Perry’s Gibson Guitar

Perry’s Gibson Guitar was both a working instrument and Perry Smith’s most beloved possession. He carried it out of Kansas, played it for companions during the journey through Mexico, and regarded its eventual theft as more than the loss of an object: the guitar had become intimate through years of care, use, and musical companionship.

A prized possession on the road

When Dick and Perry left Kansas City on November 21, the old Chevrolet was packed so tightly that its trunk could not be shut. Luggage was lashed to the fenders and roof, television sets occupied the back seat, and among the clutter inside Perry sat clutching the old Gibson guitar. The instrument traveled alongside his cardboard suitcase, portable radio, root-beer syrup, books, manuscripts, and memorabilia. Its place in the cramped car made visible how much of Perry’s identity and security was bound up in possessions he had chosen to keep.

Music on the Mexican coast

In Acapulco, Perry played the guitar aboard the Estrellita, a fishing boat hired by Otto. With Dick, Otto, and the Cowboy nearby, he sang a Smoky Mountains song at Otto’s request. The guitar thus served as more than luggage: it gave Perry a way to perform and take part in the group’s relaxed days along the coast. While Perry sang, Otto sketched him; after Otto closed the sketchbook, Perry put down the guitar as the boat prepared to return toward shore.

Theft and attachment

On the group’s last night in Acapulco, a thief took the guitar from a waterfront café where Perry, Dick, Otto, and the Cowboy were saying goodbye. Perry later explained that he had owned it long enough to wax and shine it, fit his voice to it, and treat it as something intimate; it had become, in his words, “kind of holy.” The loss was therefore not interchangeable with selling the portable radio or other goods to raise money. The guitar had accumulated personal meaning through repeated care and use, and its theft left Perry bitter and feeling low.

Significance

The guitar’s brief history traces a sharp change in its status: from a prized object Perry physically protected during the departure from Kansas, to a source of music and fellowship in Mexico, to a possession abruptly taken from him. Its disappearance also marks the fragility of the life Perry briefly called the way things ought to be. Unlike the books and keepsakes he tried to arrange for storage when he and Dick prepared to travel on foot or by hitchhiking, the guitar was already gone; its importance survives in Perry’s account of the care that had made it feel almost sacred.