#1
This is going to be a bit long winded. Please, bear with me. I think if you take the time to read this all you will at the very least, be entertained and possibly better informed to help me with my question.

As long as I can remember, all I ever wanted was a guitar. Whenever I was asked what I wanted for christmas or birthdays my reply was always, "a guitar". My father says I was asking for one from the time I could say the word, "guitar." Unfortunately for me this was long before the days of the cheap walmart guitars that are perfectly acceptable for a kid. We didn't have a lot of money and the amount that even a beginners guitar cost back then was more than you'd spend on a child that you're not even sure will stick with it.

My Grandparents live outside of Battle Creek Michigan in a small village named Ceresco. I spent a lot of time there in the summer and on holidays. There was a lot of land, fields and woods all around them. We would spend entire days riding around on quads, hiking through the woods, swimming in the river, etc. A particularly favorite spot of mine was about a mile down a nearly disused dirt road. Train tracks ran along side this dirt road and at the aforementioned spot, a stream ran underneath both the tracks and the road. There was a large concrete arch built over the stream for the train tracks. while it was a man made arch I called it a cave and it was my favorite swimming spot.

Fast forward. It's November 1986. I'm at my Grandparents house for Thanksgiving holiday. I'm 5 years old. Whitetail hunting is during this time in MI. My dad asked me if I want to go hunting. I answered in the affirmative and we geared up to go out into the cold and rain that was just starting to turn into snow. I have an interesting double perspective of this part of the story. One as being a 5 year old on his first hunting trip and the other looking back as an adult and avid hunter. We got out into the woods and sat down in a thicket and waited for a deer. 5 year old me thought this was very boring and found the sticks, leaves, rocks and anything else that made a lot of noise and movement much more entertaining. My dad asked if I wanted to get up and walk around to try and find a deer. 5 year old me thought this must be how you hunt. Looking back I realize my dad knew we weren't going to see a damn thing with a figity kid in tow.

We continued to walk along through the woods, not seeing anything living at all. I came to recognize the area we were in. "Hey dad, isn't the cave we swim in around here?" "Yeah" he said, "You wanna go check it out?". And Off I went, like a 5 year old on a mission. I never got too far ahead of my dad while in the woods. After I made it to the old dirt road, I really started to put some distance on him. No big deal, MI is flat and the road is straight so he can still see me.

What happened next must have horrified my dad. this is another instance where I have a double perspective. Looking back now as an adult I can only imagine what went through my dads head as he watched his 5 year old son. Who was near 100yds ahead of him. On a cold snowy day in November in MI. suddenly jump into an icy stream!

From my perspective, as I came up on the stream. I looked down in and couldn't believe my eyes. Christmas had come early and I was the luckiest kid on the planet. There was a guitar floating down the stream! No time to think, it was going to float away! Splash! I had nearly bitten off more than I could chew. The guitar was heavier than I expected and the current quick. I still had my winter clothes on and the banks were slippery with mud. I wouldn't have let go of the guitar if my life had depended on it though. I was climbing back up the bank with my trophy just as my dad came running up, out of breath, hollering "What the hell are y.... ih... is that.. a guitar?"

I was on cloud 9 and didn't come down til next year. I don't even remember what I did get for christmas that year. Amazingly it didn't seem to have been in there very long as there was no damage to any of the wood. This also happened to be my first encounter with electronics as we took it apart straight away to dry out the pickups and pots. A wire broke on the jack during disassembly and my grandpa showed me how to solder it back on. (I ended up becoming an Electrical Engineer).

From this point on I rarely ever put it down. I taught myself how to play. I listened to the radio and played along with it. My grandma worked at GHS strings back then it used to be based in Battle Creek. So I always had new strings. Boomers, and I liked them big. I played .013s and played with a 1mm pick. Hard and heavy.

I never knew what the guitar was. Let me rephrase that; I never cared what it was, it was mine and that's all that mattered. I grew up with that guitar it was the only one I had for nearly 15 years.

Now we get to the parts that aren't for the faint of heart. If you have a weak stomach for guitar "abuse" you should probably bail. I loved this guitar and played the hell out of it, but it wasn't exactly what I would have wanted. I played it so much that the frets started to wear out. At the time I didn't know anything about guitars and had no one I could ask. Hell, the internet wasn't even a thing yet. I had no idea you could refret a neck. So I did the only thing I could think to do. I saved up my lawn-mowing money and found a broken old Cort at a garage sale for $20 and swapped the neck on to my guitar. And yes, sadly, I threw away the original neck... I do remember the headstock shape though, more on that later.

Also around this time I decided that the beautiful, glass smooth, white with a bit of pearl paint on the body just wasn't "cool." So, yep, I attacked it with paint stripper and sandpaper then rattle canned it black...

It wasn't long after that that I decided I could never get the sound I was looking for with those amazing 50's vintage single coils. I took the humbuckers out of the broken Cort and installed the in my guitar. Only problem is they didn't fit and I didn't have any tools to make them fit. Problem my ass, more like opportunity! With a pair of pliers and a blow torch I proceeded to heat up the pick guard and tear chunks out of til the humbuckers fit. And I'll be goddamned if I didn't make it work. Plus it had the added benefit that my guitar, with a beat up paint job, burn marks and chunks missing from the pickgurad and a neck that didn't belong to it, now looked metal as ****! Unfortunately the original pickups are lost to time. Fortunately I remember exactly what they look like.

Eventually I got another guitar, and Ibanez I believe, and the old guitar got set down. I never got rid of it though. Which is truly surprising for me. Now, in the present I would like to rebuild it to original quality and that's why I'm here.

I'm trying to figure out what it is. If anyone has any ideas, even conjecture, please let me know. Included below are pictures of what I have left. Again, please forgive the horrid condition of it. Also I included a pic of the shape that I remember the original headstock being. I also remember that the name on the headstock started with "G". The picture of the pickups are what I remember the originals like.

Thank you for your time.
~Tyler

Here's what she looks like now. Rough I know but back then she was beautiful back in the day.


this headstock shape is similar but not exact and the original had a black veneer over the face with a name on it. the original also had the truss rod out the bottom of the neck by the pick guard


The original pickups looked exactly like this but the weren't surface mount they installed from under the pickguard with a single spring screw on either side.


the original tuner heads looked much like this.
#2
Cool story bro.


But does it djent?

 .-.,      ,--. ,--.
`/|~\     \__/T`--'     .
x |`' __   ,-~^~-.___ ==I==
  |  |--| /       \__}  |
  |  |  |{   /~\   }    |
 /|\ \__/ \  \_/  /|   /|\
/ | \|  | /`~-_-~'X.\ //| \
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Omae wa mou
Shindeiru



Quote by Axelfox
Reeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
#3
I have nothing to offer, but that was a pretty awesome story. Some serious dedication.

Thanks for sharing
I'm just a kickin' and a gougin' in the mud and the blood and the beer.