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It is difficult to describe the smell, but once you walk in you know it at once: it is a combination of greases, oils, old music cases, and instruments of all ages and variety; it is musty and pungent all at once, and to me it is instantly welcoming. It is the smell of an instrument repair shop. In particular, it is the smell of Best Instrument Repair and Dick Akright is in the house. When I duck under the bright blue awning, open the door with no markings at all (sliding by the curious glances of the people standing in line at Mr. Burrito), and enter the hallway with old music posters and ancient brown carpet, a wide smile crosses my face. I have instruments that need repair, and one of the best repairmen in the world is about to repair them. As I round the corner and head down the rickety stairs, I feel entirely at ease. There is a feeling in the air of industrious accomplishment: people come down these stairs with problems, they go up them with solutions. I am entirely confident that this will be the case for me.
When I finally emerge into the shop I see several repairmen hard at work in their stations, hunched over this task or that. At last, I see Dick Akright in his station, the large flame from his blow torch is billowing and he is looking up expectantly to see who has come down his stairs. He waves with instant recognition and comes over to the counter where we begin to go over the instruments I have brought. We chat about how things have been going for each of us since our last meeting and what is new in the San Francisco music scene. I called the day before to see if he could work me in and he has graciously arranged his schedule so that he could get to the work I need. He looks over the instruments I have brought, asks a few questions, then casually says, “Give me about an hour”.
With that I leave the shop in search for lunch and return in an hour to find him finishing up some work on my old Bach C trumpet. My Schagerl rotary is working again (see Brown Trumpets) and my Bach C has had its pitch finder removed, restoring it to its original, gadget free, glory. All my desires have been accomplished and after more brief conversation I pay and make ready to leave. “I better get back to work!” Dick says, the weight of unfinished repairs flashing briefly acorss his face. Yes Dick, you should, and we are all glad that you are!
There are not many places left on this planet of ours where we can walk in the door with an injured instrument and know that it will repaired with meticulous care, by expert hands. It seems to me these kinds of shops are drying up, becoming like small islands drifting in an enormous blue ocean. If you have a shop like this near you or a repairman that you truly trust with the care of your instrument, make sure to let them know. Support them in any way you can, because it is a largely thankless job and we need them more than we know. These people are our miracle workers. They take our mangled instruments and return them to us in their former splendor; disaster is reversed and we are allowed to continue as if nothing ever happened. To a musician who knows what it is like to love an instrument, there is hardly a greater gift.
I blame global warming for this. Our islands are going under and so are our instrument shops. It’s time for a chlorofluoro cabana bananza; we need reform people!