw the man again! When he didn’t show up later that day I became concerned. When he didn’t show up the next morning I went in search of him. After several inquiries, I found the house where he had been living. The lady of the house said that he told her he was returning to his home in Alabama and that he would send her the money he owned. He left no address where he could be reached.
I continued to check on the lady in the weeks ahead, but neither she nor I ever heard from the man again. The song, “I’m Alabama Bound,” was quite popular in those times and I would hear it often. I never heard it that I did not think of the stranger and my pretty ten-dollar guitar!
Next time!
Mr. Shepard is a native of Darlington, S.C., and a current resident of Piedmont, S.C. He is the author of “Mill Town Boy” and “Bruised”. He has been sharing his tales of growing up in Darlington for decades, and we are delighted to share them each week. His mailing address for cards and letters is: Bill Shepard 324 Sunny Lane, Piedmont, S.C., 29673.
