My dad was an engineer, and had Seagrams VO-type engineer pals who, being pocket protector geeks, loved the latest and greatest gadgets. And, as is a dad's lot in life (then and now), when he got to leave the house, the kids had to tag along. So my little brother and I got to absorb some of the man-time just because we were underfoot.
One of his pals was a nearby neighbor, Jerry Taylor. My memory is pretty good about most of this, even though it was probably 1965 and I was probably 4 years old: He was a tall, skinny horn-rimmed glasses kinda guy. His wife was a nurse, and he had some kind of health problem. He had two sons that my brother and I would play with. And he had probably the first good stereo any of the VO guys had ever heard, set up on a shelf right there in the living room, right inside the front door.
Stereo, as in two channels, right and left. And he had a record that made train sounds, when played. Loudly. And the train went back and forth across Jerry Taylor's living room, or so it sounded to a 4-year-old. I used to beg to go down the street to hear the train record. And I remember what the record player looked like: Big. Wooden. Stacked the records. The tonearm would return automatically. It smelled like candle wax.
Long story shorter, we moved. I grew up and I have subsequently seen, heard or had hundreds of pieces of stereo equipment of all shapes, sizes and makes.
My favorite pieces have always been turntables because they are the source, the origin of where the music started for me.
It's not unusual for me to go to a garage sale or auction and snag a few turntables just because they catch my eye, or because it's such a shame to see a classic going for $5, or just to have enough spare parts on hand. I guess I feel sorry for them and don't want to see them thrown away.
So it was in 2007 when I stumbled upon Jerry Taylor's turntable.
I'm sure it wasn't the
exact one, but it was the exact same. And it was the only other one I'd ever seen until then: A 1962 Garrard Type A. It was a wreck but I bought it for $10 and knew it would not work, mostly because it was made unlike any other turntable. It was idler wheel-driven. No belt. And it had an oil-cooled motor. The idler wheel rubber had dry rotted and the oil had turned to goop. It hummed when I plugged it in, but it didn't move and it was missing a phono cartridge and stylus.
It was made in England. By hand. Had a little lion symbol on it. It weighed a ton. It had at least $50 of wood and metal inside and out.
I poked around on the internet to see what I had, and what I could do about it. Here's what the web site The Vinyl Engine says about my find: "It's styling is ultra modern and special attention has been given to detail, ensuring the best possible performance.
As the owner of a Garrard type A, you have a unit whose performance is supreme in its class and rigorous laboratory checks have been applied to your unit to ensure that this high standard is maintained."
Cool! Ultra modern!
As it turned out, the hum was really the motor doing its thing. It would warm up, the oil would heat up and get loose, and the motor would turn. But because the idler wheel was worn out, it didn't make good contact with the rim of the massive two-piece metal turntable platter -- so it just lurched along. It took several months of eBay hunting, and three purchases, to finally find a used idler wheel that was in good enough shape to work. That, and new oil, brought the Type A up to speed but she was still mute.
I went the distance and purchased an original Shure M3D phono cartridge and stylus -- the very first stereo cartridge, from 1958 or so. This cost
substantially more than what I'd paid for the turntable.
Was it all worth it?
Yes. This old turntable from Swindon, England, is beautiful, works silently, and shakes the entire basement.
I subsequently found another one, a Garrard Type AII. A successor model, it was supposed to be a refinement but really a cheaper model. It works the same, but not as well. Not as shiny, either.
I also found the Type As' predecessor, the Garrard RC/98, which has the same basic guts but is a mono version (um, no right-left; the train just sounds like it's in the middle of the room) with a one-piece, smaller platter and a different type of tonearm.
All were overhauled at some expense, both in time and money.
The life span of these turntables is sadly double that of Jerry Taylor, who died the year we moved to another part of Warren, Ohio's West Side. These very old, very English Garrards are still spinning, after a lot of love, 50 years on.
And yes, they
all smell like candle wax. It's the oil -- it's their
blood.
Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., Frank Sinatra. Part of the "Rat Pack."
Sammy and Frank, all tuxed up.
Those black tuxes were hard on the pencils, which kept snapping.
