the Wakefield Doctrine

Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

Monday?!! An actual, non-sponsored by Hallmark/the car dealers of America/Friends-of-three-day-weekends holiday?!

Well, there was a time when the days without a new Wakefield Doctrine post were the noteworthy exceptions. The most remarkable thing about this blog, (and the Wakefield Doctrine itself), has been its ‘low overhead’. It, (both this blog and that Doctrine), has never ‘been a chore’, or, for that matter, work. Better to say, the energy (benefit/enjoyment/pleasure) we derive has, consistently been more than we’ve had to expend. Even a semi-spontaneous post like today’s.

Lets finish up where it all began.

One October morning in 1984. (Or, perhaps a September afternoon in 1983. Definitely not a May morning, like this one, but possibly during the early afternoon of a day that did not include: excessive cold, snow, rain, or months with more than seven letters and a ‘Y’.)

One day, I drove to Pawtucket, Rhode Island to visit my friend, Scott. He worked in a small music store located next to a large music store. (Before the rise of Chain-Everything stores, the large store was Ray Mullins Music. For reasons lost to the passage of time, we called the smaller music store next to it, Tony American’s. Pretty certain that wasn’t its real name. But, if you’re a regular visitor to these pages, that comes as no surprise).

In any event. Scott worked as salesman and repair guy. The building, an extension to an Art Deco office block, (you know, lots of plate glass, brass handles on the doors which were mostly glass; there was even a transom window over the entrance.) The interior was a single open space. On the left, instruments on display, to the right, a glass counter running from the front window, and taking a 90 degree left, along the back wall. The repair department was the counter along the back wall.

The morning, (or early afternoon), I walked in, the store was empty except for Scott and one customer. They were standing at the counter, ‘in the repair department’. The customer had arrived only a minute before, as I heard him say, “Hey man, this thing my uncle gave me don’t work no more.” With that he placed an electronic component on the counter in front of Scott.

Catching Scott’s eye, I nodded and held back, pretending to look at guitars. Now that I think of it, here, forty or so years later, this was an uncharacteristic choice, i.e. to not get involved in their conversation. From where I stood, I had a view of both men and the counter top. Being as small, (and empty), as the store was, I had no trouble hearing the conversation that followed.

“He gave it to me for my birthday. I used it fine for a while. Now, it don’t work.” The customer repeated, somewhat redundantly.

From my vantage point, I could see the electronic component was what some called a, ‘dubbing deck’. Basically a cassette tape recorder with two recording heads. A person could put a pre-recorded cassette in one side, a blank cassette in the other side and copy the contents of the first to the second. The device had volume and tone controls for each of the two recording heads. There was a single Master Volume control, (a wheel-type dial, set nearly flush with the surface), in the middle.

Scott looked at the dubbing deck. Reaching under the counter, he brought out a roll of black electrical tape and tore off a two inch piece. Making certain the Master Volume control wheel was up as high as it would go, he put the tape over it. All without saying a word.

“Here you go, good as new.” Scott pushed the component back across the counter. In answer to an unasked question, Scott plugged the recorder in an outlet, the customer put a cassette in both sides and, after testing all functions, grinned broadly and, with a “Thanks, man!” left the store.

My world changed.

And, (how odd this may sound), my life changed.

I was not directly aware of it, (the nature of the change), just that something happened that was significant.

As best as I can express it today, thirty-six (or maybe thirty-seven) years later, my reality now included the ‘fact’ that we all live in a reality that is to a small, but very real degree, personal.

(While it took another twenty years before the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers coalesced into what gave rise to this blog, that day, in a store that is no longer in existence, I was given a gift of perspective. Scott’s solution to the customer’s problem was incontrovertible evidence that his personal reality was different from my own. That his solution to the problem reflected a world, a reality, quite distinct from the one that I inhabited.)

cool

Often the choice of music to accompany any given post is a matter of feel more than (any) historical significance or congruity. This is an example. From 1968. Still in high school, two years before encountering the progenitors