
(Editor’s Note: Chris wrote this piece back in 2020, but due to the pandemic, it was put into draft mode and never published. Here it is now…)
Early in 2020, I was given my Grandpa Davis’s guitar by my Dad. It has gone through quite a journey to my hands.
My Grandpa was killed in a zinc mining accident in Cardin, OK (now one of the world’s biggest Superfund environmental cleanup sites in the world). The year was 1953, and as a 40-year old miner, he left behind a wife and four sons by her and three sons from previous marriages/relationships. I can only imagine how hard things were for my Grandma, but she preserved like she always did.
My dad was the oldest son, by my Grandpa and Grandma together, and continues to live a thoroughly remarkable life: graduating from a small town Kansas high school, working in a sawmill in Oregon, serving in the Army during Vietnam and being stationed in Japan, and then moving back to SE Kansas/NE Oklahoma to raise two sons on a farm, while working in a tire factory and then later on diesel semi engines and cell phone towers.
But, back to the guitar. Probably 25 years ago, my Grandma found her old instruments in her attic and gave me her fiddle and gave my brother my grandpa’s guitar-a 1940s-1950s era Harmony acoustic arch top. It had been in it’s original cardboard case since he passed and tucked away in the attic. It wasn’t in great shape. My brother sought to fix it himself, but it needed a lot of work, and he ended up just leaving it with my parents at the farm. My dad asked me in early 2019 if I’d like to have it, and I took him up on it. The neck was split from the body, there was a large mud dauber inside the guitar. It was in bad, bad shape.
So, I took the guitar to Honest Ron in Oklahoma City, who has done quite a bit of guitar work for me and does phenomenal work. It took more than 9 months, but Ron got it back in playing shape, and now I’m playing it around the house. It makes me feel closer to the Grandpa that I never knew and brings back many memories of my Grandma D. I fully believe that instruments have history, and I can feel them both when I play it. I feel like there are some songs in it, so we’ll see what comes out of it. I’ve written three or four songs about my Grandpa in the past, but that was before I had this guitar in my possession. We’ll see what happens.
In memory of James Franklin Davis and Neva Hayward Beatrice.








