The River Behind Tom’s House
12×16″, oils on canvas
NFS
Please click here to play the audio file of Andy Lafreniere and me playing a pair of Humphrey guitars while you read this post. The piece is “The One”, by California composer Peter Madlem.
When my Ramirez classical guitar slipped from my grasp on a flight of stairs in 1979, splitting in three places, it led me to the doorstep of classical guitarmaker Thomas Humphrey. As I rang his doorbell on West 72nd Street in Manhattan, with my damaged instrument, I didn’t know that I was about to meet one of my closest friends, or that I’d end up owning four of his amazing guitars, or that our future spouses and children would play together in the brooks behind our house and his, and that we’d watch them grow together until his untimely death last Wednesday.
Tom’s entire workshop at that time was crammed into a small bedroom in his New York City apartment. He worked day and night, tirelessly unlocking the secrets to producing instruments with a sound he heard clearly in his head, but not yet in a classical guitar. Already well-known as a luthier in New York, his apartment was affectionately referred to as Grand Central Station. Musicians would congregate, friends would come and go, and there were more fabulous spur-of-the-moment classical guitar performances there than in the concert halls of New York City. Tom’s magnetic personality, wonderful sense of humor, and beautiful-sounding instruments drew guitar players from near and far. His reputation sky-rocketed when he developed and patented his Millennium design, and his name became a household word for guitarists world-wide. The elevated fingerboard gave players easier access to the high reaches of the instrument, and combined with his unique bracing design, increased it’s projection.
When C.F. Martin approached Tom about making two models that copied his design, my husband and I tried talk Tom out of it. But those who knew Tom know that it was always futile to argue with his vision. While we were afraid that it would lead to loss of business for his own handmade instruments, Tom felt it would force him to have to invent something even better. And so his search for the next great breakthrough continued. Like all great artists, Tom was never satisfied. He always wanted more volume, fuller sound, better sustain.
Tom was as much a philosopher as he was an artist and inventor. He looked at life as a creative journey, and pressed ever-onward along his ingenious path. It wasn’t unusual for my phone to ring early in the morning, with Tom’s excited voice on the other end, explaining his idea for a new bracing pattern. Once Tom and his wife Martha moved up to their estate in Gardiner, NY, I’d often bring my paints along on visits to capture the Shawangunkill River that wound through the back of their property, or the white cliffs of the Gunks that faced the front. But often as not, we’d get absorbed in conversation, talking away in the workshop for the day, or playing his latest batch of guitars one by one, and the brushes would remain in my easel.
When I rang that doorbell in New York City in 1979, and as we had our first philosophical conversation, I didn’t imagine that his voice would be silenced at the young age of 59. Tom’s sound will forever live on through his instruments, and I am grateful that I will hear him speak every time I pick up my guitar.
I’m sorry to hear you lost your friend. What a beautiful tribute you painted.
Left by Joan T on April 22nd, 2008