Philadelphia recently lost one of the biggest personalities of it's Classical Guitar Scene. Bob Page passed away on the morning of July 26th, at the age of 1985.
As a classical guitarist who went to college in Philadelphia, I was familiar with Bob's personality. We all knew him as a somewhat onery old man, and the joke was you couldn't go into The Classical Guitar Store without him mentioning Paris ("They've had this kind of parking meter in Paris for years!). And, of course, his absolute disgust at anyone playing Stairway To Heaven was legendary.
I worked for Bob on Monday evenings for 1 year after I graduated. After he passed, my college classmates and I shared stories via a text thread. And, as I shared my stories, it became clear that Bob also had a warm and generous heart, even for non-Francophiles.
I'd like to share two of these stories here. They're rather short, but worth sharing.
No Interest
When I was working at the Classical Guitar Store, I was also building up my own private teaching practice. One Monday afternoon, I was just making small talk with Bob about the process of moving out of my apartment. I was moving across town to West Philadelphia, where I still am today. But, my business had been built in Norther Liberties, and I was going to rent a small hole-in-the-wall in Fishtown to teach out of.
I was sharing the financial details of this with Bob (mainly, saving up for 2 security deposits) just as small talk. Bob was working at the computer and, without even looking up from the screen, said "Do you want to borrow the money?"
I was taken quite aback at this offer and hesitated in my response. Bob picked up on this immediately and looked up over his glasses at me and simply said "No interest".
Pho
As I recall, Bob was a huge fan of Pho, and was sure to remind you it's actually pronounced closer to "Fa". I had asked him his favorite Pho restaurant and filed it away in my memory for future use (For the record: It's a now-defunct place on Washington Ave in South Philly).
Fast-forward to an evening that I was feeling very down and rejected about a girl. I decided to take myself out to eat as a little pick-me-up. So I went to the Pho restaurant Bob recommended.
As I walk in, who is waiting to be seated in front of me but Bob, Michael Good, and... oh, I forget his name. The French Luthier who makes the very expensive guitars. Bob absolutely insisted that I eat with them, and so my night of secluded dejection turned into a night of random international guitar socialization. And it took a further turn when the wine Bob had brought turned out to be spoilt. Bob apologized for this profusely, picked up my tab, and insisted that we all retire to his house to have a proper glass of wine.
I went to the restaurant that evening feeling dejected. I left Bob's house and biked back to West Philly feeling like the universe favored me with an urban adventure that few else would've had.
