Back in the ‘80s, I was playing for a Southern gospel group called The Gospel Starlights. They were a powerhouse, even after James Brown left them, and the man keeping us all in line was the band manager, Papacita. Now, Pop was one hell of a manager—kept the band tight, took care of the crew, and even bought me a guitar while I was with them. But when my time with the Starlights came to an end, so did my time with that guitar. Pop wouldn’t let me take it, so there I was—guitarless for a stretch.
Fast forward some years, and I found myself in Decatur, Alabama, visiting a church where the Starlights had played before. I stepped into that fellowship hall and felt something I couldn’t shake. The preacher there—Equator Black—had a presence about him, like his name was tailor-made for that pulpit. The vibe was good, the music was strong, so I joined the church and got involved in the music ministry. Only problem was, I still didn’t have a guitar.
Well, Pastor Black wasn’t about to let that slide. He told me, “If you’re willing to play, the church’ll get you a guitar.” Told me to pick whatever I wanted. So I walked into the music store with nothing but hope and walked out with a Telecaster and a Line 6 amp, courtesy of the United Christian Bible Church. That Telecaster became my workhorse. I played it for eight, maybe ten years, raising my family in that church and sharing music that came from my heart.
When it came time to move on—to go back to street performing and following my own road—the church let me keep that Telecaster. They said it was mine, a gift for everything I’d done there. That guitar has been with me ever since, through heat, cold, rain, and every stage and street corner you can think of.
See, the thing about a Telecaster is, it’s built to last. I knew that when I picked it out. It’s simple, solid, and damn near indestructible. I’ve made a living with that guitar. It's brought joy to folks, had my share of wear and tear, and still, when something else acts up, I grab my Tele. It’s always has my back. Sure, she’s showing her age now—worn neck, frets that could use some love—but she still sings like she did the first day I plugged it in.
So yeah, I have other guitars, and I’ve got a few more now, but none of them hold a candle to this one. She’s not just a guitar; it's a piece of my soul, a bridge between me and every person I’ve played for.
What about you? Got a guitar that’s your ride-or-die? One that’s more than just wood and strings? Let’s hear your stories.