In a recent discussion about TAR's interview with Ernie Gutierrez, of Ginacue fame, I mentioned that I had visited with Ernie last year. I thought one or two of the cue fanatics out there might get a chuckle out of it.
(Insert flashback music.)
I was in Ernie's shop last August. I was visiting my Mom and it turns out his shop is just a mile from my sister's house. It was time to refinish the Gina so I shipped it out to him in advance of my trip and then followed up with a visit to his shop to talk to him about what I wanted done.
To this day, I don't know what happened to me. It was like some pool spirit (more like a demon) took over my brain and the next thing I knew, I was in his shop talking to him, and then, all of a sudden, someone else was talking with full control of my faculties. I was virtually talking in tongues.
See, all I really wanted done was to have the cue refinished -- it had developed several small chips in the finish along the edge of the butt. I was starting to get worried about the ivory butt cap discoloring where it had chipped. I also figured I'd have it re-wrapped too.
So we're talking and Ernie eventually asks, "What kind of leather do you want? I just got some brown elephant ear, and trunk, in." (As best I can remember, that's about when I started to feel a little "funny.") So he walks me over to this table with all kinds of leathers piled on them, and it turns out that when Ernie says he "just got some elephant trunk in," he's not kidding: it was the whole, long, brown, wrinkled, elephant trunk skin, right there in my hands.
The trunk was a little rough in texture for me. But the ear got me right where I lived. Beautiful color and amazing texture, kinda like rough micro-cloth. Ernie then takes me over to his machine for splitting the leathers, and explains it's an expensive piece of machinery, but he wants to be able to get his leather as thin as he wants, so that the player gets good feedback through a thin wrap.
So now I'm in for a re-finish and an elephant ear (cognac) wrap, and I tell him I want new ferrules and tips (with pads) on all three of my shafts. Oh. And two of the shafts re-tapered to where my playing shaft is.
Once again, not too much of a problem. I had even brought black Kamui SS's tips along with me. But now I'm starting to sweat a bit. I have no idea what the elephant ear is going to cost -- but I know it's not going to be your ordinary, everyday leather re-wrap kind of bill. I know the ferrules, pads, and tips are around a hundred a pop. No idea what re-tapering is going to cost...
And then for no reason that I had planned, I just blurt out: "Oh, and could you make me two new shafts?"
Two new shafts?!
"What the hell are you thinking?!" I says to meself. "How many frippin' shafts do you need, exactly?"
"I don't know,” I answer myself calmly. “But wouldn't it be cool to have two brand new, un-hit, un-chalked, beautiful, pristine, Ernie shafts to match the cue?"
Ernie kindly promises to taper these two new additions to my order, to the same specs.
Now my arm pits are soaked, beads of perspiration are forming along my temples and slowly working their way down my sideburns. And I just fully give myself to forces more powerful than I have the will to control and it just comes out so fast that I can't halt it: "And how about some ivory joint protectors?"
Ernie calmly does the math and says, "Sure. Five for the shafts and one for the butt."
We talk a while longer about my cue, and how it somewhat resembles one he made for Eddie Taylor, long ago. He writes up the order and I pull out all of the cash I have in my pocket for the week. I give him the vast majority of it.
I say my farewell and stumble out into the Burbank sun feeling light-headed, more than a bit dizzy (almost nauseous), thinking about the "bottom line" I just racked up on what was suppose to be a modest refinish and re-wrap job.
I call my wife and tell her what I've done and she goes, "What?" in that peculiar tone of voice and inflection that only a wife of 20-some odd years (and who has heard her husband say some pretty goofy things), can achieve. Sort of like that note singers are reputed to be able to hit that can bust stemware. I survive the call, I get in the car and sit for a moment until I feel lucid enough to drive in California traffic.
Six weeks later, the cue, shafts, and joint protectors are in my hot little mitts and it's all beautiful. I hope whatever spirit possessed me is satisfied... because I sure am
Lou Figueroa
(Insert flashback music.)
I was in Ernie's shop last August. I was visiting my Mom and it turns out his shop is just a mile from my sister's house. It was time to refinish the Gina so I shipped it out to him in advance of my trip and then followed up with a visit to his shop to talk to him about what I wanted done.
To this day, I don't know what happened to me. It was like some pool spirit (more like a demon) took over my brain and the next thing I knew, I was in his shop talking to him, and then, all of a sudden, someone else was talking with full control of my faculties. I was virtually talking in tongues.
See, all I really wanted done was to have the cue refinished -- it had developed several small chips in the finish along the edge of the butt. I was starting to get worried about the ivory butt cap discoloring where it had chipped. I also figured I'd have it re-wrapped too.
So we're talking and Ernie eventually asks, "What kind of leather do you want? I just got some brown elephant ear, and trunk, in." (As best I can remember, that's about when I started to feel a little "funny.") So he walks me over to this table with all kinds of leathers piled on them, and it turns out that when Ernie says he "just got some elephant trunk in," he's not kidding: it was the whole, long, brown, wrinkled, elephant trunk skin, right there in my hands.
The trunk was a little rough in texture for me. But the ear got me right where I lived. Beautiful color and amazing texture, kinda like rough micro-cloth. Ernie then takes me over to his machine for splitting the leathers, and explains it's an expensive piece of machinery, but he wants to be able to get his leather as thin as he wants, so that the player gets good feedback through a thin wrap.
So now I'm in for a re-finish and an elephant ear (cognac) wrap, and I tell him I want new ferrules and tips (with pads) on all three of my shafts. Oh. And two of the shafts re-tapered to where my playing shaft is.
Once again, not too much of a problem. I had even brought black Kamui SS's tips along with me. But now I'm starting to sweat a bit. I have no idea what the elephant ear is going to cost -- but I know it's not going to be your ordinary, everyday leather re-wrap kind of bill. I know the ferrules, pads, and tips are around a hundred a pop. No idea what re-tapering is going to cost...
And then for no reason that I had planned, I just blurt out: "Oh, and could you make me two new shafts?"
Two new shafts?!
"What the hell are you thinking?!" I says to meself. "How many frippin' shafts do you need, exactly?"
"I don't know,” I answer myself calmly. “But wouldn't it be cool to have two brand new, un-hit, un-chalked, beautiful, pristine, Ernie shafts to match the cue?"
Ernie kindly promises to taper these two new additions to my order, to the same specs.
Now my arm pits are soaked, beads of perspiration are forming along my temples and slowly working their way down my sideburns. And I just fully give myself to forces more powerful than I have the will to control and it just comes out so fast that I can't halt it: "And how about some ivory joint protectors?"
Ernie calmly does the math and says, "Sure. Five for the shafts and one for the butt."
We talk a while longer about my cue, and how it somewhat resembles one he made for Eddie Taylor, long ago. He writes up the order and I pull out all of the cash I have in my pocket for the week. I give him the vast majority of it.
I say my farewell and stumble out into the Burbank sun feeling light-headed, more than a bit dizzy (almost nauseous), thinking about the "bottom line" I just racked up on what was suppose to be a modest refinish and re-wrap job.
I call my wife and tell her what I've done and she goes, "What?" in that peculiar tone of voice and inflection that only a wife of 20-some odd years (and who has heard her husband say some pretty goofy things), can achieve. Sort of like that note singers are reputed to be able to hit that can bust stemware. I survive the call, I get in the car and sit for a moment until I feel lucid enough to drive in California traffic.
Six weeks later, the cue, shafts, and joint protectors are in my hot little mitts and it's all beautiful. I hope whatever spirit possessed me is satisfied... because I sure am
Lou Figueroa
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