{"id":213,"date":"2013-11-17T14:55:40","date_gmt":"2013-11-17T22:55:40","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/cronymag.com\/c\/?p=213"},"modified":"2013-11-18T08:47:24","modified_gmt":"2013-11-18T16:47:24","slug":"benjamin-warner-the-two-harmonicists","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/cronymag.com\/c\/?p=213","title":{"rendered":"Benjamin Warner<\/strong>: “The Two Harmonicists”"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n

There were two harmonicists. I signed up for lessons with Dewayne Keyes. The other didn\u2019t give lessons. He played along to the Star Spangled Banner, center stage with the University Big Band, at a pep rally in the Davis Center.\u00a0His\u00a0name was Tony Demarco. Dewayne Keyes didn\u2019t care\u00a0much\u00a0for Tony Demarco.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\u201cWhat he\u2019s playing isn\u2019t the blues,\u201d Dewayne Keyes told me. \u201cHe used to be a decent guy, before he started in with all this\u00a0poppy shit.\u201d He squinted down at the tablature he\u2019d Xeroxed for me. It was as if his distaste for Tony Demarco had filled the room with\u00a0haze, making it hard to see.<\/p>\n

I said, \u201cI\u2019m into the blues, man. That\u2019s what I\u2019m here for.\u201d<\/p>\n

We were sitting in an alcove of a university administrative office. There wasn\u2019t even a door between us and the bursar\u2019s secretary.<\/p>\n

Well,\u201d he said, \u201cI can go in one of two directions. We can go Dylan: he\u2019d wail on the high end like this:\u201d and he sucked in and out on the high end for a bit, \u201cor we can go Sonny Terry.\u201d He did a run up from the bottom. \u201cThat\u2019s more technical. That\u2019s like, you need a lifetime of practice.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve got a while,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s got a while!\u201d said Dewayne Keyes, as if to the bursar\u2019s secretary.<\/p>\n

We met once a week, for five weeks, and I did some practicing in my dorm room. Dewayne Keyes wore flannels to our classes, and when he got really worked up showing me something tricky, he\u2019d roll the sleeves so I could see the ratty, yellowed waffle shirts he wore beneath. His mustache was gray and untrimmed. When he played, he closed his eyes and made pained expressions, and the hairs on his upper lip brushed the top of the harmonica\u2019s metal plate. I paid him ten dollars a\u00a0lesson.<\/p>\n

By the end of the five weeks, I had that\u00a0Sonny Terry\u00a0run cold. It hadn\u2019t taken a lifetime. I carried the harmonica in my pocket and as I walked through town, I\u2019d turn down alleys where it was just me and the garbage cans,\u00a0and take it out for a toot. Ithanked Dewayne\u00a0Keyes profusely. \u201cReally,\u201d I\u00a0said, shaking his hand in both my hands, \u201cit\u2019s been great.\u201d<\/p>\n

I\u2019d felt a little emotional\u00a0ending our time together.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo problem, kid,\u201d he said. \u201cJust remember one thing: there\u2019s nothing like the blues.\u201d He\u2019d stood as a signal for me to leave, and when I turned in the door to look, he was\u00a0still\u00a0there,\u00a0rigid\u00a0and fat\u00a0in the alcove.<\/p>\n

Then one day, I was walking down the street. It was early spring, and the air was sweet from\u00a0the way it was\u00a0caressing the early buds and blossoms. There were people in short sleeves, and there were buskers in the square; a blues group, in particular.\u00a0I stopped to watch them play.<\/p>\n

The lead guitar wore a leather cowboy hat and sunglasses. He had a gravelly voice I liked, and they were playing a Muddy Waters tune I knew. A crowd had grown around them, and out of the crowd stepped a sleek little man with a\u00a0ponytail. He was bald on top, and wore a pressed shirt tucked into his slacks. A silver belt buckle shone where it held\u00a0everything together.<\/p>\n

The lead guitar smiled and cut the song\u00a0off short.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, no. Keep jamming, Larry,\u201d said the pony-tailed man.<\/p>\n

\u201cLadies and gentlepeople,\u201d said the lead guitar. \u201cA treat. A real treat! Mr. Tony Demarco!\u201d<\/p>\n

Demarco pulled a harmonica from his pocket and the lead guitar said, \u201cAh-one-two-three-four.\u201d<\/p>\n

They played\u00a0Got My Mojo Working, and Demarco sat back on rhythm until the music peeled away and\u00a0he\u00a0soloed. There were wild twists and turns, and sweet-squeaky end-arounds that make me think of flip-kicks in a pool. Then\u00a0he pulled away. He cupped his hands and dug his face into them so that the harmonica disappeared. There was a flutter of notes that made the lead guitar and the drummer open their mouths in an awe that looked like pain. They\u00a0all\u00a0had the exact same expression, though they hadn\u2019t looked at one another. I guessed it was something musicians just\u00a0did. They\u2019d had their hearts broken by their own talents, but they were too decent to even know it.<\/p>\n

Afterwards, a bunch of people gathered around Demarco, and he was actually signing autographs. I\u2019d gone in close, too, and without realizing it, I\u2019d taken my harmonica out of my pocket. I didn\u2019t know what I was going to do: maybe ask him to teach me a riff, or maybe have him sign the plate.<\/p>\n

But something made me look\u00a0over my shoulder, and there was Dewayne Keyes. He was staring at me, standing next to a kiosk that had been stapled full of fliers. In the spring, students would\u00a0sometimes\u00a0set those kiosks on fire, and I could still see\u00a0someashen remnants fluttering above his head.<\/p>\n

I put the harmonica back in my pocket, but he was already walking away. The wind was stiffer, and I followed him down the street with my hair blowing in my face. He was wearing an old knit cap\u2014a maroon one that was worn out and folded funny\u2014so that he looked like one of the bums. I followed it like it was floating down a faster and faster river.<\/p>\n

Finally, he turned into a store. It was a Walgreens. When I went inside, he was leafing through a magazine.<\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Keyes,\u201d I said, though I\u2019d never addressed him as anything\u00a0before.<\/p>\n

He turned a page in\u00a0Field & Stream, and kept his face so calm\u00a0that\u00a0I was scared.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s Paul,\u201d I said. \u201cFrom\u00a0the class.\u201d<\/p>\n

I\u2019d started\u00a0to\u00a0grow a goatee, and clung to\u00a0the\u00a0hope that he\u2019d confused me\u00a0for someone else.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah,\u201d he said. \u201cOkay.\u00a0I remember.\u201d<\/p>\n

I\u00a0didn\u2019t know what to say, so I said,\u00a0\u201cThat guy can really wail.\u201d<\/p>\n

He\u00a0put down the magazine and\u00a0looked at me slowly to teach\u00a0me something terrible. There was disgust all over his face. He said, \u201cOnce the lessons are over,\u00a0that\u2019s it for me.\u00a0I don\u2019t do\u00a0tips.\u201d<\/p>\n

When he left, I\u00a0stood\u00a0there with\u00a0the\u00a0metallic taste of shame\u00a0in my mouth.\u00a0I would not play again.<\/p>\n

He was the better harmonicist.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ben Warner grew up in Annapolis, Maryland<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

There were two harmonicists. I signed up for lessons with Dewayne Keyes. The other didn\u2019t give lessons. He played along...<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":51,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[2,7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-213","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","category-issue_one"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"http:\/\/cronymag.com\/c\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/11\/IMG_0706.jpg","_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/cronymag.com\/c\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/213"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/cronymag.com\/c\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/cronymag.com\/c\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/cronymag.com\/c\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/cronymag.com\/c\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=213"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/cronymag.com\/c\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/213\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":214,"href":"http:\/\/cronymag.com\/c\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/213\/revisions\/214"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/cronymag.com\/c\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/51"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/cronymag.com\/c\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=213"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/cronymag.com\/c\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=213"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/cronymag.com\/c\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=213"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}