The Guitar Teacher

Like all boys and girls from everywhere, the Marco Beach Boys started out as impressionable children. When a particular Marco Beach Boy was 11 years old and rapidly growing toward 12, an impression struck like a thunderbolt and changed a life forever.

Once upon a time in springtime Tennessee, and just before the beginning of summer vacation from school, this particular Marco Beach Boy was visiting a friend of the same age from church. The friend of the same age had two older brothers, and upon arriving for an afternoon of tossing baseballs back and forth in the backyard, there was a loud distraction coming from a nearby barn.

When the barn door opened, the thunderbolt slammed home, and the particular Beach Boy would never be the same. At the far end of the barn were the two older brothers standing in front of Fender amplifiers and pounding out “Secret Agent Man” by Johnny Rivers on two electric guitars.

The sound was incredible and energizing. The entire barn seemed to be vibrating with the loud music, and the two older brothers were clearly having a great time enjoying their newest hobby. The Beach Boy at the barn door stood transfixed next to his friend, and when the song was over, the older brothers immediately began playing: “Let’s Play House” by Elvis Presley. The new song seemed to rock the old barn even harder, and when the melody of Elvis’s song ended, the next and even more impressive song was “Light My Fire” by The Doors when another friend of the older brothers finished setting up another amplifier and a keyboard.

Meanwhile, the younger brother, who wanted to play catch with a baseball, was becoming annoyed and frustrated. He had obviously heard the barn band of brothers many times before - without mentioning the greatest hobby of all - and he was upset because he could not get his friend away from the captivating musical trio and the bale of hay he was sitting on.

The older brothers and their keyboard wielding friend played for another two hours until a parent came out from the main house and ordered an end to the concert because it was snack time. To the younger brother’s frustration, there were no baseballs thrown and caught that day, but there was an unquenchable fire of yearning in the young Beach Boy.

After arriving home that evening, the Beach Boy exploded with passion as he excitedly told his mother about the barn band and the older brothers with the electric guitars and amplifiers.

Mom smiled and announced promptly, “I believe there is an electric guitar and an amplifier up in the attic. I remember your daddy traded something for them, and they have been up in the attic for years.”

The following day daddy grinned when he came down from the attic. He was carrying a small Gibson amplifier and an electric guitar. There was no case for the guitar and it was missing strings. Both the guitar and amplifier were thick with dust but mom was quick to help with furniture polish and a cloth.

By bedtime, the old Gibson guitar and amplifier were cleaned up and waiting for action in the corner of the Beach Boy’s bedroom.

Meanwhile, the new next-door neighbors were settling nicely into their new house and their new country. Pedro and Bianca Rodriguez, along with their 19-year-old daughter Lourdes, were from Cuba. Pedro was a doctor and had met the Beach Boy family when he was stitching up the young Beach Boy after an accident with a horseback riding episode.

The Cuban family next door were friendly and outgoing and bursting with international charm and mystery. The mom was beautiful and stately, the dad that was the doctor was dashing and dapper, but the daughter Lourdes was beyond bewitching. She was an exceptional dark-haired beauty with flashing eyes and a very exciting figure.

The Cuban mom and the Beach Boy mom were fast friends and spoke every day. In no time, it seemed arrangements were underway for the sultry Lourdes to give the young Beach Boy guitar lessons. Lourdes could sing beautifully, play piano like an angel, and play the guitar as if she was at one with the instrument.

On the day of the first lesson, the now 12-year-old Beach Boy approached the Cuban household with guitar in hand and nervously knocked on the door. When the door opened, the Cuban mother was welcoming and the Beach Boy was overwhelmed with aromatic scents of exotic cooking. The mother’s welcome was gracious and kind and given in English. Immediately afterward, a torrent of Spanish echoed through the house and Lourdes appeared wearing all black. Her trousers were tight fitting and her sweater the same.

“Hello, how are you?” Lourdes exclaimed. “We are going to become great friends. I am going to teach you to become a wonderful guitarist. Come this way over to the piano.”

At this point, it is unsure if the Beach Boy could speak. When Lourdes turned and started for the piano room, she turned so quickly that her waist-length hair brushed the Beach Boys face. When she sat at the piano bench and padded it to indicate that the Beach Boy should sit beside her, the Beach Boy started sweating nervously.

After the sultry guitar teacher took the Beach Boy’s hands in hers and examined his fingernails, another torrent of Spanish erupted from the piano bench to the kitchen, and almost at once, the mother returned with a set of nail clippers.

“You must have very short fingernails to play the guitar.” Lourdes announced with her accent that sounded as if she were a spy or simply a movie star. “I will trim them for you!”

Nothing about Lourdes was casual. Everything was exciting and dynamic. When she began clipping the Beach Boy’s fingernails, one by one, the natural scent from her hair became intoxicating. She smelled of soap, musk, and exotic mystery.

When the manicure was complete, Lourdes abruptly straddled the piano beach lengthwise, grabbed her new guitar student and his guitar, and pulled them into her embrace. She was now pressing her chest against his back, and with her reaching hands, she was placing her student’s fingers into position on the old Gibson guitar. Her hair was pouring over her shoulders and down the front of the student and his guitar while she leaned over to arrange his virgin fingers into the first position, for the first time, into the “C-chord” on the guitar fretboard. Lourdes held her student in variations of the same position for the first year of lessons. The young Marco Beach Boy was never the same.