Posted on January 16, 2010February 7, 2024 by Dale Phillips In Memoriam: Robert S. Cooper In Memoriam: Robert S. Cooper February 20, 1928 – November 24, 2016 by R.E. Bruné and Robert Cooper, Jr. Originally published in American Lutherie #130, 2017 Robert Cooper, author of the book Lute Construction passed away this past November. Although I never met Robert in person, my first contact with him was in 1968 when I discovered his book and used it to make my first Renaissance lute. I still have the mold which I made from his instructions. In many ways, it was this foray into the lute from the guitar that started my interest in “early music,” later leading to many more lutes and even harpsichords. Many years later we spoke on the phone and Robert ordered a guitar from me, which I was extremely honored to make for him. Robert was a consummate craftsman and a perfectionist in everything he did. His lute construction book was based on the lutes made by the Hauser family and he had Hermann Hauser II personally check his technical drawings to make sure they were accurate before publishing. Robert had been friends with the Hausers, and had even purchased one of their guitars, which I later sold for him. He was very active in the radio-control model airplane hobby, and his scale replicas of WWI vintage biplanes were paragons of patient detail. He even made his own scale operational engines, and only recently had finally given up flying his creations. Remembering my own experiences with model airplanes (straight up, stall, straight down, build another) I was shocked that he would allow them to be flown at all. I have never seen finer model aircraft. I will miss our friendly phone conversations which ranged over a wide variety of topics. My condolences to his family. — R.E. Bruné Robert Cooper lectures on “The Devolution of the Modern Lute” at the GAL Convention in Greensboro, North Carolina, in 1984. Photo by Tim Olsen. Robert Scotland Cooper Sr. was the son of Cdr. Henry George Cooper, USN. In the years leading up to WWII, Commander Cooper served with distinction at posts near and distant, and Robert often proudly claimed that he had attended thirteen grammar schools during his formative years. He lived for periods in Atlanta, Georgia; Charleston, South Carolina; Newport, Rhode Island; New Orleans, Louisiana; and attended Pearl River Military Academy. But he loved most the time he spent with his parents, his brother Samuel, and sister Caroline in the Orient. An avid and gifted storyteller, he often shared vivid memories of his mother Janet, a Sorbonne-trained artist, painting scenes along the seawall at the Olongapo Naval Base on Subic Bay in the Philippines. His tales were full of the taste of sweet mangoes, gentle air, and the fascinating people he knew there though he was only six at the time. Robert completed his bachelor’s degree at The Citadel Military Academy in Charleston in 1951. His passion for all things aeronautical led him to take a job at the Cleveland Model and Supply Company in Ohio, and many people he met there remained lifelong friends. His natural musical talents flourished and he started performing with his clear tenor voice and a classical guitar. Fortune brought him to Savannah in 1953 where he met and married his soulmate Emmeline and began his twenty-seven-year career with the Corps of Engineers. Pioneers at heart, they purchased a ramshackle boarding house in 1959 with terrifyingly high mortgage payments of $69 per month. That house was filled with laughter and music and jovial evenings gathered around the kitchen table. Robert had a woodworking shop there and became renowned for his fine and imaginative woodworking skills. He began building lutes, and his enthusiasm to renew interest in then-obscure early instruments prompted him to publish his book Lute Construction in 1963. His scale models of primarily WWI-era airplanes are recognized as some of the finest in the country. Music, airplanes, and woodworking were the things Robert Cooper did, but they are not who he was. He was always busy in his shop but he was never too busy for his sons Ruskin, Robert Jr., and Graham whether it was a science project or just a tricky part of an airplane model. He was a patient and encouraging teacher. He had a way of seeing the final product and knew how to get a job done the right way. He said that when he was working on a lute or an airplane, time had no meaning. — Robert Cooper Jr.
Posted on January 16, 2010February 7, 2024 by Dale Phillips In Memoriam: Darlene Eddinger In Memoriam: Darlene Eddinger 1958 – 2012 by Chris Herrod Originally published in American Lutherie #113, 2013 Darlene Eddinger passed away after a long battle with cancer on December 27, 2012, at the age of fifty-four. For twenty-five years she worked as the purchasing manager at Luthiers Mercantile International (LMI). As part of the management team at LMI, she can be thanked for much of what the company has offered the world of guitar making. Her warmth, humor, and her professionalism made a lasting impression on all those who were fortunate enough to meet her and work with her. LMI’s many vendors, customers, and her fellow employees grew accustomed to her smile and her friendship over the years, and her absence is deeply felt. Even as her illness progressed, Darlene continued to work and greet people with her characteristic sweetness and equanimity. A loving wife, mother, and grandmother, Darlene valued her family most of all. She will be missed and remembered fondly. Darlene Eddinger (right) and Natalie Swango after their auction victory at the 2008 GAL Convention. Photo by Hap Newsom.
Posted on January 16, 2010February 7, 2024 by Dale Phillips In Memoriam: Don Bradley In Memoriam: Don Bradley 1949 – 2016 by Deb Olsen, Chris Herrod, Alan Carruth, and Fred Carlson Originally published in American Lutherie #127, 2016 We are fond of all our GAL members, for sure. But there are some members who have been with us for so many years, who have grown up with us and the Guild, and who we have enjoyed spending time with at so many conventions over decades, that they have a special place in our hearts. Don Bradley is one of those. Happy, amiable, kind, funny, smart, and humble, Don has always been a great supporter of the Guild and its ideals. He has been with us from way, way back — a member continuously since 1977, he attended his first convention in Tacoma that year after completing one of the early courses at the Roberto-Venn School, and he attended at least a dozen in all, including the last five held in Tacoma from 2004–2014. (See his “Meet the Maker” article in AL#111.) I’d have to do a little research, but it’s possible that he attended more conventions than any other member (other than the GAL staff). So we were always delighted when we’d get his convention registration and knew we’d be seeing him again. Conventions can be daunting, but one of the things that encourages us to keep doing them is knowing that we’ll be seeing some of our old pals like Don. We’ll really miss him at the next one. —Deb Olsen Intelligent, soft-spoken, and kind, Don Bradley was for many years a welcome fixture at NCAL (Northern California Association of Luthiers) and GAL events. We grew accustomed to his friendly, easy-going presence and that makes his sudden passing all the more difficult. Aside from building a variety of instruments, Don applied his keen, inquisitive mind to a wide range of pursuits: banjo playing, electric cars, folk dancing, raising llamas, and gardening. Perhaps he will be best remembered for building the signal generator device for Chladni testing (“free plate testing”) that was sold for many years by LMI and others. Thank you, Don. You will be missed. —Chris Herrod Photo by Teri Korsmo I first met Don at the GAL Convention in Vermillion, South Dakota, in 1992. He approached me, introduced himself as an electronics engineer, and asked if there was anything he could do to help. I was looking for somebody to take over the business of making signal generators that I had suspended on the death of my father a few years before, and his offer was very welcome. I sent the parts and information to Don with gratitude. Those machines were only slight updates of the ones detailed in the old GAL Data Sheet #112 by Matt Fichtenbaum, and were very far out of date by then; so Don came up with a wholly new, and far better, design in consultation with me. Although from habit I use my old unit for day-to-day work, when I need real precision or portability I turn to Don’s device. Thereafter we would see each other in Tacoma when I was able to get out for conventions. When I had a table we would set up a signal generator, and Don would spell me in demonstrations. He would also help out if I had a talk to give. Don hosted me at his home when I went out for what turned out to be the last Healdsburg Festival, providing a pleasant and undemanding oasis amid the cacophony. My flight home was late on the Monday after the close of the festival, and Don took me on a sightseeing tour. We took in the Armstrong redwoods and Bodega Bay in a pleasant and relaxing day’s drive. I always hoped that some chance would enable me to return the favor, and show him some of the scenic attractions near my home in New Hampshire. Sadly, that will never happen now. I’m left wondering how his instrument making went, and whether he ever got that Tesla that he wanted. Adios, Don: I owe you. —Alan Carruth Don Bradley was such a nice guy! I met him at the first GAL Convention I ever attended, the one in Winfield, Kansas, in 1978. I was oh-so-young (early 20-something), on my first real trip away from home on my own, at my first luthier convention, showing off some of my instruments to other luthiers for the first time. Don was so warm and easy going; I immediately felt comfortable with him. We got caught together in some building when a brief and wild summer tornado cruised through, filling the streets with water in minutes. Watching this amazing phenomenon of nature, we got to talking, and it turned out he had just locked his keys inside his truck. I spent quite a while taking apart my backpack to get at a metal rod that was a part of the frame, and we used it to pick his truck-door lock. The sort of experience that one remembers, and that can lead to lasting friendship, which it did. We mostly only met, over the years, at lutherie-related events, and saw each other less frequently as the years went by, but each meeting was a happy event, and the friendship was always there, waiting to be enjoyed. Wherever luthiers go when they pass on, I know everyone there will be happy to see him, but we’ll sure miss him here! Happy journey into the mystery, my friend! —Fred Carlson
Posted on January 16, 2010February 7, 2024 by Dale Phillips In Memoriam: Joseph R. Johnson In Memoriam: Joseph R. Johnson Oct 24, 1954 - May 21, 2012 by Deb Olsen Originally published in American Lutherie #111, 2012 We were very sad to hear of the passing of our friend Joe Johnson after an extended illness. It’s been some years since we’ve seen Joe, but we haven’t forgotten the great work he did for the Guild in the 1980s and 1990s. Members who have been around awhile will remember that Joe was the genial and energetic host of our 1988 and 1992 GAL Conventions in Vermillion, South Dakota. Photo by Robert Desmond When we first met Joe, he was living in Vermillion and working as the first Curator of Education at the Shrine to Music Museum (now the National Music Museum) at the University of South Dakota. Joe joined the Guild in 1986 and made the suggestion that we might want to have our 1988 convention in Vermillion in conjunction with the museum. That was a pretty wild idea, but Tim went out to visit and saw what an incredible gem was hidden in the farmlands of South Dakota! It soon became apparent that not only was the museum a great treasure-trove for our members, but that we had found a great helper and GAL supporter in Joe Johnson. Joe made all the on-site arrangements and was there to do whatever needed to be done and whatever would make a better experience for the members. This included forgoing dinner to give after-hours museum tours, shuttling folks to and from the airport, and many other details in the extreme South Dakota temperatures, always wearing a tie and a smile. Whenever a problem needed to be solved, he enthusiastically arose to the challenge. (He had served in the Navy, and this showed in his ability to get things done and get along with folks.) After experiencing the crazy fun of helping to organize a GAL Convention, Joe came to Tacoma to help out in 1990 and did many of the interviews with exhibitors that year. (You can experience Joe’s enthusiasm on our Luthier’s Show and Tell DVD). Things had gone so well at our 1988 convention in South Dakota (with Joe’s help), that we decided to go out to Vermillion again in 1992. That year we added a joint meeting with the Catgut Acoustical Society. Thanks to Joe, both these conventions were great successes. For our 1995 convention, Joe came out to Tacoma again especially to curate the special exhibit of D’Aquisto and D’Angelico archtop guitars from the collection of Paul Gudelsky. His expertise as a curator greatly enhanced this project. The photo above was taken at that convention. After eleven years at the Shrine to Music Museum, Joe got a new position as the founding Curator of Music and Popular Culture at the Georgia Music Hall of Fame in Macon, Georgia. This was in his words, a “fun job” where he went around collecting artifacts from some of the great musicians who hailed from Georgia. Every once in a while we’d get an e-mail from Joe telling us about some amazing experience he had hanging out with musical icons like Little Richard, Chet Atkins, or the B-52s. We really enjoyed hearing about his trips, and it sounded like the right job for positive guy like Joe. Joe was a family man and he is survived by his wife of thirty-five years, Lois, their three children, and four grandchildren. He was also a very religious man. He wasn’t afraid to express his deep Christian faith, and he lived it in the best possible way: always positive, service oriented, free of prejudice, and loving toward his fellow human beings. Joe was a musician who loved people, music, history, and musical instruments, and he will be missed.
Posted on January 16, 2010February 7, 2024 by Dale Phillips In Memoriam: Jess Wells In Memoriam: Jess Wells 1953 – 2010 by Jonathon Peterson, Eric “Rico” Meyer, Ed Geesman, David Kerr, and Hiram Harris Originally published in American Lutherie #105, 2011 My dear friend Jess Wells died at home of cancer on December 13, 2010. Jess was a big-picture kind of guy, with a real awareness of the interconnectedness of things. He was a fine craftsman with expertise in, among other things, violins, lutes, viola da gambas, bamboo fly-fishing rods, custom interior woodworking, and pipe organ construction. Our conversations always branched to music, food, religion, art, history, politics, social responsibility, sustainability of resources, local agriculture, and other big and small topics. I visited with him at shows, in shops, at his home, and too many times in the hospital. He knew what was coming, and faced death with grace, humor, and dignity. Jess is one of my heros. — Jonathon Peterson Photo by Jonathon Peterson Jess and I shared shop space several times in the ’80s. During one of those periods in the back room at Kerr's violin shop, I was trying to make an archtop guitar. The juxtaposition of our benches was a model of contrast: his meticulous and orderly, and mine, well, not so much. After listening to me curse and grouse and fix my own mistakes, he gave me the most left-handed compliment I’ve ever had. He said, “Rico, how the hell can you wind up with something so nice after screwing up so much along the way. It’s not fair.” He also kind of half cajoled, half exampled me into giving up a traditional Thanksgiving Day to serve dinners and wash dishes at a homeless mission. I’ve been delivering Meals On Wheels for over fifteen years. Thanks Jess. I guess most of us are ultimately self-absorbed. Jess may have been the exception. — Eric “Rico” Meyer I remember Jess having a very strong sense of social awareness. Although he was a live-and-let-live sort of guy, he had no patience with somebody taking advantage of his fellow man. Definitely a child of the ’70s, with a healthy Oregonian essence. I enjoyed his upbeat attitude and was inspired by his positive nature. I will miss seeing him. — Ed Geesman I remember Jess having a mischievous side. You could tell when he was up to something when he all of a sudden had this Cheshire Cat grin, halfway between a seven-year-old boy’s glee and the devil. When we were apprentices I had spent nine months making my first violin and had just glued the top on with great satisfaction. The next day I came in and Jess had filled the insides with as many wood shavings as he could possibly fit through the f-holes. I was both despondent and furious. He spent the next three hours pulling them out with a pair of tweezers, all the while grinning from ear to ear! — David Kerr I first met Jess in 1975 when I came to Portland to apprentice for Paul Schuback. Jess and the other apprentices welcomed me and took me into their homes or apartments even though we were all strangers. Jess was one of the older apprentices, and he and Dave Kerr looked after the younger ones to make sure we understood how the program worked. Jess was married and in that first year he and Beth had their first child, Megan. Jess was the first person I knew near my age to become a father. After Megan’s arrival, Steve Moore renamed Jess “Dad” Wells. This nickname and Jess’ obvious joy at her arrival is what I remember most from those days. Jess left the apprenticeship in 1976 to make viols on his own and work for Bob Lundberg. He had the highest respect for Bob and was proud to say that he was the only person to work full time with Bob in his shop. Jess told me that almost everything he knew about instrument making he learned from Bob. In the early ’80s Jess also worked part time in Dave Kerr’s shop. He drove an old VW van. Megan would frequently accompany him at the shop and draw or play. One of her drawings became Kerr Violin Shop’s first t-shirt. It was a sketch of three people: Dave, Jess, and me. Jess was a fine craftsman with an exacting eye and high standards. He never made much money on his viol work because he either didn’t charge enough, or he spent too much time trying to get them just right. I remember Dave telling him once that no matter what business Jess was in he would find a way to lose money. Jess liked to tell that story with a laugh and an acknowledgement that Dave was probably right. He and Beth helped set up a soup kitchen at St. Francis church in southeast Portland. Giving back to the community and helping those less fortunate was a big part of Jess’ life. Jess was quite active in his church. Faith played a huge role in his life, and it was reflected in how he handled his terminal illness. He saw death as a transition to a new beginning and a way to get closer to God. I spent a month with Jess last summer. It had been years since we had seen each other, but this was of no importance to Jess. He was friendly and open to all no matter how long he had known them or their station in life. I never saw him down or depressed, even though at times he was in a lot of pain. He could have easily, understandably, felt sorry for himself, but he did not. His main concern as always was for his family. Jess was decent, kind, generous, warm, and a true man of all seasons. I remember how he tilted his head just so when he was engaged in conversation, and the twinkle in his eye when an idea particularly struck him. He had a ready smile and made you feel wanted. He loved life fully and deeply, and embraced death with the same intensity. Above all, I will remember him as a family man with a strong faith in God and a true love for his fellow man. Rest in peace, Jess. — Hiram Harris
