The Ned Collection

Well, if we're going to be moving soon I want to do something about those records sitting in the barn. It's always made me a little crazy that they were put out there in the heat. They haven't warped because they're wedged in pretty tight. But we've got to get them out of there eventually.

Yesterday at Costco I saw some nice-looking, heavy-duty, metal shelves. They're fifty bucks a set. I think I'm going to get two of them and set them up in the studio. Then I'll spend some time in the evenings going through the records. I can triage them and box up the obvious rejects. I'll bring the rest up to the house. I think these new shelves will hold about 1/5th of the whole collection. That's probably about as much as I'd want to keep. The rest can be sold or donated.

I've always called them The Ned Collection. We haven't counted them all but we estimate somewhere between 15 and 20 thousand. The collection covers a huge range. Much of it is schlock but there are some real gems in there. Jim and I used to bring some of them up to Santa Rosa and spend warm evenings on the patio listening to them. It's the coolest thing ever.

They were Ned's records. He was an old family friend who had been essentially a bum when we first met him. He was a nice, old guy who would hang around Dad's warehouse and do odd jobs for a little cash. A skinny, friendly alcoholic. Dad even brought him home for Christmas one year (Debbie and I were horrified). As poor as he was, Ned brought gifts for all of us. He had bought everything at Goodwill. I think my fondness for funky old stuff was born when I looked in that big box of unwrapped, mismatched jumble of vintage coolness. I still have one of the lamps.

We could smell the alcohol on his breath but you really didn't see it in his behavior. He was just smling and mellow and a little shy. We talked a little about music and I brought out my guitar. Ned said he used to play guitar in a lot of big bands. I didn't even know what a big band was. I must have been in 7th grade at the time. Ned took my guitar and played this awesome little 1930s ditty. He struggled with it a bit but his skills were delightfully apparent. That was the only time I ever saw him play the guitar.

We had a nice time with him that night. He was with us the next Christmas, too. Sometime after that he met a woman named Ruby. She was also an alcoholic. They fell in love and got married. Ned said he wanted to quit drinking so he could help Ruby quit. They both stopped drinking and Ned grew fat. He laughed more, joked around, was more outgoing.

Then some relative of Ruby's died and left her a bunch of money. A big bunch. They were set for life.

And then Ruby died. I don't remember how. So, here's Ned; vital, healthy and rich. He got himself a nice double-wide mobile home in a nice park in Redlands (I think. Someone correct me). He continued to shop the thrift stores and filled his home with the freakin' COOLEST stuff. Art glass, lamps, awesome 50's furniture, crap I LOVE. He also bought records. All kinds. He bought expensive stereo equipment to listen to and record them. They were catagorized and alphabetized. And if you saw something you were interested in he'd make you a tape.

Well, Ned's health started to decline. Some of Ruby's relatives got wind of him and showed up one day acting like they were soooo glad they fiiiiinally found him. They conned their way into his life and basically took over. When Ned died they took everything. Except the records. Well, they took the Elvis records and left the rest. So, Dad got 'em. Drew had them for a few years but eventually he needed the space so they moved them here.

And now they're in the barn. And I'm gonna get them out of there.