If this violin could talk, I would love to hear the stories! When I was 13 years old, my family moved to Fort Worth (from Ponca City) and I needed a violin. Charlotte had one collecting dust and loaned it to me. I didn’t know how long the loan would last, but it was good for the moment.

Charlotte’s dad bought a violin for her from a band of gypsies in search of funds for medication. The red violin (painted with barn paint) was gonna get a makeover. In 1933, they refinished the instrument, removing most of the paint. As the story goes, Charlotte hated playing the violin but obliged her parents’ insistence. She was all too happy for the violin to be used by someone who would play it, and I was the lucky recipient.

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