Why I Play a Hering Charlie Musselwhite Members of the Capitol Harmonica Club in Alexandria, Virginia welcomed me as a new member about three years ago. When it was apparent that I didn't have a 'decent' chromatic, almost everyone there suggested (almost beat me over the head with) a Hering Chromatic. I'm easily swayed by a crowd, so I tried one. My first CM (in C)came from this very website, so perhaps I owe John and Doug for saving my life too. If it weren't for my commute, I'd never have time to practice and learn. One-handed Chro doesn't sound all that good, but it's what I can do on my one-hour (each way) commute. Once, when I was 16, and Honda had just introduced the famous 'Honda Fifty' made famous by the Beach Boys, I rented one--for fifty cents an hour--and drove by the family home to wave to mom and dad. They looked at me, wondering where I had got the thing, and I yelled, 'It's rented!' In one of those syllables, a moth--and as I remember it, a three-pound moth--flew directly into my mouth, down my throat, leaving a trail of 'wing-powder' all the way. You don't need any more details. It was perhaps the worst physical thing that ever happened to me. I never did like bugs. Fast forward to a year ago. I was eating MacSupper on the way home, and by the time I had gotten all the food out of my mouth, I was in Old Town Manassas (VA) when I began to play a few warm-up notes on my CM. The chromatic scale seemed to be a good way to 'wake up' the reeds. Three-draw didn't make a peep. I tried the standard 'whack on the leg,' then played three-blow for a few seconds, then played three-draw with the slide in, and slowly released it--almost a sure way to free a stuck reed. Something stopped me from sucking *REAL HARD* on that hole, and while I was stopped at a light, I looked into #3. Remember, the CM has a clear plastic comb--lets the sunlight in from the outside so that a person can see when a spider has moved into one of its holes. I already felt a bit queasy, just pondering 'what if?' I only have to visualize the spider curled up in there any time I'd like to feel ill. No repair tools with me that day. Nothing that would reach into the hole. I whacked that sucker until I'm sure the spider suffered brain damage and was probably considering waving a white flag, if he could spin one quick enough. I really wanted to play, so I stopped in a small strip-mall and looked for a place that would have long thin tweezers. I tapped on the locked door of a knitting and craft shop, where a handful of older ladies were doing something with yarn and enjoying themselves. For some reason, when I pointed to the harmonica in my hand, the proprietor let me in. I asked for long tweezers, long pointy pliers, and she helped me look all through the store. None to be had. Finally, I asked if she had a long needle. A woman at the craft table offered me hers, and I thanked her but said she might not want it back when I was done. You have never heard such a combined 'EEEeeeeeeeewwww!' as those women let out when I told her why. Most suggested I drop old Charlie into the Thunderbowl and buy another, but I bought a small pack of four-inch needles and left. Between the time I showed the critter to the store's proprietor and the time I prepared for surgery, seated once again behind the steering wheel, the spider had vanished. The effect was just like finding a big poisonous snake in your tent, then losing him again, knowing he's still there. I could not play until I had completely disassembled the thing, because I knew how small spiders can make themselves when they want to hide--and I remembered three days of hacking after eating the moth. A cop stopped next to me, rolled down his window and asked if everything was 'ok,' and I told him it would be, as soon as I made sure I'd gotten the spider out of my harmonica. I have often come close to being confined against my will, and I think this was another of those 'near misses.' He stepped out and looked into the window while I showed him the CM with its coverplates removed. He asked where I lived and why I wasn't going to wait and do that at home. 'Uhhhhh--going to a club meeting. Gotta be ready to start playing at 7:30. He wished me good luck, and spoke to his dispatcher as he drove off. Sure wish I had my scanner to hear *that* conversation. So, fellow harmonicists--remember to close your cover before striking, stuff a cold and starve a fever, and always check your harp for spiders. -bp Submitted by: Bill Price Email: chrodoc@earthlink.net, billprice@bigfoot.com Story Type: Non-Fiction