Dobro: My first build
Years later every photo I take would be sharp and crisp, because I had so much practice taking blurry ones. But this was my first instrument that I built. A dobro.
I quit my 9-5 office job in September of 2013 to become a full time photographer. As a freelancer you have busy times and lean times. In the lean times I found myself playing a lot of guitar on my couch. As I played I started to think more about how the thing was built. It wasn’t something I had given much consideration to in the past. Guitars all had unique characteristics, but they were tied in my mind to a brand aesthetic. If someone said a guitar was made of Sitka Spruce, one spruce seemed the same to me as any other spruce. Like ingredients on the side of of a package of cookies, flour is flour. But in those lean times playing guitar I had time to think on what makes up a guitar and I wanted to learn how the ingredients got put together.
Googling “guitar building classes” in 2014 led to mixed results. There wasn’t a lot of clarity online of what experience you needed, and it’s hard to jump into something completely new when you don’t even know the right questions to ask. I had remembered my mom telling me about a folk school in North Carolina that she had taken classes at, and that seemed like a good beginner environment to start in. There were no guitar building classes coming up, but there was a one week dobro building class in late September. I was only vaguely familiar with dobros, but I had always loved resonator guitars. So I thought it was close enough to give it a shot.
A dobro differs from a guitar in that you play it with a metal bar in your left hand like you would slide guitar and pick out notes with the fingers of your right hand, while the dobro sits on your lap. The strings are elevated off the fret board and there are no metal frets. So you make different notes by changing the position of the metal bar. It’s usually tuned to an open chord like D. And the resonator resembles a big hubcap in the body of the guitar.
Enrolling in that class I was immediately aware of exactly how much I didn’t know about anything. The instructor, a man named Bob Alexander, called me about 6 weeks before the class to get my wood preference. He went through about 10 different types before I responded with “What would you recommend…?” I was out of my depths. He asked for my experience level in a woodshop, “None. Zero.” Could I play dobro… “Nope. Not a clue.” It started to feel a little more intimidating. Now in retrospect, as an instructor myself, I love when students have no experience. It’s hard to try something new. And as long as I know where someone is at, I can focus on what they need. But in that moment as a student, I was scared.
Getting to class was it’s own fun challenge. I had booked myself to photograph a wedding on Saturday night and registration for class was Sunday between 4 and 6pm. I had convinced my buddy Christian to join me, he opted for a blacksmithing class that he was equally unprepared for. And we were set to leave Chicago Saturday as soon as I got home from the wedding. The plan was to drive as long as we could into Indiana, find a hotel, and finish the drive the rest of Sunday. I don’t think we left until 1am. We made it to central Indiana (about 3 hours) and pulled in to a small town with three small hotels. None of which had a vacancy. So we drove another couple miles. No vacancy. What was happening? How was every hotel booked? We eventually made it to the state line and slept in the car. I had a tiny Volkswagen hatchback; which is also close to how I’d describe my spine the next morning.
We set out with just Kentucky, Tennessee, and a small sliver of North Carolina between us and John C Campbell Folk School. Having never driven this route before we were pretty cocky in our ability to get there by 6pm. We had a stack of printouts from Mapquest and a spotty, yet overly optimistic GPS unit that would abandon us through most wooded areas. We stopped for lunch at a Texas Roadhouse and indulged in a large meal that we had in no way earned that early in the trip. We were entirely too cavalier about this drive, which brings me so much joy thinking back on it. Because I know everything ended up fine. But as we got closer things FELT like they were getting further and further away. There is some truly beautiful space between Tennessee and North Carolina when you get off the highway and you’re on these winding roads through the forests. You follow a small creek for a spell. You drive through a small community. But through all that space (in 2014) the GPS cuts out and you’re left with whatever directions Mapquest spit out. And that is harrowing. At one point the road splits and we went down the wrong road for a couple miles before doubling back. The speed at which we drove increased in proportion to the pressure of getting to school on time. Eventually we saw a brown (indicating history!) road sign that directed us to John C Campbell Folk School.
We made it and still had some optimism that after the long drive we’d be able to rest. We thought we would get to school, register, get in our room, shower, and decompress. But immediately after registration we were directed to our respective instructors and they told us we would be starting class that evening and should expect to work. Neither Christian or I had an opportunity to change. I went to the woodshop and Christian went to the blacksmith shop. That sounds a lot more dower than it was. What do you call the feeling where exhaustion and excitement meet?
John C Campbell Folk School has been in operation since 1925. It has a storied history that I’ll happily feature in a future post. But for now let me just paint it in vibes. When you pull off HWY 64 onto Old HWY 64 the trees are dense. You’re in the Appalachian forest. You can only see so far in front of you as the road curves or goes up over a small hill. It’s rare to be in a straightaway. You cross over the Hiwassee River and approach Brasstown, which for the most part appears to be a gas station and several small shops. You turn right onto Brasstown Rd and are greeted by your first view of the Folk School. Grassy fields to your right and left with the Dining Hall and Keith House up the hill. It feels roomy and spacious all of a sudden. I only briefly went to college, and it was in downtown Chicago. So the word campus never meant much to me. But I think driving up to the Folk School is what the word campus is supposed to feel like. A mixture of history and a space where growth will happen.
Registration happens in Keith House, which is a community common space with a stage/dancehall, reading room, admin offices, and a big coffee station. The doors all have hand forged hinges, locks, pulls, etc. Everything you see is an example of craft. And example of things you can learn to do. I don’t think I was tuned into that on my first visit, but there are so many details you can dig into.
The rest of the campus is made up of a dozen different workshops and buildings. Student housing. Walking trails. So much to explore. I’ve often joked that my first two classes I took at the Folk School were the dobro and the windsor chair. Both classes had us working before breakfast and after dinner to finish our builds. So the idea of exploring campus seemed a bit wishful. But since then in other classes I’ve had plenty of extra time.
I was surprised but not mad that my dobro class basically started immediately. Christian and I had arrived closer to 6pm and had to briefly ditch our bags in our room before immediately heading to our workshops. I had no frame of reference for building anything really. So I didn’t know what we had to accomplish each day to stay on target. But our instructor had run this class several times. Bob Alexander was a blacksmith by trade, and had started building dobros entirely out of metal, forged out of his shop. Eventually he started building them out of wood as well and he put together this class. I never got to know Bob that well. I had only ever seen him in this one class. But he had a reputation as a very good instuctor. And I appreciate his attention to detail, safety, and our introduction to the dobro. I remember seeing him drink a glass of milk at every meal, which reminded me of my grandfather. Though that’s likely where the similarities ended.
That first night in class was exciting. There were three of us building dobros plus one that Bob would use as an example piece. He laid out our kits on our benches. Everyone had picked different woods for the front, back, sides, and neck. That was my first experience seeing how different woods could come together for a piece. And how each type of wood could serve a different purpose. Some for hardness. Some for aesthetics. Some for acoustics. Our job for the first night was to get the sides bent, glued, and placed in a form.
We soaked the wood that would be the sides of the dobro in mineral water which would allow us to bend them. The water provides the wood temporary elasticity, which then gets heated up (steamed) to bend. Bob had these custom side benders he had built. On the interior was a lightbulb which provided the heat, and you’d pull these spring loaded clamps over the wood to bring it into position on the form. You have to manage the water/heat so you don’t snap or burn the piece. So as soon as the wood is taking its shape you move it to a body mold, where the sides are constrained within the traditional shape. You clamp it in, glue on the neck and tail blocks, and then it can rest in to that shape while releasing all the remaining moisture. I think we finished close to 10pm. But the dobro had a shape, which felt encouraging.
Christian and I both returned to our room at roughly the same time. I would quickly learn that the blacksmithing classes at John Campbell always go deep into the night. And several years later when I took my first blacksmithing class I learned why. (It’s fun. And you take every opportunity to do as many projects as possible.) We quickly collapsed into our beds and slept straight through until morning.
Monday is usually the first official day of class, so at breakfast we spoke with several other students who were excited to start the week. In particular I remember 3 women in their 60s who were taking a fly fishing class, and they were excited to learn how to cast. Meals are always a fun time to come together and hear about everyones classes and projects. Everybody is doing something different, often for the first time.
Heading back into the woodshop we had sides that were shaped and glued. So we would tackle the dobro neck next, along with a little more body here and there. We glued up our necks, added a fret board, cut fret slots, filled those slots with wood and sanded it flush. Necks are a bit easier on an instrument that doesn’t have metal frets. The wood frets on a dobro are more of an indicator, or suggestion, of where the notes are. I remember being so proud of my use of contrasting woods. I really loved designing that neck and thinking about what would look nice. We also laid out the dobro top and back pieces, and the binding that goes around the edge of the guitar to… bind… the top/bottom to the sides. There were different colors of binding, and again this was all fun stuff, because your making aesthetic color choices. Deciding how all the woods will flow together, along with this big hubcap of a resonator that feels like a a totally foreign piece at this point.
And at this point I should jump ahead a bit. Because the rest of Monday was magical. I used a band saw for the first time. In fact I learned how most of the big tools worked. I was nervous but as a class we helped each other out and looked out for one another. Meals were more excitement. And while many on campus were walking around on the trails or taking an optional yoga workshop, we were back in the shop late into the night every night.
I think it was late Wednesday night when the rubber met the road so to speak. I remember everything up to that point was fun design. And then Wednesday night we started really assembling these pieces. Making important measurements to drill holes that are actually vital to the whole build. It was definitely something I should have asked for more help with. Because adding fractions was never a strength of mine. That weakness, and the sudden realization that we really only have Thursday and Friday morning to finish the build (show and tell for all the classes happens Friday afternoon), meant hustling to build this dobro.
I lay all that stress at my own feet. Not our instructors. You don’t know what you don’t know. And I had no idea how to pace myself for a build like this. No doubt building a dobro in one week is ambitious. But it is do-able. And if I built another I think I’d be fine. But there are two errors I made on my dobro that I still cringe thinking about. The first is a crack I caused in the dobro top. I can’t remember what caused it, but it was from lack of care. The second is more structural. In Bob’s dobro build he used four… I actually don’t know what this part is called. It’s basically a bolt minus the head. So just the screwy bit. We drill four holes in the neck and four holes in the neck block, sink the bolt bit into the hole and set that in with epoxy (think a really strong glue). The idea is that you can then tighten the neck to the body with these four bolts and make adjustments to really keep the neck flush to the body. My error was rushing and not giving the epoxy enough time to harden. Three were fine. But the forth, as I would tighten the bolt it was actually pulling the bolt out. I was too embarrassed to tell Bob and just decided to live with the mistake. And I’ve never told anyone that until now.
Thursday was a blur. I know Bob busted out a small tv to show us a VHS of the only good video he had ever seen on resonator cone set up. I’ve never checked, but I’ll bet its available on Youtube now. Friday morning we strung them up and played a simple tune or two. We all had working dobros, even if mine had a slight angle to the neck. And the truth is ten years later the dobro still works. It’s still a little off. But I built it, and it’s something I treasure.
I think looking back on this class, as a first time woodworker and instrument builder there were some really important lessons I learned.
1. Not knowing something is ok. And asking questions is ok. That’s how we learn.
2. Sometimes it’s helpful to say “This is the first dobro I’ve built”. I think it’s easy to put pressure on yourself to be perfect the first time out the gate. But in acknowledging that it’s the first of what could be many, you free yourself up to make some mistakes. And those mistakes become interesting stories over time. Things you get to overcome the next time.
3. Fast work is sloppy work. But it’s even sloppier when you don’t know what you’re doing. Hustling on that bolt wasn’t worth it.
To wrap up the week Christian and I sat outside on the porch of our student house drinking beer and fumbling around on the new dobro. The other two students from my class joined us and we chatted deep into the night. Christian and I would leave the next morning, stopping along the Ocoee River to watch rafters on the rapids, and then making our way to Mammoth Cave National Park in Kentucky. We toured the caves and spent the night, returning to Chicago on Monday.
That was my first build.
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