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In Memoriam: Thomas Humphrey

In Memoriam: Thomas Humphrey

November 13, 1948 – April 16, 2008

by Stephan Connor

Originally published in American Lutherie #95, 2008

Thomas Humphrey, a brilliant designer and maker of classical guitars, died recently of a heart attack at his home in Gardiner, New York. It is a great loss to the guitar community and to those fortunate enough to have witnessed his passion for the instrument and life in general.

Among the many things Tom was known for was his Millennium design which popularized the elevated fingerboard. He was constantly, fearlessly experimenting with so many aspects of the guitar: soundboard bracing, back bracing, finish, bridge design, and more. His guitars have been used by many fine guitarists, including Sergio and Odair Assad, Eliot Fisk, Ben Verderey, David Tanenbaum, Lily Afshar, Bruce and Adam Holzman, Sharon Isbin, and many others. His guitars are known for their power, projection, upper treble response, and easy access to the upper register.

Photo courtesy of Stephan Connor.

Early in my own career I had the great fortune and pleasure of meeting Tom at a guitar festival in Boston. I asked him to critique my sixth guitar, which was based on a Torres design with seven fans and a perimeter mosaic. He played several notes, with good rest-stroke technique, producing a very nice tone and said, “Listen, it’s beautiful. You should visit my workshop.” At his shop I couldn’t help bombarding him with questions about the voicing of instruments, how he got such strong treble response, and such. To my questions he would often respond mysteriously with answers such as, “You already know the answer.” When I brought up asymmetrical bracing as a way to push treble response, he said, “It’s a myth.” He had experimented with diagonal harmonic bars in the ’80s, like so many builders (Santos Hernández, Fleta, and Rodríguez to name a few), but later in his career he was using symmetrical patterns exclusively.

One time he intensely exclaimed, with fire in his eyes, “Stephan, you must concern yourself with the atmosphere!” As we all know humidity control is so important to the building process for controlling moisture content of parts, doming of plates, and so on, but he was also stressing the importance of having consistent guitars, not summer guitars built at a higher humidity and winter guitars built drier. He was recommending achieving a consistent sound. His guitars hold up remarkably well through rigorous touring, especially considering his thin tops — 2MM was thick for him. He had an expensive automatic humidity-regulation system in his workshop in Gardiner. I’m not entirely sure, but I believe he kept it around 40%.

I recently examined a guitar he built in 1985 that had a four-piece top salvaged from a vintage piano soundboard. The guitar’s bridge had been stained, perhaps with coffee, but it appeared to be mahogany. Ideas like these are indicative of his style — always exploring. His later Millennium guitars used the same plantilla as his early ones but were braced with a sort of hybrid X/lattice top with a thin layer of carbon fiber over the X.

Over the years Tom offered me advice and guidance in countless ways. It was always offered freely, with only the love of the instrument in mind. What I will miss most about Tom are the intense phone conversations we would have, throwing around ideas at a mile a minute. He was so passionate about guitar making, more than anyone else that I’ve met. The conversations were like roller coaster rides covering so many important topics of lutherie from improving durability of French polish, to what to listen for while evaluating the sound of a guitar, to shaping braces, and methods for building more efficiently. Tom’s spirit and passion will live on in many ways and in many places. I will honor his memory by continuing to build with passion the best instruments that I can, and recognize the many contributions Tom has made to the evolution of this magical instrument that captivates us all.

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In Memoriam: Dennis Stevens

In Memoriam: Dennis Stevens

1944 – 2009

by Harry Fleishman

Originally published in American Lutherie #99, 2009

My good friend Denny died today. He had engaged a brief battle with ALS, and it didn’t beat him; he walked away from the battlefield on his own terms. He was heroic.

Everyone who knew Denny respected him. When there was nothing but Sloane, Denny started building. His work was steady, exceptional, occasionally truly innovative, and always genuine and BS-free. He was a good guy to have as an influence.

Denny was supportive and argumentative and couldn’t figure out why I did some of the things I was trying to do, because he was so good at doing it the right way that he didn’t feel a need to reinvent it. He was open-minded and open-hearted and generous, even if he did avoid most people most of the time. He had no problem holding contradictory ideas in his head, and didn’t hold onto old ideas if they were supplanted by better ones.

Denny’s guitars were always flawless, which is no mean feat, so it was a surprise when he told me that he had encountered a real serious problem on one of his semihollow electrics. He had been experimenting with vinyl purfling, with which he could put together really sharp contrasts, and the lacquer didn’t stick to it leaving a tiny bubble where it should have been adhered. I don’t know what you’d have done, but I doubt you would have taken a fresh #11 X-acto and cut the offending strip, all forty thousandths of it, and carefully removed it. After cleaning the slot left by that, he superglued the original piece of lacquer back in place, sanded and buffed it, and it was invisible and, of course, perfect. Yeah, I know. Me neither.

Photo by Harry Fleishman.

Denny grew up outside of Boulder in a modest house to which he continually added, putting in their septic tank with his brother when he was a teenager. He lived there from age nine or ten until he moved to Salem, Oregon with Karen at about age fifty. Along the way he added on rooms and a shop as he grew up and married. I helped him load up the truck to drive out west to Salem, and I didn’t understand his difficulty in moving until he told me his history. You might say he was stable.

It was Denny who introduced me to the Guild of American Luthiers, even though we are both non-joiners; it was Denny to whom I turned with questions or to show off. We bounced ideas off each other and came up with a great lutherie tool together, one iteration at a time. His first one is still the best one.

Denny never advertised, always had lots of work, was revered in the jazz guitar community, made fabulous steel strings, some good classicals, and a truly hilarious electric, his first guitar, made in 1958. Great guy, Denny.