Blacksmith’s Banjos Sold Around The World
LINDA WILLIAMS
Bedford Co. Correspondent
BEDFORD (Bedford Co.)
Bob Rock is a household word
among Bedford County farmers.
Today, few people work at
blacksmithing as a trade. Bob
Rock is proof then; is a great need
for his trade. Without his exper
tise, a lot of farm machinery or
tools might have to be thrown
away.
He’s been making tools for 58
years. Even major agricultural
tool dealers, like John Deere, send
people to Bob when particular or
unusual parts are needed.
Recently, Penelec was delight
ed to find a real live blacksmith
still at work. “We were able to get
knives sharpened that we would
have otherwise have had to throw
away,” says a spokesman.
At 84, he’s not about to retire.
“I know most people consider re
tirement around the age of 65,”
Bob comments. “But, I don’t plan
to quit until they start digging a
hole.”
It’s difficult to visit Rock with
out having customers or visitors
interrupting. Some slop by to have
a tool fixed or a part for a machine
mended. He’ll take lime to fix a
Rock’s special handmade
banjos Include hand-paint
ed Indian paintings by local
artist Rita Popellsh.
wagon for a little boy or just to
chat with a farmer on a rainy day.
Bob is well known among Bed
ford County farmers for his “Rock
wagon,” and his thriftincss ex
tends to creating some tools or
knives out of scrap steel.
In more recent years, his fame
has spread to the world of music.
Bob can play the banjo, and, in
1960, he began making them to
sell. Today, he has banjos all over
the world including seven in Ire
land and five in Norway.
Bclicvjng in keeping things
simple. Bob keeps his orders un
der a rock and his paid receipts
fastened together with a clothes
pin. He never advertises. Ho
doesn’t have to, orders pile in
much faster than he can fill them.
Rock remembers the first time
he ever heard banjo music. Grow
ing up in a log cabin near the farm
where he lives today, Bob had
gone to Lut/villc with his father
for groceries. Someone was play
ing a record of banjo music and,
he couldn’t gel it out of his mind.
“l kept it in my head lor the
next couple of years,” he recalls.
“And, finally made my own in
strument. That banjo was fashion
ed from a lard can lid, some shav
ed out wooden pegs, and dynamite
wires were used for the siring.”
Rock played the instrument
completely from memory. It was
in the 1950 s that he got serious
about playing a real banjo and set
out in search of a good instrument.
Packing up his wife and son,
Bernard, he headed for Boston,
Massachusetts, where he wanted
to buy a Bigler instrument from
the factory. He was disappointed
when, upon arrival, he discovered
the factory was no longer making
a five stringed instrument.
“We were ready to leave,” he
recalls, “when my son looked up
and saw a banjo for sale in a music
store, it was second hand, but was
a good instrument. Some lady had
played it on the radio.”
Bob bought it and came back to
Bedford County to help start a
siring band which played for
square dances and fun events at
Camp Sunshine for the next 14
years.
Then an old friend, Ralph
Karns, began pestering Rock for
his banjo. He sold it and ordered
another for himself.
Growing impatient wailing for
the new instrument to arrive, he
decided to make his own. It was
such a success, he wished he
wouldn’t have ordered one.
When it came, his wishes were
increased. “It was just a piece of
junk,” he says. “It was such poor
workmanship that I just stuffed it
under a bed and left it there. Se
veral years later I sold it for 575,
which was much less than I had
paid but I just wanted to get rid of
it.”
It didn’t lake long for word ol
Rock’s banjo to spread. An owner
of a local store stopped by to sec il
she could buy it for her son. “I told
her n wasn’t lor sale,” he remem
bers. “But she persisted. And, I
decided il I made one, 1 could
make another.
“Then," Rock recalls, “some
one saw that banjo and came to me
for another. It just kept growing
that way.”
Somewhere over the next few
years, he did find lime to create an
instrument for himself which is
quite special. The neck is fashion
ed from walnut and the drum from
sassafras. His special banjos
known as, “Big Chicl,” include an
Indian painting designed by a lo
cal artist, Rita Popchsh. “She docs
excellent work,” Rock says.
“She’s an asset to my banjos.”
The heads of the banjos arc
always made from a special type
of plastic. “ They uscid to make
them from calf skin,” he com
ments. “But no one wants them
any more.”
Rock’s final touch is to decor
ate the neck with abalonc inlays.
Lancaster Farming, Saturday, January 12, 1991-811
Bob Rock playing one of his banjos
“The cost of abalonc has increased
so much in the past few years that
it’s almost getting prohibitive,” he
says. “When I started making ban
jos, it was SB5 a pound. Now it’s
more than S3OO.
“The quality of the music de
pends on the lone rings,” Rock
comments. “I’ve tried making
them from steel, brass and alum
inum. Aluminum seems to work
the best so that’s what I’m using
now.”
Rock attends banjo rallies. The
man he considers to be the best
banjo player this country ever had,
Lloyd Longakcrs, saw the Rock
banjo and wanted one. When that
order was complete, he continued
to place orders until he owned a
total of five.
Rock has squirreled several in
struments away for his great
grandsons. This was after furnish
ing his son and two granddaugh
ters with banjos for a country
music group which they have es
tablished. Some of the wood for
these family banjos came from the
Chinese chestnut tree Rock plant
ed on his farm more than 50 years
ago. He has also used wood from
butternut and walnut trees grown
on the farm.
Bob continues to play with a lo
cal group of string musicians.
They entertain at nursing homes
and senior citizen events around
the county.
Rock says playing the banjo is
easy for him because his fingers
have hardened from years and
years of blacksmithing.
Not one to neglect his physical
health, Rock runs on a regular ba
sis. Several years ago, he had to
leave his car at a g.trage about five
miles from his home. When the
mechanic offered him a ride home
he declined. “No thanks, I’ll just
run home,” he remember saying.
“No one believed I actually
Htcmesfead
c foies
meant run,” he laughs. “Were they
surprised when I took off down
the road at a near trot.”
He docs admit to shortening his
work hours in recent years. “I used
to always work until midnight,” he
says. “But recently I’ve been quit
ting about 9 p.m.”
Bob also finds time to care for
his wife who is seriously ill.
He would like to find more
hours in the day to do some work
with his metal detector. “I guess I
should just stop talcing orders,” he
says. “Because once I have an or
der, I always feel I have to fill it. I
always keep my word.”
Only six days of his weeks are
filled with work. On the seventh.
Rock rests. “It’s a promise I made
to myself a long time age,” he re
members. “I had a good job at a
local quarry. They asked me to
come in one Sunday and I explain
ed that it was against my princi
ples.”
Well, they told me that princi
ples or not, I would either come to
work on Sunday or not work I
chose the latter and started m>
own blacksmithing business. I’ve
never been sorry.”
For a time Rock’s son, Bernard,
helped his dad with the black
smilhmg. “Then people started
bringing him radios to be fixed,”
he remembers.
“Bernard didn’t know much
about radios, but he fixed them
anyway. Then, it was television ”
It wasn’t long after that that
Bernard realised how bad the tele
vision reception was in Bedford
County and he, a friend, and his
father started the first television
cable system in the area.
It was Bob who climbed the
trees to string the wires for the
system. “I was the only one who
wasn’t afraid,” Bob laughs. “I was
the monkey in die group.”