1937 Martin D-28

First the bridge, showing its obvious crack between the pin holes, and the not-so-obvious finish damage behind from previous regluing:

Additionally, the bridge had been cut lower than standard height to lower the action at some time in the past. So, there are a couple of good reasons for replacement.

The bridge plate has enlarged slots that trap the string balls, allowing them to pull through the top and bear against the lower surface of the bridge, so those will need attention:

Sometime in the 1970s, the original Grover G-98 tuners were removed and replaced by modern (and superior) Grover Rotomatics. That operation required drilling the peghead tuner holes from 1/4" to 3/8" diameter. The luthier who did the job clearly had a difficulty on one hole, the low E. I guess the drill bit had caught and ripped a big hunk out of the pehead veneer, which was reglued at the time, without finish touch up:

Before you get to "How could they have DONE that?" or "Why replace the ORIGINAL tuners?" take a moment to remember that in those days the ethic was entirely different, as was the cash value of vintage Martin guitars.

Using an electric heat blanket that reaches a temperature of about 305 degrees Fahrenheit placed directly on the frets, I can keep the heat localized to the fingerboard itself:

From time to time I reach into the guitar and feel the temperature rise under the top in that area. When the top starts to feel as though it might be around 120 degrees, I remove the heat blanket and start to pry the fingerboard loose from the top, using a very smooth flexible putty knife with a blunt rounded edge:

This is one of those operations that's largely a matter of "feel," where experience contributes a good deal to success, as I try to sense whether the glue or the wood is giving way as I press the knife under the fingerboard.

Knowing that the fingerboard was glued to the top with hide glue, I listen for the telltale crackling sound as the heat-weakened glue line gives up under pressure from the knife. Had this been a modern guitar, assembled with aliphatic resin glue, I'd expect to hear a squeaking sound and feel the gummy resistance of the softened glue.

Back in the day when those tuners were replaced, it would have been fairly common for a luthier to saw the fingerboard all the way through at the fourteenth fret, and remove the end of the fingerboard as a separate piece to get visual access to the dovetail joint. As we've reset so many necks in the intervening decades, that practice has been abandoned in favor of not compromising any structural integrity. So, we work pretty much in reverse, taking the guitar apart in the same order it was originally assembled. That way, when the neck goes back on, we can say with confidence that it's good as new.

Same as before, I try to keep alert for the feel and sound as I lift the bridge from the spruce top:

As the knife penetrates the glue line, I try to be aware of the direction of any grain runout in the spruce. I don't wnat my knife to be carried downward into the top as it lifts a splinter of spruce. While I have a firm hand on the knife, I have to avoid slipping for fear of scarring the finish around the bridge, and each time I pull the knife out to reposition it, I check the underside for any traces of glue that might adhere there. Even the smallest bit of glue can dig into the finish when I'm pressing hard against the knife!

Now, I'd like to introduce a seriously cool new addition to Gryphon's repair shop - the steam generator. This unit is part of a professional steam ironing station, and the flat area on the stainless steel tank is where the iron would ordinarily rest:

I had not known of these rigs before I started looking through Internet sources for an upgrade to our old steam generator - the venerable Krups home expresso machine. This particular steamer is sold as a jeweler's steam cleaner, and comes without the iron. Instead, it has a simple hose coupling. In the picture above, I'm holding the end of the steam hose to which I've fitted my own shop-made steam needle assembly and handle.

That black item in the foreground is a foot switch, and, of course, is normally on the floor. You can see two lighted switches - one for the boiler, and the other to lockout the steam valve that's operated by the foot switch. Behind the handle, there's a pressure gauge mounted on the same pipe as the electric steam switch and a separate manual valve that controls the volume of flow. The boiler is set to maintain 50 PSI steam as long as the power is on, and it does so without any attention other than making sure there's water in the tank.

So, once it's up to pressure, I step on the valve, and out comes the steam - pretty neat, eh? And, because it's running at 50 PSI, the steam is HOT - 221 degrees - so less condensation comes through the needle.

Here's how it goes together. First, I set a pair of supports (you can't see 'em in the photo below) under the guitar body, and adjust this little built-in jack against the heel of the neck, to aid in pressing it upward as the glue is softened in the joint:

Once everything is clamped up securely, I can adjust the position of all those air squirters so they play cold air on all the areas where steam might escape:

And, finally, the air supply itself - the outflow hose from the shop vac:

Time to get to work, yes? First order of operations is to remove the fifteenth fret, which happens to be located directly above the end of the dovetail in the neck block:

I took a whole bunch of shots as the steaming was progressing along, hoping to get one that showed the wisps of condensation coming up out of the escape hole, but none of them showed it. So use your Photoshop imagination, and pretend you see some, OK?

Here's the steam coming out of the hole:

The air blowers are operating full blast, and as steam escapes from under the fingerboard it is immediately converted to cold water, so there's no finish damage - whew!

Once the neck moves upward about 1/8" it is completely released from the joint, and I can lift it free with ease.

Well, the steam pot is still up to pressure, so I'll just take this opportunity to steam clean the glue off the end of the fingerboard to save scraping or more distructive processes later when it will have dried:

Day 3: Regluing the Pickguard

Well, here's another process I invented myself. However, like so many other ones I've developed, a bunch of other guys probably invented it for themselves as well.

I recall phoning my pal and veteran guitar repair guru, Dan Erlewine, about 15 years ago to tell him about some new techniques I was working on. I said, "You're really going to flip when you see some of the new things I'm up to right now. It's some pretty exciting stuff." Without missing a beat, he replied, "Oh, so you're getting into magnets, are you? I've talked to some other guys who are, too." Dang - I had not given him clue one, and he had it already. This business is like that. Seems lots of us come up with similar ideas at similar times. In the case of magnets, no doubt it was the recent availability of the super strong neodymium ones that pretty much captivated us all. Thus started a brief rivalry between me an Dan as to who could come up with the wildest and most creative uses. I'm still working on them, of course, but I think the magnetic spin sander will remain my best entry in the contest.

But, I digress. . .

With age, and accelerated by heat, celluloid pickguards shrink, but the actual amount of shrinkage varies from batch to batch of the plastic. So, it's not predictable whether a pickguard will shrink so much that it needs attention in the first few years of the guitar's life, or whether it will take a couple of generations for problems to arise, as it did with this one.

When the guitar was made, the pickguard was attached to the spruce top by "welding" the celluloid directly to the unfinished wood. The back of the pickguard was coated with solvent, making the celluloid tacky, and the pickguard was pressed down onto the spruce. A lead weight was placed on top, and the solvent was allowed to evaporate overnight, firmly bonding the celluloid to the spruce. Next day, the weight was removed, and the guitar went through the finishing process, with lacquer sprayed evenly over the spruce and the pickguard.

Today we refer to this style of pickguard as "under the finish," although it was the standard method of attachment until the development of the "self-adhesive" pickguards most makers use today. These have a very sticky adhesive - similar to the stuff on the back of packing tape - and a piece of protective releasing paper on the backside of the pickguards. The paper is removed, and the pickguard stuck down the way you'd apply a bumper sticker to your car. These new pickguards don't cause the same kind of trouble as the older style, and don't require tricky work to reglue them. If they fail, they can be replaced easily.

Well, I did it again. Let's get back to the business at hand.

As the pickguard shrinks with age, it either breaks loose from the wood, or it takes the wood with it. Most of the time, the early pickguards are so firmly bonded to the wood, they actually compress the top underneath. Sometimes that compression can be very serious indeed, causing severe cupping of the top and cracking of the top at the edges of the pickguard. Check out this example.

In previous decades, the "approved" repair was to laminate cross-grain spruce under the entire area of the pickguard to stabilize the top and prevent the spread of cracks. Unfortunately, the pickguard continued to shrink, and, while cracks didn't expand, the cupping of the top became even more extreme.

Speaking of clamping it flat - that's what I do, and with a vengence. Reglular wood glue can handle 100 PSI of clamping pressure, but the thin guitar top could not handle much at all without serious support above and below. I'll need heavy, flat clamping blocks, or "cauls" - one for the surface of the pickguard, and one to fit among the braces inside. Martin dreadnoughts all have about the same size pickguard, so I already have a regular acrylic-faced outside caul I use every few days on more modern guitars, but I don't have an inside caul for a 1937 D-38 - at least not yet.

First, I'll make a drawing of the brace locations in the pickguard area:

Here's the finished caul, after flat sanding the clamping surface:

The notches are probably twice as deep as they need to be, but I do that because in coming years, the caul is likely to get resurfaced any number of times to keep it flat and clean.

The glue wipes off easily enough, and does no damage to any wood or finished surfaces, so I press down and push out as much as I can, wiping the area clean with a damp rag or paper towel:

I lay down a piece of wax paper to resist the glue (I wouldn't want to create a 3/4" thick pickguard, you know.) and clamp it all up. I can usually fit in a heavy deep throat iron clamp and three of those orange "Pony" adjustable ones:

And, I'm not bashful about the clamping - I give it all a good hard squeeze before setting it aside to dry overnight.

Since the holes were drilled roughly to 3/8" and I don't want to enlarge them for plugging, I make up some mahogany plugs using standard plug cutter:

Day 6: Filling Tuner Screw Holes

A few years ago we acquired a Grizzly "Wood Mill" and it has proven to be a valuable tool for guitar repair. Here I have the peghead clamped in the milling vise, and I can mill off the protruding mahogany plugs to within about .010" of the finished surface with ease and security:

It's delicate work, requiring a firm hand, strong pressure, and thanks to the flat surfaces, good control.

Day 7: Cleaning Up That Damaged Tuner Hole

With a regular lathe tool clamped in the mill vise, I was able to manipulate the X-axis table screw and the quill down feed to turn the head to the .460" diameter I needed:

After some hack sawing, and filing, I had a really simple little cutter:

Now, this cutter is just mild steel, so it won't compare with the long term utility of a high speed steel drill, but it did the job very easily, and it went back into the drawer, labeled for whenever.

Here's the result, a nice shallow flat-bottomed hole into which I can inlay a piece of matching rosewood:

On the milling machine, I slotted the turned end of the rod so that when I got a disc cut, I could push it back out with a screwdriver or other blade>

Here's the simple hardening process I use. I get the tool about as hot as I can with a regular propane torch:

If I'm unsure about the temperature, I test the heated section with a magnet. When this steel is at about the right temperature to harden, it suddenly becomes nonmagnetic. You'll notice that I'm only heating the business end of the cutter - there's no need for any part to be hardened except the teeth that do the actuall cutting.

As it comes out of the oil bath, the steel is what's known as "file hard," meaning it's about as hard as it can ever get, like a file. I test it with a file, which won't even scratch the surface, so I know it's hard. Like a file, any steel in this condition is very brittle - too brittle for most uses because it could break if dropped, or even while it's cutting wood.

I need to temper most of the wood cutting tools, and my kitchen oven is just the place to do that:

An hour in the oven at 400 degrees Fahrenheit, and I've drawn the hardness back to a point where the tool is still hard for lots of repetitive use, yet tough enough to avoid cracking as it's used. From here, the cutter teeth get a little touch up honing with a carborundum slip or diamond pocket hone, and it's ready for tomorrow's adventure.

If it seems I'm going overboard with this effort, then I ask you, If a 1937 D-28 doesn't deserve the effort which guitar does?

Over on t he wood mill, I used my new little plug cutter to make a thin disc for the inlay:

With no set to the teeth, and precious little chip clearance, I made sure to "peck" lots of times as I drilled the veneer, stopping to clear the gummy rosewood dust out of the cutter teeth. Once the cutter broke through, I used the little access slot to push out the disc.

And, after clamping up with a flat plate and waxed paper on top, the neck was ready for another overnight nap:

Using steam to release the neck dovetail glue joint has its hazards. I've already talked about the obvious effects of steam on finish, but, as the steam fills the dovetail cavity, it often also separates the glue joint between the spruce top and the neck block. That's what happened with this guitar, so before I even think about doing more on the neck resetting process, I attend to that bit of business.

Clamps must be tight before the glue gels to get good adhesion and squeeze-out. One of these "Quick-Grip" clmaps is just the thing - fast and easy:

As always, I try to control the clamping pressure by using an appropriate block or pad over the joint - in this case a sheet of acrylic helps distribute the pressure and maintain flatness. With very few exceptions, I leave all wood gluing operation under clamps to dry for a minimum of 12 hours to make sure I get the strongest joint possible.

Back to the wood mill. After clamping the peghead parallel to the mill table, I locate each hole by using the appropriate plug gage, and moving the table X- and Y- axis cranks to get the plug centered so that I could bring the chuck downward, and the pin would press right into the hole with ease:

Here's the first one - dead center:

I did the remaining four holes the same way. When I got to the sixth string hole, I spent some time measuring and marking center, using the other holes as data points. Then I drilled through with the 1/4" bit.

Now that the peghead is all set for its new gears, take a look at the back side:

Seems the oversize holes weren't exactly concentric with the originals. No matter - the back plates of the new tuners will cover that:

Day 11: Finish Touchup

Once the peghead drilling and counterboring were complete, it was time to start drop-filling the lacquer and touchining up the reaired damage at the sixth string tuner hole. My goal is to avoid changing the appearance of this fine old guitar, so I set about working only in that restricted area.

First, the final leveling of the rosewood plug. I used a single edge razor blade with the ends protected with masking tape to scrape the plug to the level of the surrounding lacquer:

I did scuff about halfway through the lacquer in the immediate area because I'd be adding new stain and lacquer and I didn't want to end up with a raised lump after it was all polished out.

Once the water evaporated and the hide glue was fully dry, I used my toothpick brush to dab on some retarder thinner to soften and amalgamate the damaged finish and to prepare it for the drop filling to come:

Now, here's a tricky little bit. Once the lacquer was on, and before it began to dry, I took a tiny sharp pointed knife blade and scarred through the lacquer, hide glue and all to make dark lines, taking advantage of the rosewood's tendency to darken with the application of solvent:

Day 12: Making Another Small Tool

This is more of a homework assignment. I did it in the evening in my home shop where I do most of my metal work and machining. It's another of those "someday" items - a little press for inserting the Waverly tuner bushings in the counterbored peghead holes.

I wanted to use a 3/8" diameter brass screw, but as I looked around the shop I couldn't find one, so I chucked up a short brass rod and single-point threaded it, and turned the end to 1/4" diameter to fit inside the bushings.

I got to thinking that if it's a tool that will be used around the shop often, it ought to have a built-in handle, so I looked around for an idea or two.

Done, and ready for the time when I install the tuners:

Day 13: The Bridge Plate

Here's a refresher look at the underside of the bridge plate. Notice the enlarged slots, particularly at the two bass string holes:

While it may look as though all six slots are munched out too much, four of them are only compressed a bit, and it's the shadows from the inside lighting that make it difficult to show that they are basically still OK.

First I made up some plugs, using a slip of maple approximately the same thickness as the bridge plate:

Here's the first one - nice and neat:

And, as usual, a hard flat plate on top, protected with waxed paper:

A look inside reveals the flow of cyanoacrylate, and the two patched bridge pin holes:

The glue looks a bit sloppy, and the repair patches are somewhat uneven in height.

This one has a clear acrylic body, so you can see the working bits. It's a quartet of rare earth magnets mounted in an aluminum disc, supported on a shaft and ball bearing arrangement that's totally enclosed in acrylic. Outboard, there's a second unit with four magnets, and discs of "Dragon Skin" abrasive - steel sheets with carbide bits on one side.

As I hold the outer unit up against the top of the guitar, the inner one is attracted to it, and it rotates in synch with the driven magnetic disc, sanding the bridge plate flat and level:

Day 15: Top Crack Repair

If you go back to Day 1, you can see that little crack by the edge of the fingerboard. Being as close to the board as it is, the crack isn't all that obvious when you take a casual look at the guitar. But, it is an old, dirty little crack, so I thought I'd try to clean it up a bit before gluing and reinforcing it.

A number of years ago, I learned about the use of deionized water from Joe Grubaugh, a premier violin maker and restorer who's shop is in Petaluma, about an hour and a half from mine. He described the stuff as being so "hungry" for ions that it can attract and wash away stain and dirt without adding any detergent, bleach or other contaminant to an old crack like this one.

I called a chemical supply house that specializes in providing exotic water to local "clean" industry, and by luck, talked to a really down-to-earth expert who clued me in on an important bit. He said that if I bought their $50.00/gallon deionized water, I'd get a certified pure product, but it would stay deionized only a relatively short number of days after opening. He then went on to hand me a nice little surprise. He said that the deionized water I can get for 39 cents a gallon at the supermarket vending machine was really close to being as good for my use as the stuff he sells.

Well, after some consideration, I chose the local brew.

And, anytime I need good deionized water, I take a quick hike down the street with a jug, knowing that the stuff I'll be using is better than the industrial kind I'd have had sitting around the shop. . .

Pure water is a poor conductor of electricity because of the lack of ions. Regular tap water varies quite a bit, and local Palo Alto water comes from Sierra snow melt and is free enough of impurities that we use it in steam irons and car batteries.

Compared with our nice tap water, the supermarket deionized stuff is only about 10% as conductive:

As the water ran along the crack, I scrubbed the crack with a really fine synthetic bristle artist brush. The bristles of this brush are slender and pointed, so they work really well without injuring the wood fibers.

I also worked a bit of my most transparent hide glue into the crack before applying the clamp. I don't think there will be much if any touchup of the lacquer needed here.

Viewed from the inside, the patch is small and unobtrusive, but it will keep the crack from becoming nasty, I think:

Day 16: The New Bridge

Today's the day to make that much needed new bridge. Most of the time, I'd rather make and install the appropriate height bridge before setting the neck angle. Of course, it's a matter of geometry, so the neck angle would be the same in relation to the top of the guitar whether there was a bridge in place or not. But, most of my neck resetting work is on guitars that already have the appropriate height bridge, so I'd rather set the bridge first, and then adjust the neck. So, today's excercise is making and gluing the bridge.

Really good ebony is getting harder to find every year, and recently, we've been able to buy some fine African ebony that's as good as any I've seen. It's not cheap, but then what is these days?

Whenever possible, I try to get "bow frog quality" ebony. Violin bow makers are the most insanely picky about the quality of the ebony they use, mostly because they use such tiny pieces they can afford to get the best of the best of the best. They insist on absolutely black ebony with the virtually invisible pores, and those must be completely filled with resin. In fact, that stuff looks about like Bakelite or Micarta when it is polished. If you look closely at some of the venerable old Martin guitars, you see some of that quailty ebony there, too.

Last year I visited an importer and picked out enough for, I'd guess, five years' worth of bridges at the rate we make them these days. Those pieces went into our upstairs wood storage area, and we're likely to get to using it in about 2020 or so. I suppose that makes us ebony independent until 2025. That's the way we've always worked at Gryphon, trying to stay well ahead of need for supplies that might get cut off at any time without notice.

Later on, I'll be making an ivory nut and saddle for this guitar, and I'll be using ivory that I bought before there was any ban or restriction on elephant ivory. Since that time, we have kept our use of ivory to important restorations. For the record, I simply have no patience at all for those who might think or suggest that it has a benefit for tone over good hard bone. In fact, I prefer unbleached bone for longevity, appearance, and tone, both for nuts and saddles. But that's not the point when we're doing a serious restoration

For those looking for ivory, please understand that we don't have any at all to spare for any reason or project. That said, there is a good source of legal elephant ivory, and David Warther can serve your needs: http://www.ivorybuyer.com

Rant over, I hope. . .

Here's the ebony bridge "blank" I'll use:

We make quite a few Martin style guitar bridges at Gryphon, and, since each one is slightly different, we like to start with an oversize rectangular piece so we can match the contours of the original as needed. I machine these blanks with the proper 1" radius scoop at the ends, to give us a head start in carving.

After cutting the holes as well, I have a nice pattern I can stick on the bottom of the new bridge blank, and thereby transfer the shape directly:

I try to work from the back side as much as possible to maintain hole alignment, so I'll actually set up and drill the bridge from the back.

With the bridge clamped into the fixture, aligned so the holes in the tape matched up with the 2-5/16" spacing of the jig, I drilled through the blank:

Because the blank was about 1/8" over the final thickness I didn't worry about tearout as the drill bit went through.

Rough cutting on the band saw, I tried to keep within about 1/16" of the tape pattern:

And, using a little hand crank sander, I was able get in close safely and run right up to the tape's edge:

By alternatly pressing on the ends of the bridge, I was able to create an appropriate curve for the top of the center section:

Here's the final "machined" bridge:

As I worked on the bridge held in the vise, I had a nice original 1937 bridge balanced on the anvil section of the vise:

That's one more reason why we keep so much old junk in the shop. That bridge was a cracked but otherwise fully original one we took off a 1937 000-28 when we made a new replacement one. I glued the crack up, labeled the bridge, and stuck it in the box labeled, "Old Bridges for Patterns." In the restoration business, there's nothing like having the real thing in front of you when you need to copy something!

It's a trick I use to check my progress and to make sure I've eliminated any tool marks or sanding scratches. Below, you can see the heavy belt sanding scratches on the center section, and a completed, smooth end:

The guitar top was in fine shape, so I had only a little block sanding to do to level th surface, and remove oxidation that might impair glue adhesion:

I masked the top with some very low tack tape so I wouldn't scratch any of the finish if I dragged the sandpaper past the margin where the bridge will go.

Here's anothe new fixture in the shop. I'm still working on the design, so I'll call this "Mark 1" for now. It's a bar with adjustable fingers I can use to capture the bridge precisely in position prior to gluing:

There are lots of ways to position bridges for gluing, including pins or bolts that go through the holes, but I've found that none of those are completely foolproof, so I set about figuring a really solid way to hold the bridge.

Here we go - a mop of fresh hot hide glue:

Once the bridge is clamped, off comes the locating fixture, and I can easily clean up the squeeze-out with a bit of warm water and paper towel:

Day 17: Resetting the neck

There is a single original maple veneer shim inside the dovetail pocket, and you can see that it has the guitar's serial number written in pencil:

(I've obscured a few digits as a courtesy to the owner of this fine instrument.)
Because the shim is still tightly glued in place, I chose to leave it there rather than remove and replace it.

Notice how the blade cuts neatly without damaging the fingerboard as it slices through the top of the steel truss rod and the dovetail itself:

Most of the rest of the process of resetting is a matter of slowly cutting the dovetail joint - in particular the face of the end of the neck that contacts the body. I started with a bit of chisel work to rough cut the angle, and to undercut the area just a bit:

My abrasive paper isn't really paper, but Mylar film with 150 grit silicon carbide bonded to one side:

It's much stronger than paper, and the smooth Mylar surface is nice and slippery, so it's ideal for this job.

Trial fitting various shims, I decided on a thin maple shim on the bass side of the joint, and a tapered mahogany one on the treble. The two shims made the dovetail lock nice and tight as it was pressed downward into position:

First, I true up a block of hardwood, either by hand planing or belt sanding one edge:

Then, I take the freshly cut edge to the belt sander, and sand a slight angle into the block:

I make these shims ahead of need. They are so quick and easy to produce that I can have dozens of them with varying thickness and angles on hand when I'm looking to shim a joint.

That's a band of masking tape, sticky side out, to improve my grip on the little slip of wood.
Now, just in case the photos above make it look like I might cut my thumb off with the band saw, here's how I like to handle pieces if my hand is to be between the blade and the fence. With my fingers wrapped around the other side of the fence, there's no possibility that my hand might slip toward the blade:

Here's s shot of that fingerboard clamping caul - it has two rails to press at the outward edges of the board, and is relieved to avoid pressing on frets:

This is anothe tool I made up in my home machine shop, and I use it for gluing on fingerboards as well as for neck resetting.

Another overnight drying episode before starting out on

The frets came out nicely, even the first six which had been set in with hide glue:

I'd say that in addition to the entire fingerboard having been refretted at one time, the first six frets were subsequently replaced by a different luthier.

Now it seemed obvious that the person who replaced the first six frets did not use sufficient heat to remove the frets, because unlike all the other slots from which I pulled frets, these slots all had chips and filled divots:

I set about gluing back the old chips and filling the divots, first scarring the shallow craters with a thin blade to improve adhesion:

While those old chips filled nicely, a bit of leveling with 220 grit sandpaper revealed that the fifth fret inlay had a problem - a little void started to appear at one point of the diamond:

Looks as though the inlay had a small defect in its bottom, and when it was leveled, the defect started to show through to the top.

It took a stout blade to make those cuts, and, because I do this job from time to time, I have a little fixture I made up to hold the diamond and square pieces for Martin fingerboard inlays. It's a simple block of aluminum with little recesses that just fit the diamond or square shapes:

Without exception, I use this little plastic faced mallet to install frets:

It's the one that's typically sold with one brass head and one plastic. I find the brass adds too much weight, so I replaced it with another, identical plastic head. That gives me the same feel and balance I used to get with my old Stanley plastic hammer, now long out of production.

After dozens of identical operations and a bit of fret leveling and polishing, the fret job was complete, and this old critter is starting to look like a guitar again:

Speaking of which, you may notice that the tuners are in place. Before refretting I installed a set of new Waverly 4060 tuners - the direct replica of the Grover "G-98" tuners that would have been original on this instrument. While the value of the guitar is such that it would be reasonable to hunt up and pay for an original set, these new Waverly gears work so much more smootly and positively that the owner of the D-28 chose to use them for the sake of playability.

Day 19: Setup

Down to the final stages - time to finish off all the details that have to do with playability and action.
I started with the bridge. Once the neck was in place, I calculated and measured the saddle location for best intonation, and set up my bridge routing mill to cut the saddle slot:

Here's a better view of that rig:

This machine runs a Bosch laminate trimmer on friction-free linear bearings in all dimensions. The fore-and-aft slide is locked for saddle use, of course. I recently modified the vertical slide mounting so it can tilt backward at any angle from zero to 20 degrees to accommodate the growing use of tilted saddle slots. Even though I think the backward tilted saddle is a more structurally sound design, I still follow the maker's original style, particularly when working on vintage instruments.

and, using this high-tech device, I countersunk them with a nice chamfer:

It was only after I dug out a small mountain of paper and glue that I noticed that the nut slot had been cut about 1/16" below the level of the fingerboard. Rather than making a new nut that would look oversize and call attention to this unfortunate modification, I decided to make a mahogany filler so the nut could bed down normally:

Maybe I should tell Rick Shubb to think about another potential market for his capos. . .

Then I roughed out the shape to nearly the final dimension and contour, and glued it lightly in place:

I then slotted for the strings and adjusted the action at the nut before removing the nut to polish it nicely before reinstalling it. Most all of the final setup was pretty routine, trial fitting, setting action, and all that, and I didn't photograph that stuff in detail.

Taking the total of the diameters of the inner four strings and subtracting it from the space between the outer strings, I found the amount of space I'd need to divide up between them all. Five spaces between six strings gave me a figure of .2674. Naturally, the final digit is way beyond any level of accuracy needed here, but I thought I'd include it just for fun. My caliper only resolves to the nearest .0005, and I never count on it for greater than .001 accuracy.

So, I got out the appropriate ones, and made up the necessary stack:

I marked the both edges of the string with a sharp blade, and then rubbed a bit of pencil graphite into the scratches:

That gave me the perfect location for the second string. Once it was in place, I located the third the same way, and finished up the job by repeating the process starting from the sixth string and working inward.

Back at the bridge, I added a little tradiditional detail to the tops of the string notches:

Oh, and here's another little old time traditional touch:

When I installed the new Waverly tuners, I lined up all the mounting screws - just for looks.

Well, that's about it - the guitar is back to its old playability, and ready for some tunes.

Next up - a 1940 D-28 with "issues". . .