Posted on January 11, 2010February 7, 2024 by Dale Phillips In Memoriam: Arthur E. Overholtzer In Memoriam: Arthur E. Overholtzer January 27, 1910 — 1982 by Bruce McGuire Originally published in American Lutherie #35, 1993 and Big Red Book of American Lutherie Volume Three, 2004 In 1969 I was a student at Chico State, a hippie living in a rented house. One day the older man who lived next door came over to introduce himself. He said he was teaching a group of people to make guitars, and needed space for wood and tools; could he use my basement? I had never even played the guitar at that time, but I told him he could use the space if he would take me on as his apprentice. That’s how I met Art Overholtzer. For three years I was his neighbor and private student. He became like a father to me. I helped him write his book Classical Guitar Making and took all the pictures except the ones that I am in. I’m proud of my legacy and relationship to one of the world’s best classical guitarmakers. Arthur Overholtzer. All photos courtesy of Bruce McGuire. Art and Bruce (seated at front) with students of the 1969 guitar-building class at Chico State College. Bruce McGuire. Art working on a soundboard. Art suffered a severe heart attack in 1971, and he summoned me to his bedside. He asked me to take over his guitarmaking class at Chico State and carry on after him. I did both as best I could. He asked me to look after Orpha, his aging wife, and to make sure his book was published. As it turned out, he lived to see it in print and his heart condition was abated for awhile. After moving to Santa Cruz in 1972, I continued building by Overholtzer’s technique. I also took on a student by the name of Richard Hoover. He built his first guitar under my supervision and we worked together as partners. My instruments bore my name as BR McGuire Guitars. His guitars bore the name Otis B. Rodeo. I took Richard up to the Overholtzers’ house in Chico to introduce him to my grand master. They liked each other instantly. Art was pleased to see Richard’s first guitar and he found comfort that I was passing on the tradition of training an apprentice in quality guitarmaking. Richard was single, and in a position to devote his full time to instrument building. I had two girls at the time, and it was necessary for me to have a full-time job in addition to guitar building to support my family. In 1975 Richard Hoover and I parted company and he began the Santa Cruz Guitar Company. Santa Cruz has been extremely successful and their guitars are some of the finest in the world. Richard has had interviews in numerous publications over the years and it burdens me that Art Overholtzer is often left out of the chronology. It was his precision, knowledge of wood, method of wood selection, and theory of building a guitar with no stress that was passed through me to Richard and his employees. Editor’s note: Richard Hoover comments that he “owes an undying debt of gratitude to both Bruce McGuire and Art Overholtzer,” who he calls “the grandfather of my lineage.” Richard agrees with Bruce McGuire that it is unfortunate that nonlutherie publications generally edit out his mention of Overholtzer’s strong influence on a generation of guitarmakers. My guitarmaking has been somewhat sporadic lately. I have three more children and a rich family life. I also have a new apprentice by the name of Steve Clifford who is the youth pastor of Santa Cruz Bible Church. We just glued the back on his first rosewood classical guitar. Steve's guitar will sound incredible because I let him use my finest rosewood and spruce from the '60s. Art and I purchased rosewood in Berkeley when it cost $1.50 per pound and I still have enough to last the rest of my life. All of Art’s hardwood was passed on to me. Some of it has been drying for fifty years. His Sitka spruce came from Alaska thirty years ago and I also have a lifelong supply of it. I need no recognition from Steve. Instead, the recognition will be to our Lord who was very close to Art Overholtzer and myself. Steve leads worship services with guitar and he has a great impact in his music ministry. Art will be smiling down from heaven when he realizes that his tradition of unconditional faith, uncompromising quality, and integrity have been passed on in a profound way. A thousand people will sing each week along with an instrument built by his apprentice’s apprentice. Art Overholtzer needs to be given credit for being a fine human being who made an enormous contribution to guitar building through his unfailing generosity and through sharing his knowledge of guitar building with anyone who asked.
Posted on January 11, 2010February 7, 2024 by Dale Phillips In Memoriam: Robert Mattingly In Memoriam: Robert Mattingly Passed on March 23, 1991 by Chris Hanlin Originally published in American Lutherie #25, 1991 and Big Red Book of American Lutherie Volume Three, 2004 Master Luthier Robert L. Mattingly, my teacher and a craftsman I personally believe to be one of the greatest builders of this century, took his own life on the evening of Saturday, March 23, 1991. He was a man I came to love like a father in the short year that I was fortunate enough to spend under his tutelage. I cannot find the words to express my heartbreak. Musicians and luthiers alike may never know the full extent of their loss. The man was a true genius at his craft, and I can honestly say that I was in humble awe of him. He craved no publicity. He never advertised. He never foisted his name or work upon others. And yet players and students continually sought him out, and examples of his work exist all over this country, and indeed the world. Though he worked out of his adopted home of Long Beach, California, he always kept his life and home firmly rooted in his native-Missouri common sense. And his instruments reflect this simple honesty. They ring with a richness and warmth as palpable as his own Falstaffian personality. Photo courtesy of Sue Mattingly. I have never been so happy as I was under his tutelage. Sweeping the floor in his shop was for me an honor. But he took me into his confidence, and revealed to me many of his hard won secrets. Exactly why I won his trust I cannot say, but I always tried to make him proud of me, and I believe we were close. Now he is gone, and he has taken with him over thirty years of building experience. My own instrument that I was building under his teaching is incomplete; may God give me the wisdom and skill to complete it without him. If you own a Mattingly instrument, one of hundreds he built, treasure it. No more will be made. If you are presently lucky enough to be studying under a master, burn each day into your memory. They will not come again. And if there is anyone you love, tell them so. We get too few chances in this life.
Posted on January 11, 2010February 7, 2024 by Dale Phillips In Memoriam: David Rubio In Memoriam: David Rubio December 17, 1934 – October 21, 2000 by Paul Fischer Originally published in American Lutherie #65, 2001 and Big Red Book of American Lutherie Volume Six, 2013 Born in London, David Rubio was educated at Whittingham College, Brighton, and then studied medicine at Trinity College, Dublin, but gave up because of color blindness. His other abiding interest at the time was the guitar, and in particular, flamenco. Self-taught, he spent time playing in London coffee bars before deciding to go to Spain, where he played with traditional singers and dancers. To supplement his meager income, he began trading wood between guitar makers and, in the process, learned something of the craft and art of guitar making. The hours spent in these workshops was not wasted, and what he witnessed and experienced, further enhanced by his photographic memory, would be put to good use some years later. He was invited to go with the Rafael de Cordoba ballet company on a tour of New York in the early ’60s, and on completion of the tour, Rubio remained in New York, having met Neste, who later became his wife. He had been born David Joseph Spinks, but during his time in Spain had acquired the sobriquet “Rubio,” a reference to his pale north European complexion. He later Hispanicized his second given name, Joseph, to José. It was during this period in the early ’60s that he decided at first to repair guitars, then quickly moved to making them. Working from a garret in Greenwich Village, he built these first instruments on a chest of drawers using tools purchased from Woolworths. The guitars carried the label: “José Rubio Constructor de Guitarras.” A stroke of good fortune occurred when Julian Bream brought him an instrument for repair and was much impressed by a flamenco guitar just finished. By the mid-’60s Rubio had made numerous guitars and had a reputation as “the gentleman guitar maker,” a reference to his habit of working in smart clothes. When I joined him in 1969, he still wore a velvet crimson waistcoat and bow tie while working. The connection with Bream led to an invitation to return to England and to use a recently renovated barn on Bream’s estate as a workshop. Rubio warmed to the idea, and in 1967 moved all his equipment (by then very professional) across the Atlantic and took up residence in rural Dorset. Photo courtesy of Classical Guitar Magazine, UK. Much influenced by the instruments of Simplicio, Santos Hernández, and Bouchet, by the time he was settled in his new workshop in England, Rubio’s guitars had taken on an identity very much their own, and now carried the label, “David J. Rubio, Luthier.” Working closely with Bream, his reputation and confidence grew rapidly. But it was Rubio’s desire to have his own workshop, and by 1968 he had found a property in Oxfordshire requiring much restoration, but ideal for his purpose. With his usual concern for detail, a 15th-century house with barn was sympathetically converted into an ideal workshop and residence. Since his early days in Greenwich Village, Rubio had moved back to England, changed workshops twice, and established himself as a leading guitar and lute maker in just five years. That, by any standards, was an impressive achievement and perhaps enough for most people, but not Rubio. At that time, the early music scene was burgeoning, and there was demand for good copies of historical instruments. This was why, in January 1969, I presented myself at his door, informing him that I was a qualified harpsichord maker seeking to extend my experience into fretted instruments. To my surprise and delight, he said his next project was to make harpsichords. When could I start? Grass never grew beneath Rubio’s feet, so with my experience in harpsichord making, we began an instrument almost immediately and presented it to the customer some months later. Other instruments soon followed — theorbos, vihuelas, citterns, pandora, as well as lutes and guitars. With the rapidly increasing demand for all instruments, two makers could never hope to satisfy demand, so the decision was made to build another workshop, specifically for harpsichords, and to use the existing one for small fretted instruments. The workforce was increased from two to nine, inevitably putting great pressure on Rubio’s time, so I became manager, which freed him to concentrate on his next project, bowed instruments. Creating yet another workshop for himself, in 1972 he began making Baroque violins and cellos, later followed by viola da gambas. With his increasing interest in bowed instruments, only a limited number of guitars and lutes were made by him personally; most carried the initials P.F. and a smaller number, the initials K.S. (Kazuo Sato). By the mid-’70s, Rubio’s thoughts had turned to his long-term future and a desire to return to working solo. In 1979, he left Oxfordshire for Cambridge. As the market for harpsichords declined, his interest turned to the modern violin, and these he continued to make until the last few months of his life. Parallel to violin making, he undertook research into the varnishing techniques of the Cremonese masters, as well as acoustic testing for guitars and other instruments. For this work, Cambridge University conferred on him an honorary master’s degree. During his years in Oxfordshire and Cambridge he made a relatively small number of guitars and lutes, but come the ’90s, his restless energy brought him full circle and back to his first choice, this time to something of a hybrid among guitars, the 8-string guitar, but not in its more usual form. In collaboration with the guitarist Paul Galbraith, an instrument using an asymmetric fingerboard and bridge, such as was used on the orpharion of the 17th century, was developed and christened the Brahms guitar. The many and varied instruments made by David Rubio will, of course, remain as a testament to his creative energy and talent, and so will the many younger makers who were influenced by his ideas, inspired by his achievements, and encouraged by his example. David Joseph Rubio died of cancer in his workshop on October 21, 2000. He is survived by Neste, and his daughter, Benita, from an earlier marriage.
Posted on January 11, 2010February 7, 2024 by Dale Phillips In Memoriam: José Ramírez IV In Memoriam: José Ramírez IV May 1953 — June 2000 by Tim Miklaucic Originally published in American Lutherie #63, 2000 and Big Red Book of American Lutherie Volume Six, 2013 I met José Ramírez IV for the first time in the early 1980s. He was thirty-two at the time, a man of average height with broad shoulders, a full beard, and thick fingers. Our first dialogue was about the size of the Ramírez guitars; I complained about the difficulty of playing them. The bearded Spaniard insisted that they had to be exactly as they were and that reducing the string length would diminish the sound. I remember he described the hands of Yamashita, showing me how small they were, and offered that as proof that playing a Ramírez was only a question of proper technique. That was how our personal relationship started more than fifteen years ago. José Ramírez IV was born in 1953, the son of one of the greatest guitar makers of the 20th century, José Ramírez III. His father had built guitars for practically every accomplished guitarist of his generation, including Segovia, Parkening, and Bream. Ramírez IV grew up in a home where Segovia and his most respected students were both friends and clients of the family business. He knew that if he were ever to become a respected luthier, he would have to please the Maestro and those who followed him. In 1971 he went to work in the Ramírez workshop at the age of eighteen. At first he worked as an apprentice, but in 1977, he became the “oficial de 1a” — a title given to the most accomplished master craftsmen. In 1979, several guitars were brought to Andrés Segovia to choose the one he preferred. Unknown to Segovia, one of those instruments was made by the young José, and it was that guitar which he selected. The young maker was so elated that he dedicated it to the Maestro and added this to the label. (The instrument was recently sold to a collector for $50,000.) Still, Ramírez IV believed that he had only succeeded in building the same instrument designed by his father and wondered how he could improve on it. Soon after, he began to consider how to make the instrument easier to play while preserving the quality of sound and the overall volume. In 1986, he produced a smaller instrument (C-86) which had a smaller scale length and a smaller body as well. The sound was charming, but didn’t have the same robust character as the original “1a” guitars. He still had some work to do. The Ramírez workshop (l to r): Ricardo Sáenz, Marisa Sanzano, José Enrique Ramírez IV, Amalia Ramírez, Carmelo Llerena, Marcos Moyano (apprentice), Cayetano Álvarez (retired February 2000), and Fernando Morcuende. Photo courtesy of Amalia Ramírez. In 1988, José IV and his sister Amalia took over the business from their father. Amalia had also been trained in guitar building along with her brother. She, too, had made superb instruments under the direction of her father, but also had strong business skills, which allowed José IV to concentrate on a revised construction of their concert model guitar. The same year at the Music Messe in Frankfurt, I visited José IV and Amalia. Once again, we discussed the smaller Ramírez design and shared ideas about the relationship between volume of the instrument, size of the box, and string length. It was also during this Music Messe that I met Ana, their trusted translator, who later became my wife. “Pepe” and I had many differences of opinion over the years. In less than a few months time he offered me the exclusive distribution agreement in Taiwan and then angrily took it away when he discovered that my first guitar was going to pass through the USA on its way to the South China Sea. That was the other side of his absolute loyalty, both as a friend and in business. It was only after I became his exclusive distributor in the USA that I could fully appreciate this part of his character. During the early ’90s, Pepe and Amalia were rethinking and rebuilding the business from an operation under their father’s direction making 1,000 guitars a year to today’s workshop making 120 guitars per year. This was no easy feat in a country where it is nearly impossible to downsize a company due to the strong social democratic labor laws. Somehow they did it, kept the business going, and continued to improve on the quality control of the instruments. In 1993, they moved the business back to a smaller workshop with only a few journeymen supervised by both Pepe and Amalia. It is ironic that only now as the Ramírez distributor am I finally able to buy and sell the guitar I requested fifteen years earlier, and it is especially ironic that it was Pepe who produced it. This was, in my view, his most important achievement in guitar making. In 1991, he redesigned the Ramírez 1a concert model and introduced the Traditional and the Especial model. These two models resembled those of 1960s in sound and construction while utilizing the standard 650mm scale length and a full-size body. With this, he achieved exactly what he thought to be impossible in our first meeting. José Ramírez IV died on June 5, 2000, survived by his wife, sister, and four children.
Posted on January 11, 2010February 7, 2024 by Dale Phillips In Memoriam: Frederick Thomas Dickens In Memoriam: Frederick Thomas Dickens 1935 – 2000 by Pauline Dickens, James Jones, and Graham Caldersmith Originally published in American #71, 2002 and Big Red Book of American Lutherie Volume Six, 2013 Frederick Thomas Dickens was born January 10, 1935 in Bogalusa, Louisiana, and died November 8, 2000 in Lynchburg, Virginia. He served in the Navy and attended Southwestern Louisiana Institute (now USL) in Lafayette, Louisiana, where he graduated with a degree in physics. He went to work for Western Electric at Bell Laboratories in Whippany, New Jersey, in 1960, then worked for AT&T/Bell Labs from 1962 until his retirement in 1987. He was married and had two children. From early childhood Fred was always taking things apart and rebuilding them: crystal sets, model airplanes and boats, small engines, large engines, bicycles, motorbikes, air rifles, most anything that had plenty of parts. In later years, he continued to take things apart and reassemble them or build new and improved ones. His crystal set was replaced by powerful shortwave radios, the model airplanes and boats got larger and more sophisticated, the small engines became single-cylinder miniature hit-and-miss ones. The large engines were built to fit into the motorcycle frames that he constructed and competed on in observed trials. The air rifles became more powerful and accurate, and Fred built all parts on his lathe and milling machine, even to checkering the stocks. His latest pistol was used to shoot uncooked pasta at carpenter bees feeding on the house. The bicycle evolved into an elaborate recumbent design that he was working on when he died. While at Bell Labs he worked in the Power Supply Department building power supplies for the transatlantic cable. His power supplies were also found in many of AT&T’s telephones. He received the Distinguished Technical Staff Award for Sustained Achievement in 1984. He first got interested in instrument building in 1966 when he built his first guitar. He took apart an old guitar he had purchased in Mexico when he was twelve to study the construction. He began keeping detailed records with guitar #15 in 1968, using red cedar for the top. Ever the stickler for words, he wrote, “The cedar will be called ‘Egyptian Dragoon Brown Spruce’ from the Aswan Dam Preserve.” He began making his fretboards out of black phenol fiber because he felt that the phenol was more stable than ebony. He began making his own rosettes in 1969. He also constructed a banjo in that year. The part of guitar construction that he enjoyed most was carving the neck, especially the heel. One of my fondest memories is of watching him as he worked on the mahogany to create a beautiful sculpture, which he would decorate with a beautifully finished, singing body. In 1975 Fred began a series of experiments (which he would continue until his death) to make “various acoustic measurements on the guitar and its parts.” The object of the experiments was “to determine the response vs. frequency of the instrument and its various parts in an effort to set the various resonances at their ideal positions.” Using a special sound room which he built, he did experiments to: determine the effect of the height of the sides of a standard classical guitar on air resonance frequency; test different strutting patterns on the backs and tops of guitars including Cartesian, circular, lattice, traditional, and X bracing; study the effect of soundposts in guitars; chart the air modes of his and others’ guitars; study the relationship between the Helmholtz resonance and volume; and test a new bridge design using graphite-reinforced epoxy which he called his “magic bridge.” In 1977 Fred attended the 9th International Conference on Acoustics in Madrid where he presented a paper, “Tuning the Eigenmodes of Free Violin and Guitar Plates by Chladni Patterns” with Carleen Hutchins. He wrote for the CAS Newsletter but refused to submit articles unless he was 100% certain of the data. He also gave lectures at local colleges in New Jersey. In his lifetime Fred built ninety-four classical guitars, four steel string guitars, a flamenco guitar, a banjo, and a harpsichord soundboard. Trying to understand plate tuning in the guitar was his life’s goal. — Pauline Dickens Fred Dickens at the 1992 GAL Convention after attending the free plate tuning demonstration by Carleen Hutchins. Photo by Dale Blindheim. Although an excellent craftsman, Fred viewed instrument making (or the making of anything else for that matter) as a vehicle to understanding the science and principles behind the result. He constantly strove to understand the physics, and the nature of materials and their interaction. The search was always more important than the product, although the guitar was most often the chosen teacher. As a result, Fred was the work in progress. Understanding the universe was his goal. Fred had little tolerance for ignorance masquerading as knowledge. Half-baked theories were always exposed to the light of his more rigorous testing. I was very fortunate to make Fred’s acquaintance shortly after he and his wife moved to Virginia. Our mutual interest in instrument making and his willingness to teach some of those scientific principles I had neglected to consider contributed to a friendship now sorely missed. Fred’s gift was his willingness to patiently share what he had learned with those willing to listen. I only wish more makers would have had the opportunity to learn from his experience and example. — James Jones When I began music acoustics research in 1970 I was intrigued by articles written by Fred T. Dickens, which combined an honest, homey style with advanced ideas on guitar behavior. I began writing to Fred, and in 1982 during a research tour of the USA, we stayed some days with Fred and Pauline. Their company was relaxing and humanizing after intense work and travel. We shared notions of guitars and violin physics, methods of working advanced instruments, the nature of those involved in such a rare field of endeavor, and the big questions: life, the universe, and everything. We ate and drank with Fred and Pauline and became friends. Fred was an honest, practical man. His work at the Bell Laboratories was respected because of his integrity with results. He was meticulous in research and true with his friends. His marriage to Pauline was caring and creative, and their love for each other was unmistakable. I admire them both and wish Pauline comfort and peace in her loss of a wonderful husband. — Graham Caldersmith
