Fall From Grace

 

Fall From Grace

Sometime in the mid-forties, the story goes that my uncle Lomax Littlejohn inherited 25% of the "family farm" when my grandfather, Lomax Littlejohn, Sr. died and from what I understand, it was tidy sum. Since my own father was the “redheaded step-child", he inherited nothing. Lomax, or "Lommy"as we called him took his inheritance to Reno, NV. All of it. Except for a motorcycle and a full- sized f-hole arch-top western guitar, Lommy returned without anything to show for his inheritance. He was the free spirit of the family, not a dull or slow man, just free-spirited. He gave that guitar to my dad as a gift which in reality was Dad's only token of the Littlejohn estate except for the $400.00 he earned as the executor of the will. The motorcycle faded into history soon thereafter.

This is where the story begins.............

As a child, Dad played the ukulele, and his story was that he played quite well. So, he naturally removed two of the strings from the guitar to make it into a four-string homemade ukulele. I don't think the term "redneck" had yet been coined then, but if it had, he would have been a "redneck in a business suit". In my humble opinion, an accomplished musician he was not, but then that's me. A "cover" man he was not either and some of his early compositions I still remember. One such "oldie" was an odd tune he called "Garbage Hill". The entire song was written in one line. "I know a man and his name is Bill, he lives on top of garbage hill, he never took a bath and he never will.....stink pew!" That was the song. It had no chord changes and the stink pew part was "talking blues". I don't think Dad copyrighted the song but if he had, he may have had an uphill case a few years later pursuing Fats Domino's release of "Blueberry Hill" which was totally dissimilar.

As a small child, I remember seeing that guitar stored in the fully floored attic of 432 Main Street while discovering spooky places. He had a felt pick nested in the stings, and when I removed the pick I could drag my little thumb across them. It sounded bad, real bad.

The guitar followed us to the next point of residence in Northport which was "The House on the Knoll" that we rented from the owner, who lived in Connecticut. Her name was Miss Boehn. Behind closed doors, we called her, "Bonehead". Once in a while, Dad would drag out that old guitar for an afternoon if he was so inclined and write some more original stuff. During this era, he composed " Bonie the Bonehead". This song had one chord change, but I'm not sure if it had any complete verses. I can only remember the tag line which was "Bonie the Bonehead, the Boniest head in town. I know it didn't make the hit parade, but a few years later, Larry Williams had the whole teenage world dancing to "Bonie Maronie". It seems Dad was always a day late, a dollar short and sometimes, not even close.

Miss Boehn comes to visit.................
During our tenure at the "House on the knoll", Miss Boehn came down from Connecticut to inspect the condition of her property. We were in fact good tenants and kept her place in reasonable condition. She looked around and visited for awhile, obviously pleased with her findings and decided to drive back to Connecticut. My mother, being the classy and articulate woman she was, walked Miss Boehn to her car along with my brother, Steve and I. At this point, Mom wished her a safe drive back to Connecticut, and addressed her as.........Miss Bonehead", words that rolled off her tongue, just naturally as day-break ! Steve and I stood there in disbelief and Mom had no idea of the slip. All of this with a perfectly straight and dignified face! Miss Boehn didn't flinch. She may have not heard the slip, or she may have been used to it. In any event, to my knowledge, she didn't raise the rent.

I don't know what became of that old guitar, but I'm sure if it were still around, it would be worth a young fortune today. Dad's songwriting aspirations seemed to have ended at this juncture and Mom validated the phrase "do as I say, not as I do".

And Lommy? He took his Dartmouth education and became a hot shot Madison Ave. public relations man with an airplane, a nice home and a family. By 1965, he inherited part 2 of the Littlejohn Estate which he promptly squandered in the stock market, loosing all of it. By 1968, he joined the “hippie movement” and left his family and trappings behind to find his “guru” in India (literally). Plagued with disease and the effects of drug use, he wound up in a VA hospital, eventually finding his new home on the streets of Taos, NM as a hot dog vendor. His fall from grace might be described as sky-diving from the stratosphere.