I’ve always looked at Ite Missa Est as the “Th-Th-Th-Th-Th-Thaaaat’s All Folks” of the High Mass.
I enjoy re-telling the story, because I get to revisit it, however, we all owe Michael Johnstone a huge debt of gratitude, because he made it all happen. He contacted me about building a guitar and oversaw what I was building. The original guitar, a 9 string that Danny Shields wound a Bigsby copy pickup for, had 6 pedals and later, Mike got Murph interested in having knee levers. Then he recorded him in his studio.
After I finished the guitar (1st version), Murph came over to try it out and we were making adjustments all afternoon. When it was time to go, Murph had a sad look and said, “I don’t have any money for this guitar”, which was true. I told him to take it home and play it and when he doesn’t need it anymore, simply give it back. That resolved the problem, and after he had had it for a while, he came over to give me a guitar lesson. A guitar lesson from Murph was us simply playing what he wanted to play and me trying to keep up. It was one of those wonderful afternoons that I couldn’t have imagined.
Mike took care of him up to the end, including moving him into the extra room at his house, and then shuttling him around the hospital network. One time, because he was on the bottom of the economic spectrum, and Mike was told to bring him to a particular hospital, here in Encino that could help him, we were refused entry. When we refused to leave, the head administrator shows up in a Lincoln Town Car, with his driver, to refuse us entry (you can imagine what I thought about that guy). When he leaves, Mike went over to the Head Nurse, to explain who this man is and she admitted him.
And so it went. At the last stop, Doug McGinnis, Mike and I were taking turns being with him and as fate would have it, I was there when he checked out. He was comfortable and the room was very peaceful. I don’t know whether you believe in this stuff, but, for the next few weeks, the subtly oddest things seemed to happen. And so it goes.
