I'd never have guessed, nor remembered, nor remember-guessed, nor speculated, or nothin' . . .
But tonight, I went over and looked at that photo from the rehearsal — hey! that was my house! Man, what a great place that was! No wonder it got torn down! It's Phoenix, after all, and there are laws! No great houses that aren't brand new, and certainly not right there at the corner of Thomas and Central, right across from the Bob's Big Boy (oops, that's long gone too) and right by Park Central (Hey, is that still there? Don't they know about the law?) — anyway, as I was looking at it, looking at the fret-markers on the neck trying to figure out what it was, since the headstock just out of the frame just where the logo would be, I looked down at the reflection of the neck just below and realized . . . well, hell! Of course! Now I remember! Jesus! And I guess, knowing Paul, that there was at least some element of irony to his choice of ax, to his pick of plank to spank. At least I'm sure at the time he would have suggested so, though I wonder . . . about when he first got his hands on it, when he first hit some Westside music store . . . maybe saw it on sale at Skaggs Music Center. I'll have to ask him.