I’m trying to remember how, in 1978, without the Internet, I first learned about Muramatsu America, distributor of Muramatsu flutes in North and South America—not only learned about the company but ordered and paid for my flute without the Internet. Somehow I did all that. I was a sophomore flute major at Mars Hill College, in need of a good instrument that I could grow into as I studied and practiced. Over the following years, my Muramatsu traveled with me to Nashville, across the United States, to the Czech Republic.
But then I lost it.
On Sunday, 20 December 2015, I played in the small orchestra assembled to accompany Christmas music at Otterbein United Methodist Church, just up Roan Street from downtown Johnson City. I sang “Christmas Time” as part of the event, so I had my guitar with me as well. When the performance was over, I walked out into the dark neighborhood with the rest of the congregation, the singers and the musicians. I had with me my flute, my guitar, guitar bag and guitar stand.
I’m not positive about what happened next. Leesa and I had driven separately to the event, because I had to be there early for warm-up and rehearsal, so I carried all the stuff to my car. I lay the guitar stand on the trunk and—probably—put the flute on the roof. While I was loading the guitar and bag into the back seat, somebody stopped on the sidewalk to talk with me. Then Leesa came by in her car to say that she’d swing around the block and follow me. I’m guessing that I closed the back door and, without another thought, got in and drove away.
Leesa went the opposite way around the Northside School block and came in behind me on Roan Street as we drove toward downtown. I turned right on Buffalo and right again on State of Franklin. Then my telephone rang.
“Did you know the guitar stand is on the trunk of your car?” Leesa asked.
I pulled over near Pal’s and got out, put the guitar stand in the back seat and then was on my way again.
I must have assumed that the flute was already in the back seat with the guitar.
When I got home, I unloaded my stuff and, I guess, took no notice of my flute’s not being with me.
I didn’t miss it until Wednesday evening, when I decided I’d better practice my part for the Christmas Eve service. I looked for the flute everywhere in the house. And I looked for it at the office. Leesa and I got a key to Otterbein and went back late that night to look.
Nothing.
Any number of things might have happened to it, but I finally had to accept that I’d done something stupid and my flute was gone.
I went through Christmas, a trip to Durham and Wilmington, and a stay in Charleston, mourning the loss of this flute that had been with me for thirty-seven years. Friends put up flyers in the Otterbein neighborhood and then went back and took them down when they learned that was illegal. Friends shared my Facebook post about the loss and contacted local band directors. Friends visited pawn shops. Friends offered hope, sympathy and even money. Back from Charleston, Leesa and I took flyers and police reports to pawn shops in town. Then we waited.
Nothing.
In March, having heard nothing, figuring it was gone for good, hoping that some kid had found it and would become the world’s greatest flutist, I bought a nice Armstrong from my friend Nancy Shinn, who did all the maintenance on the Muramatsu and refurbishes used flutes for resale (check out Flutestar). It was so good to be able to play again.
Fast forward to 17 August 2016, almost eight months since I lost my flute.
It was late. I think Leesa and I had been watching Inspector Morse on Netflix. I decided to check my email before going to bed and discovered in my inbox a message with the subject “your flute.” It was from Nancy Jane Earnest, whom I’d met only once, in April 2015 during ETSU’s first Creative Writing Festival. I clicked on the email to find this note:
Hi Michael
I remembered reading about the disappearance of your flute several months ago. Today I was in Uncle Sam’s Pawn on Main St. near the Farmer’s Market in JC and looked at a flute that fit the description you had given, even down to the outer case. The flute had not been priced and put out for sale as yet, so I would get down there and look at it asap. Hope this is a good lead for you. A guy named Soupy showed it to me.
I went first to the police station the next morning to learn what the procedure for recovering the flute might be. The woman at the window said I should go look at the flute and, if it was mine, call 911. I thought this a somewhat frivolous use of the emergency system, but I went on to Uncle Sam’s, arriving there before it opened. As I waited, I realized that this was the one pawnbroker not open that morning in January when we were out distributing flyers. When the door was unlocked, I went in and found Soupy. I said that I’d been told they might have my flute there. He asked me to describe it, which I did. He then brought it to me from the e-bay staging area, where Uncle Sam’s was about to put it up for online auction.
The feeling I had as I took the case in my hands and opened it!
I called 911, an officer came, and in a little while he called and got a detective there. The flute was put on hold for 90 days, so, believe it or not, I had to leave it there at Uncle Sam’s while the detective tracked down the guy who pawned it. I was told that if the guy said he stole the flute, I could simply reclaim it. Not likely, right? Right. When located, he said that he found it, which fit with my report of its loss. Then it became a civil issue between Uncle Sam’s and me. Because I didn’t have the serial number, I couldn’t without question prove that it was mine, so the pawnbrokers felt it was their property.
Fine. A week later, when all was said and done, I paid $100 plus tax to get it back. I figured that was a relatively cheap price to pay for the stupidity of losing it in the first place. I walked out of the store and held it in my lap during the drive back to campus.
I wonder where my flute was in the time that we were separated. From what I could tell of the whole transaction, Uncle Sam’s took in the flute sometime earlier in summer 2016, perhaps as early as late June. In the middle of July, they corresponded with Muramatsu America to learn more about the instrument. I can believe that it was originally found rather than stolen, but I wonder who found it back in December. Where was it for those six months? Had it been pawned and redeemed once or twice in the meantime? Would a guy like that redeem it even once? Or did somebody else find it and intend to keep it, when this guy either bargained for it or stole it? It just seems to me hard to believe that he would hold it for six months and then pawn it for . . . $20.
Huge thanks to Nancy Jane!