They were sitting on the top shelf, tucked away from the other instruments. Covered in dust and years of grime, yellowed slightly like bad headlights. They sat there for who knows how long, and I would have never seen them if it wasn’t for a chance look around the instrument storage area with the director. But there they were. They were old. Beaten and looking abandoned. And they were beautiful. I’ll tell this story without giving any names, but this has become one of the most important items that I’m taking with me across country. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
When I saw the drum set, I immediately knew what era it was. Mid-late 60s. Ringo, but not quite Ringo’s. The comment I recall from the director, “it’s not worth anything, I checked.” And I’m sure he did. But there are times when you have to find the right kind of ‘worth’. And I saw it. “What’s that?” “Why are those sitting up there?” “You can’t leave them there!” All the business I was there to conduct was out the window. I had to know more about them. I wanted to rescue them. I salivated. I mourned. And yes, I know they’re just frickin’ inanimate objects. “But you have to get them down from there.” The part of me that was ripping out from the inside to climb the shelves and save that set was hard to quiet. But I did and reluctantly followed the director back to his office to finish what I was there for, prep for next year’s marching band season.
As I was leaving our meeting, the director looked at me. “I had the students leave you something beside your van.” And with that I got up and went outside to head down the road. Except it wasn’t a sousaphone or a couple of saxophones, it was three faded drums, circa 1968 that sat on the ground beside my van. Without a pause I loaded them up and got the hell out of there before he changed his mind.
Ringo Starr made Ludwig drums the most recognizable drum manufacturer on the planet back in the mid 1960s. He had an affinity for these pretty, American made drums and it became hard for Ludwig, a family owned percussion company in the Midwest, to keep up with the demand. That’s a pretty incredible story if you ever want to google it. And then Buddy Rich, John Bonham and so many others would take turns using their products over the years. I did my research immediately, taking the information from the director, the date stamped inside (1968) and my own findings. The director was right, they weren’t the prized “Ringo drums” that were so sought after. What I did find was a drum set made for left hand set up, which was not done often, except on custom orders and for some larger music shops. But they were perfect, even in this trodden state, and they were mine.
I took these home in the first days after my youngest son was born. Four years ago. And they pretty much sat, a fantasy in my head that I’d ever find the time of space to really put the energy to giving them the attention they deserve.
Flashback to 1984. Summer between 6thand 7thgrade. It was when drumming became real to me. It was the first of the great outlets in my life up to that time, only to be surpassed by the written word years later, and then hiking and the outdoors in recent times. But I remember so clearly the first drum lesson I ever had. Dave Mitchell, jazz drummer and science teacher. Coolest Cat EVER! I saw him playing through the window of his basement studio before I actually heard the music he was playing. Jazz. And then I heard the subtle, essential rhythms he was supplying to the music that touched my ears. I. Was. Hooked. I dropped the saxophone immediately and started lessons. And my first drum set, well do you want to guess? It was a mid 60s Ludwig. It needed work, but it functioned enough to get me going. I always thought I’d fix it up, but never had the means or the understanding of how to do it. Eventually I got a newer, shinier set. The classic just sat and collected dust until I sold it for basically nothing, not knowing how to really make it what it once was.
That drum set has haunted me ever sense. Thirty years later, I always look at the classic kits and imagine just getting my hands on one. Maybe one day?
Two weeks ago, as I was getting more things organized for my move to the Northwest, I had to make a decision. Take the drums with me like they were, no better than the day that I received them, or let them go. I mean why take broken-down relics all the way across the country to just be stacked in a corner of my living room as not-quite-interesting-enough conversation fodder? They WERE ugly. I hadn’t done one thing to make them better. The decision was hard. I take care of my stuff. I clean my instruments; I keep them safe and maintained. But these drums were just overwhelming in the need to either do something to them or part ways with them.
I did neither. Instead I ordered cases for them. I mean I can’t take them across the country without protecting them from getting worse than they already are, right?!
But was that really enough?
I woke up late one night. Couldn’t sleep. The cases sat empty. I wouldn’t put the drums in them for some reason. I took the small tom tom and found a drum key, a screwdriver and started to take it completely apart.
Proceeded to clean it.
I learned very quickly that elbow grease and a little simple green can get rid of a ton of grit and grime.
Then I bathed and scrubbed every part that I felt comfortable dismantling.
It was a process. The first drum took me two days to get to a roughly clean condition. Then I redid the whole process. I would go through this drum, and each of the others twice on the big parts, and sometimes three or four times on the smaller chrome and metal parts.
And I learned something...
It was me. This was never about cleaning the drums, though in the end, they’re exactly what I want to be. Wanted. Cared for. Not forgotten and left on a shelf.
I’ve waited my entire life to find a vintage Ludwig drum set, fearing I’d never have the money or the right situation for it. When I got the drums four years ago, I hadn’t played set in many years with any regularity. But then I get a job last August teaching at a music school in Decatur. I started playing, roughly at first, every week. I saw myself get better again. I found a part of me. But it didn’t stop there. I ran into a student I taught over twenty years ago. He told me that I actually influenced him to be a musician. He’s a touring professional drummer. And out of the blue he’s living right near where I’m teaching. We reconnected (though not enough – sorry Robby!).
I wasn’t given the drums 20 years ago. When I did play about 15 years ago, I bought a Brand-New piece of crap set to play on. And even four years ago I didn’t have the space to make them part of my life again. Space and timing aren’t always ours. We have to soak. To wallow (yes, Pam, we have to wallow sometimes). We have to trust. Damn that one. And we have to wait. “It’s not time yet.” (higher power/god voice) And when we think we’re at our lowest, people and even 1968 Ludwig Super Classics come in and change EVERYTHING!
The drums are done. I can’t stop looking at them. I’m not incredibly materialistic, but they’re not just about the shine or age. They are about a kid who learned to drum. Who always wanted to conquer the world. Now a man who can’t imagine how significant it was for his future to have a director, no a friend, give a gift that goes beyond the music. It absolutely defines this moment.
Time to shine and feel as good as it’s going to be to play those drums. To breathe in life’s rhythms and groove on.
