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REUNION
As some readers may recall, I suffered the misfortune of a home burglary in late December of 2020 where many of my guitars were stolen. This seemingly anti-Christmas gift amounted to what I consider a number two of the top three nightmare scenarios for any guitar lover: it ranks just below an all-consuming house fire, and just above the white-hot-berserker-Hulk-SMASH rage of a seriously aggrieved guitar-murdering spouse (or soon-to-be-ex-spouse). At the time, and in the years following, I tried to keep everything in perspective—folks around the country and the world were enduring far worse problems than my material loss! Even so, the invasion of my home and the loss of my instruments was a deeply demoralizing blow, particularly amidst the stress of keeping our small business afloat during the height of the pandemic and COVID life in general.
In such instances, it is indeed challenging to grasp any hope, especially for a pessimist like myself. Moreover, as I have come to appreciate, even seemingly trivial violations are often merely the headwaters to a persistent and traumatic current of turbulent emotions that can overwhelm the positive forces in your life. For example, immediately after the burglary, my misfortune took an exceedingly rare, almost unheard-of, happy turn. Thanks to some good record-keeping and industry experience on my end, the support of the musical community here in Atlanta, and perhaps a dash of good karma, I was able to recover most of my stolen property within weeks of its theft—again, this never happens! By any measure, I should have been elated and relieved by such incredible luck. I should have been ready to resume life. Yet, I struggled with increased paranoia and depression for years afterward, as well as emergent instances of misplaced anger. I was no longer comfortable storing my guitar collection in my home, so I moved it to the store where it could “hide” in relative anonymity amongst our case storage. Until the spring of 2023, I seldom set foot in or otherwise occupied my once proud music room. Thus, the largest room in my otherwise tiny 900 sf home became the dusty burial ground of my once-active imagination’s alluvium, and the domain of various imposing free-range spiders.
Silly as it may seem, a powerful and driving force of my despondence was a single guitar. The bevy of guitars recovered from the burglary lacked the Collings OM2HC that had become my primary instrument and, at the risk of excessive romantic embellishment, an extension of my soul. It was not my most expensive guitar, nor was it the most sentimentally significant; but, it was my most important tool as a musician. I had purchased the Collings from a customer around 2007 to replace my gigging guitar, a Tacoma DR8C, which had a fundamental issue with saddle placement that resulted in an increasingly distracting intonation issue. In truth, I really loved that Tacoma, and I struggled with my decision to gift it to a friend—there was quite literally a private and tearful goodbye, complete with a promise to the guitar that it was “going to a good place.” Though it obviously had big emotional shoes to fill, the OM2HC was just what I was looking for in a higher quality gigging guitar. First off, it was an exceedingly versatile and refined instrument. Secondly, it had the cutaway that I had always wished for on my existing prized OM2H (a graduation gift from my parents that didn’t really leave the house). And, perhaps most importantly, it had enough pre-existing damage (in the form of a repaired top center seam separation) that I felt I had license to subject it to the risk of a gigging life. After a few months of getting properly acquainted, this guitar became my musical conduit and my partner. It helped me write songs, it braved heat and cold in outdoor performances, it brought my music to life in recordings, and it was never far from reach.
As anyone who truly forms a bond with a tool will understand, one cannot simply replace an instrument such as this. To that end, at the time of my OM2HC’s guitarnapping, we had a very similar instrument in our inventory and I had enough insurance money in my pocket to purchase it. But, upon sampling this new analog of my OM2HC, it was instantly clear that it was not my guitar. Its pristine newness felt colder in my hands, and its virgin voice was less responsive to my touch. So, rather than waste any more time engaging in the futile pursuit of a replacement, I reverted to simply being haunted by my long-lost guitar. For years, I frequently spent my sleepless wee hours scouring listings on all of the internet sales platforms, perusing the websites of notable dealers, and culling through tedious threads on the forums for any trace of the guitar. As is the case with a lost pet, I simply couldn’t let go of the notion that my guitar was out there somewhere in the world. Nor could I, having had such luck with the recovery of my other guitars, seem to quell the urge to indulge in the fantasy that I might still see it again. Yet, as geology teaches us, time ultimately erodes even the strongest substances; and, accordingly, after three or so years of keeping the fire alive, my hopes of seeing my long-lost Collings finally dimmed to the point where I began to let go….
The best thing about good fortune is that it usually takes you by surprise! It was in the late spring of this past year that Chris came to get me while I was working in our repair shop. He told me, “You need to call Joe at Collings immediately. Someone just called them about your guitar.” After more than four years, and having effectively given up hope, it felt like the words coming out of Chris’ mouth needed translation. What did he say? Did he just complement my choice in shirts in ancient Sumerian?! As I rewound the exchange in my mind, it felt like a dream or a windfall that is too good to be true. So, not wanting to break the spell, I chose to finish whatever the hell I was doing before I returned Joe’s call, despite the fact that my mind now had a singular focus. Later, I picked up the phone and, still being incapable of using its speed dial function after 20+ years, I manually scrolled through the menu of our vendor numbers until I reached Collings. The line rang. Joe answered. And so began the latest chapter in the life story of my long-lost OM2HC.
As interesting as this story may be (at least to me), there are a couple of practical components to the narrative that I wish to emphasize before putting a bow on it. I’ve previously written articles expanding on the insurance side of protecting your gear—should anyone want to review, here are the links: https://www.maplestreetguitars.com/news/february-2021-newsletter/, https://www.maplestreetguitars.com/news/september-newsletter-2/. Having recently put these principals to the test once again, I will reiterate my suggestions to create a cloud-based spreadsheet of your inventory that includes all serial numbers, and clearly document your instruments with photos or videos (for most of us guitar-porn addicts, this exercise really isn’t so tedious).
In particular, having a record of serial numbers is critical for any chance of recovery! For instance, the police will cross-reference a database of serial numbers that pawn shops are required to submit on anything they purchase. A serial number also serves as a concrete proof of ownership should you find yourself in any dispute if the instrument surfaces down the line. Yet, as the police and folks like us in the music business will tell you, it is astoundingly common that folks aren’t able to provide serial numbers when reporting their stolen gear. More importantly and unbeknownst to many, in the event of a theft, one can spread the search light a bit further in two ways when armed with the serial number,: 1) You can register the stolen gear on a variety of sites and forums that dealers and folks in the community can reference (e.g., stolenguitarregistry.com, stolenguitars.us, the Unofficial Martin Guitar Forum Lost or Stolen Guitar Registry). 2) You can notify the manufacturer that your guitar was stolen and provide them with the serial number in the off chance that a dealer or a potential buyer should contact them.
As you may have now guessed, the only reason I got a call from Joe at Collings was the fact that I had taken the time to inform Collings of the theft of my guitar early on and had provided them with the serial number. As it turns out, a very prominent dealer (who shall remain unnamed) had innocently acquired my OM2HC and sold it. Upon receiving the guitar, the buyer noticed a discrepancy between the serial number stamped on the instrument’s heel block and that on the dealer’s web listing. Seeking clarification, he called Collings to get more information only to learn that the guitar was reported stolen—incidentally, Collings serial number stamps are not always easy to read, so this scenario is quite understandable. And, on this note, I will briefly express my great sympathy for the dealer, who suffered a loss in this saga. We music retailers are constantly approached to purchase instruments, and it can be very difficult to determine if a given instrument is stolen! Granted, in these situations, it is always best to do the diligence of checking the stolen guitar registries and/or calling manufacturers to check, but this is not always feasible in the heat of the moment.
I will not bore you with the nitty gritty details of what followed; but, in short: The buyer was gracious enough to return the guitar to the dealer; the dealer refunded his money; at the dealer’s behest, I jumped through some hoops on my end to coordinate with the Atlanta Police, my insurance company (Heritage), and the police in the dealer’s hometown to provide police reports and establish ownership; and, after repaying the claim in full to my insurance company, my long-lost OM2HC was on its way home! When the box arrived here at the store, I was actually reluctant to open it out of anxiety for what I might find. Would it be damaged? Would it still sound the same? Was it even the same guitar that my memory told me it was? After a few hours, and with the insistent prodding of my Maple Street brothers in arms, the box cutter came out and the guitar emerged. Remarkably, despite being stolen in a Mono gigbag and having been shipped around the country multiple times, the guitar exhibited no significant signs of additional wear and tear. I gave it some quick body thumps and a quick strum to make sure nothing was loose inside, and put it back in the bag. Somehow, I still couldn’t bring myself to actually play it.
Later that night, after Katie had gone to bed, and when I sat mostly alone in our tiny living room, I finally embraced my lost OM2HC—I say mostly alone as Hopper (the dog) was technically present, but showed little to no enthusiasm for the momentousness of the occasion from his position on the couch, so he is not getting much credit for being there. I can honestly say that I’ve never experienced emotions when playing any other guitar that approached those I felt that night. Though I hadn’t touched my OM2HC in for more than four years, my hands instantly knew where to go—it was more than instinctual, it was as if the guitar had never left. I can only equate this profound familiarity to the experience of reconnecting with an old friend: Almost instantly there is a mutual realization that, while you may have been absent from your respective day-to-day lives, you were always present in each other’s thoughts and hearts. Subsequently, you effortlessly pick up right where you left off, as if no time has passed at all. As I reunited with this lovely instrument, I could sense the part of my soul that had been taken from me, along with some of my joie de vivre, creeping back. I played long into the night, drifting in the beautifully abstract realm of wood and tone and reveling in my incredible good fortune, before retiring to my bed with a peace of mind and solace that I had not known for some time. – L. Petsch October, 2025
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