PAWN SHOP “VENGEANCE”: A decades long—and ongoing—“quest” (including yesterday)

[Willie G. Moseley]

This post will take a while but the details need to be imparted. Thanks for your patience and understanding.

Back in the mid-‘80s, when I was still playing in a bar band and my initial interest in vintage instruments was just beginning to germinate, there was a nearby pawn shop with which I did beaucoup business—guitars, amps, new jewelry, stereo components. I even ordered a new diamond from them in ’85 for my wife’s engagement ring.

If they got something in, I’d let ‘em know what they had but would not appraise since I’m not a dealer. They’d give me a decent price on anything I wanted. It seemed to be a courteous and respectful business relationship.

Then one time they called me about three archtop electric guitars that had all come out for retail at the same time. I went over to the store and dutifully examined them—a Gibson ES-175, a highly modified ES-335, and a Conn-era Epiphone guitar. While checking them out, the owner’s wife, who also worked there, told me she thought archtop electrics were no longer being made; she thought solidbody electric had completely replaced models like these (!).

I told the owner what he had in my usual straightforward/no hype manner, and tried to make an offer on the 175 and Epi, but told myself I’d buy the modded 335 if necessary; maybe my bar band’s guitarist would like to try it as a utility instrument.

Then the owner said, “Well, we’re gonna take them to (a retail guitar store in another state). We’re gonna see how much we can get for them up there.”

To say I was seething when I huffed out of the store is an understatement. You could’ve fried an egg on my head.

That was almost 40 years ago. I got involved with the magazine that became Vintage Guitar not long afterwards, and eventually asked the owner of the retail store in another state if he remembered the instruments, and he recalled that he had declined to purchase them (he didn’t say why, and I didn’t ask).

The owner has several stores, and ever since then I’ve infrequently shopped at all of them except the HQ store where this incident occurred. I continue to buy from the satellite stores for the express purpose of flipping what I purchase quickly for more than I paid for it. And I always wave cash at the employees; no credit cards or debit cards. Cash has always talked at this particular pawn shop chain.

The employees at the satellite stores don’t know about my guitar-collecting jones, and I don’t wear a guitar-brand t-shirt when I go into the ancillary stores, either—that’s a dead giveaway to the proprietor. I’ve usually done okay in such transactions (both the purchase of the instrument and the subsequent sale of it) and I don’t mind cleaning up such instruments.

While I no longer collect, there are occasionally times when I’ll still poke my head into area pawn shops to kill time if I’m ahead of schedule for a meeting or get-together, and that was the scenario yesterday in the nearby big city for a weekly informal Thursday lunch meeting of retired media guys, mostly my age (and mostly photographers).

Just up the street was one of the satellite stores (still in business), and I had about ten minutes to burn, so I popped in.

And there was a US-made Fender Jazz Bass Deluxe five-string in very nice condition. Four knobs, active electronics. Methinks its Oxblood finish is a rare color. I examined it closely and told myself how much I’d pay (didn’t talk with an employee).

Willie don’t play five-string basses. I figured I’d flip it at the upcoming Nashville show later this month to help pay for travel expenses; gotta do a book signing there.

The restaurant down the street beckoned, however, and I was there for almost an hour. A trip to a nearby bank a few miles away to withdraw the maximum I was willing to pay took around 45 minutes so I was back at the pawn shop in less than two hours after I walked in the first time.

And the bass had been sold during that time frame. The stand on which the bass had been sitting was as empty as a kosher deli in downtown Teheran.

I couldn’t help but chuckle. There were times when I would have pouted, but no more. I proud that I can now maintain an even strain in these so-called golden years regarding guitars.

But there’s a “what if” notion flitting around in my mind like an malevolent moth that speculates about what would have happened if I had the cash on me the first time I walked into that satellite store….