A.J. Fedor

Next thing I knew, I actually had the old guy talked into buying me a brand new $1.49 Hohner diatonic from Kessler's hardware store. I soon realized that flattened out Marine Band had really gotten my dad in the mood too. He figured he'd get it after I played with it for an hour and got tired of it, but I fooled him. Anyway, Dad showed me the old tongue block and a few other things and I was off and running. After a couple weeks Pop gave up on the idea of getting it back cuz I was playing better than he was. Now that I think of it, Dad turned out to be my biggest fan. He was the only family member who didn't always request "Far Far Away" Even my friends were kind of split on the issue. Some would ask me to play while others just called me an idiot. Maybe I was, but of everyone I knew, I always had the most fun.

I was probably the best (as well as the only) nine year old, diatonic player in Cleveland. In spite of that dubious accomplishment, I would almost fall into deep depression every time I heard Leo Diamond or the Harmonicats on the radio. I became enamored with that silky sound that I just knew I would never get out of that ten holer I was carrying around in my brown corduroys.

One day, Mom told me to walk up to St. Margaret's Church after school for some "Bake Sale " bakery. On the way over there, I passed a little music shop (you know, the kind that used to be an alley between two buildings?) Looking in the window, I saw a big 64th Chromatic with what looked like a hundred round holes and a "button!" A Button!!?? What the heck was that? My heart stopped! I hadn't the vaguest idea what that button did, or how hard it would be to play, and it didn't matter a bit. I had to get one, period! That day, my life changed. The thought of that gleaming monster even began consuming most of my quality daydreaming time. I was terminal! Although that music store was in the opposite direction of my house, I would find myself walking over there a couple times a week, and I'd look at it (real hard) Thinking back, I'm sure I left handprints and drool marks on the store window. Needless to say, I soon lost the love for the ten holer as I realized the Chromatic was the one that pushed my buttons.

Chromatics however, were big bucks to poor kids, so I had to wait about a year to get that one. I mean, we're talking about  a very serious, twelve dollar harmonica here! Meanwhile, even though he never intended to play the thing, one day Dad surprised me with a brand new five dollar, ten hole Chromatic. It was absolutely gorgeous!

It took me fifty years to find another one like it. (It's the little Koster Chromatic pictured above on what looks like a cherry wood background)

Anyway, over the next year or so, I played it to death. After the funeral I graduated to that big 64th Chromatic with my shoeshine money. The big Chromatic was great but turned out to be a little too big for an eleven year old to carry around in his pocket. After some "big kids" in school took it away from me and blew in it like a couple of idiots, I decided two things. One was to grow about two feet and kill both of them, and then bury their bodies in the field behind my buddy's house. The other was not to take it to school anymore. (The "other" turned out to be more practical)

Growing up, I played in some school productions, YMCA camp, amateur TV and radio shows and then in my own little rock 'n roll band. Yeah, I was a guitar banger too, but I still used the chromatic to play the slow mushy stuff. (Except of course for "Sleep Walk" - something, you just don't mess with)

I didn't start playing diatonic again till recently. The guy at the recording studio kept calling me to play Country & Western and Blues stuff, so I guess the decision to play "suck-harps" again was generated for the need for "filthy lucre."

I went to California in 1969 to "bust in to the music scene." Sure enough, I soon found myself playing in bars and topless go-go joints and, in short, doing all the rotten stuff I always wanted to do.

As it turns out, I had a sister who, along with her friend, were fasting and praying that I would turn my life over to Christ and come home, instead of staying in California. Since, as the Bible say's: "the prayers of a righteous man (or woman) availeth much," doing all that "fun" stuff made me totally miserable. Instead, I began writing poetry about a Savior I didn't know, and that bugged me even more.

I left California On December 20 with plans to be home for Christmas. I picked up a hitchhiker in Barstow and preached to him (non-stop) about a God I had yet to meet. When I dropped him off in Albuquerque, he was so excited; he was ready to go into the ministry! I just thought I was pretty smart, making up all that neat stuff I was telling him. Going through Oklahoma, my freshly rebuilt engine started to develop what sounded like a rod knock. A quick oil-pan drop, in a pit in a truck stop revealed that my friend, Sonny had installed a rod bearing cap backwards. (To this day, he doesn't believe it) I flipped it over, re-installed it and was on my way again, back into the snowstorm that stretched all the way back to Ohio.

That annoying rod-knock returned in western Indiana, and in Indianapolis, it rudely informed me that I was NOT going to make home for Christmas. Four days without sleep (just bennies) lonely, flat broke and feeling worse than I ever felt in my life, was the perfect time for the Lord to push "rewind" then "play!"

All the stuff I told that boxer I dropped off back in Albuquerque, was now being played to ME. For the first time in my life, I asked Jesus Christ to forgive me and come into my heart and yes, be my Lord and Savior. For the first time in my life, I sensed remorse for all the rotten things I had done, and it was tearing my heart out.  I lay across the car seat and sobbed uncontrolably for a half hour. When I sat up, I was still broke. I was still a few hundred miles away from my home and loved ones. I was still hungry, and so tired I could hardly keep my eyes open, but I could actually feel a silly smile on my face and something going on inside of me that I had never felt before, and for record, that feeling hasn't left me since 4:30 pm E.S.T. Christmas day, 1969.  Wow! It's really great to be alive in Jesus!

This was the second time my life changed and it was a much bigger change than discovering the Chromatic harmonica. So much so that I quit playing altogether for a few months. Every time I saw my Fender Jaguar or that big 64, my mind went flying back to the "Rock 'n Roll and Blues scene" along with all the booze, drugs and sin that could have easily cost me a marriage and a family. I still thank God for a praying sister, and her friend, who cared enough not to give up on me.  I ended up selling the Fender Jaguar and Super Reverb amp, but for some reason, the chromatic just went into a drawer. One day I had a chance to give my personal testimony at a CA convention in Wooster, Ohio.  I mentioned to the preacher what my background was. He asked if I thought I could play a gospel number on the harmonica. I answered: "Hey, if you can hum it, I'll bet I can play it!"

As it turned out, that meeting in 1970, gave birth to a thirty year music ministry that has taken me through most of the mid-west, a three and a half month tour of Australia, four tours to Hawaii and one to Alaska (in November - in retribution for the ones to Hawaii :o)

My Gospel music is a little different. It's been called "semi-sanctified-blues-jazz-Gospel" and that's cool cause I'm the one who called it that! When I'm not playing out, I play on our church worship team and I really look forward to that every Sunday.

The trouble I had when I first started playing on the church Worship Team is that I've come to like playing both chromatic and diatonic (cross and straight) in the same number.  At first, it was a little confusing, but not too hard to get used to. After a while, it just seems like playing "G-ish"  (on a C Chromatic) Switching back and forth does have a way of keeping it interesting.

A while ago, I said I'd probably never learn to read music cuz I do so enjoy driving reading members of the Worship Team nuts by saying:   "Just take off & I'll catch ya!" and besides, I don't have time to learn, yada yada yada, and a bunch of other lame excuses, but lately, I've decided to take a look at reading music. Turns out it's pretty cool! So far I 'm up to knowing which I'm playing on a C Chromatic; those funny looking dots on the paper still give me fits, but hey, I ain't even sixty-three yet,  I might get it before I get my "three score and ten" in, Aye!


A.J.Fedor (the old SlideMeister)