“After spending the first few years of my life digesting Top 40 ’80s pop, my sister introduced me to new records by The Farm, Beastie Boys, Nine Inch Nails, and Red Hot Chili Peppers. I finally had something I felt I could identify with, it was like my own personal movement. Later that year my Dad bought me my first record, Nirvana’s Nevermind, and so it began.
Years later in junior high, I bought my first record player I picked up at a thrift store. It was an old 1960s red travel box with a picture of psychedelic lollipops dripping with color on the backdrop. It would become the centerpiece for after school party sessions listening to old 45s from George Harrison and The Mamas & The Papas. I played that thing so much the motor gave out and I had to resort to listening to The Beatles at half speed.
A couple of years ago, I was given an old 1950s record player as a gift from my wife. After weeks of intense research, she found this gem in the classifieds. The owner was pushing well into his 90s, and this, including his record collection, was his baby. He was making the necessary preparations we all may face in our old age, and was having a hard time figuring out what to do with the items that held sentiment.
Record store shop owners, and collectors alike made generous offers, but the old man turned them all down. He wanted to make sure his collection would end up in the hands of someone who would truly appreciate the catalog he’s acquired over the years.
If you bought the record player, you also had to take his 3 boxes of old jazz, big band, and blues records. They are memories that go together as a team, something I am proud to have inherited and hopefully pass along to another generation in my old age.”