"I can read music a little bit, but not well enough that it hurts my playin'.
- Harold Propst
My dad, Harold Propst, was a guitar picker. He started playing in his early teens. I still have his first guitar. How he learned to play on it, I can't imagine. It's a graceless piece of wood. It would be dispiriting for a beginner to wrestle with. But, in spite of it, he got pretty good, it seems. Before he turned 20, he signed on as the guitar player with a traveling outfit called “Jack Case and His Cowboy Band.” They played barn dances and other gigs throughout Missouri, Iowa and Minnesota. Sometime in there Dad met my mother, they married and he was thus domesticated. He never lost his passion for playing, though.
In my growing up years he was always finding someone to make music with. Often folks with their various instruments gathered at our house for a good time. Or he'd take his guitar and go to where the music was. It didn't matter to him. Sometimes he'd bring home stray musicians he got wind of, like the teenage fiddler or the college student banjo player. Once he hunted down an old one-armed black man he heard could really tickle the piano. Through it all, my mom was a saint.
Even though I was a rock and roll kid, I was still influenced by all the country, bluegrass, gospel and western swing that was all around me. I didn't realize it, but it settled into my bones early on. That's why I've had such an affinity for the alt-country and Americana genres as my tastes settled in.
Even though there was always a guitar or two around the house, I never had an interest in learning to play. Dad tried to show me some things a time or two. You know how that goes, taking instructions from your dad as a teenager. He played a different style of guitar than I thought was cool. I wanted to ROCK! I didn't think his guitar contained any of that particular magic. I was too dumb to realize that they're all the same chords and you have to learn them first before you can do anything. It's the basics, son. The basics.
I didn't start learning to play guitar until the last few years of Dad's life. I also lived eight-hours away from him and Mom, so I never had many opportunities to play with him. That's a regret. Now, all these years later I've been making a little music and I think about how much he would have enjoyed being a part of it. If he could have been around some of the talented folks I've had the privilege of playing with, I don't know if he'd have ever quit smiling.
You can see me and Dad in the photo gallery here on the website.