SPRINGERVILLE, Ariz.—Wayne, 56, was the first to arrive with his electric acoustic guitar tucked under his arm. Soon, the musicians would all be gathered around the big table, jamming away like they do every Wednesday afternoon.
“This place is like a haven for me—my church. My second home,” Wayne said as he described Junk & Java, a coffee and antiques shop in the foothills of the White Mountains in Springerville, Arizona.
It’s a “welcoming place, like ‘Cheers,’” he said.
The man, affectionately known as “Jam-pa” to his family and friends, laid the guitar gently on the banquet table and took a seat at the electric piano.
He began thumbing through pages of a musical score, squinting through wire-rim glasses with eyes that “aren’t getting any younger.”
Slowly, his fingers began strolling up and down the piano keyboard, keeping the rhythm and time of the sheet music before he switched over to playing guitar.
He flipped a button, and the guitar hummed to life, then adjusted the strings until he was satisfied. He then began strumming chords from Jethro Tull’s “Aqualung,” a cautionary song about a lonely outcast.
Behind him—a life-size cutout of a smiling young Elvis in a pink satin suit stood frozen in the glittering moment.
Next to the King of Rock‘ N’ Roll was a saxophone, mandolin, guitar, and banjo mounted on the wall, along with a big sign that read, “Waiting Room Tickets.”
Though no tickets were necessary, as the music was free—and has been free since Cheryl and Teddy Tisdale first opened their shop to anyone with a song in their heart.
The couple believe that if you can play it, you should come.
And come they have—by the dozens.
The informal jam sessions began four years ago. At first, it was “just me, my brother, and my uncle”—music lovers all, said Mrs. Tisdale, 63, who sings and plays acoustic guitar as a pastime.
“Pretty soon, there was somebody else. We just kept it going.”
As time went on, the group grew into a loyal core of 10 musicians, others less committed and those who have yet to come in and play.
“We had a couple who came in from Texas and made it a point just to play music with us,” said Wayne, who learned to play guitar while growing up in southern California.
At age 5, he was already learning to play the piano thanks to his grandmother. She taught him with an old Steinway and the books she'd read, though she couldn’t play a note herself.
“But she taught me the fundamentals,” Wayne said.
When his parents started going to church in Newport Beach, they met Mary Mancini, wife of Tom Mancini, the brother of Academy and Grammy Award-winning composer and conductor Henry Mancini, who wrote “The Pink Panther Theme,” “Moon River,” “Baby Elephant Walk,” and many other titles.
Mary Mancini agreed to give Wayne piano lessons. He considers himself fortunate because “everybody in that family were prodigies.”
“Henry was like the Burt Bacharach of the ‘60s. I really learned a ton from Mary. I taught myself guitar” as a left-handed player.
Jimi Hendrix also played left-handed. “I just went with it,” Wayne said.
He later played in a variety of funk bands, and recorded over a dozen unpublished CDs of original music, but he shunned the limelight and never tried to market his music.
“I see the industry and how evil it is now. I have no interest,” Wayne said. “I have faith in God. I have faith in our Constitution. I have morals. There are few morals in the entertainment industry. And I’ve never had a big ego.”
“I have no desire for admiration, notoriety, or fame. I’ve seen the destructive power in it. The money is fake. I’ve got a house paid for. I’m retired. I want to enjoy life.”
In that regard, he views himself as one of many pilgrims in a “Mecca of musicians” at Junk & Java.
“What I love about these [jam sessions] is you can get a total pro to walk in the door—which we have at times—or you'll get a novice. And they’re all welcome,” Wayne told The Epoch Times and asked that his full name not be used to protect his privacy.
“We don’t care if you can play three chords or Beethoven,” he said. “We had a lady from Oklahoma and her daughter. They were moving. They went out to their trailer and got their fiddles and blew us away.”
Then there was the woman from St. Louis who sang the Blues—and man, could she sing them with feeling, he said.
Like love and mathematics, music is a “universal language,” he said.
“If it’s a good rhythm and melody, it’s going to touch your soul. That’s the beauty of it.”
Studies show that music not only soothes and relaxes the mind after a hard day at work; it can be a personal life-preserver during times of stress and difficulty.
Music can also help people connect with their innermost selves and work through chaotic emotions, heartbreak, trauma, isolation, and physical pain.
“Music is always there, you can rely on it. Music never lets you down. It’s a source of hope that never dims or diminishes. It’s a constant spring of beats, sounds, and living,” according to Louder Than War, a music and culture website.
“Those sorts of difficult times are usually very personal, we live them on our own private terms, but the current turmoil is different. Although its hardships are unevenly spread, it is shared and collective.”
Wayne is no stranger to physical pain after the doctors diagnosed him with a degenerative lower back disease.
The pain was so bad that in 2012, he decided to retire after a long career in a high-security office at the Department of Homeland Security in California.
He'd been taking prescription opiates to deal with the pain—and he nearly died.
“I couldn’t breathe one night,” Wayne said. “I got up and prayed to God, if you help me get off this stuff, I'll quit cold turkey.”
He spent eight years lying in bed, researching other states to relocate since California had lost most of its luster in a changing political climate.
“I started looking at YouTube and City Council meetings. That’s how boring my life was,” he said.
Still, he never stopped looking for those greener forests and pastures. On the advice of a friend, he found them in the town of Eagar, Arizona, next door to Springerville, and bought a house there in 2020 around the pandemic.
“I kept coming back to this area—Round Valley. I love it. It’s like ‘Mayberry RFD,’” he said.
Wayne said his music helped him through many hard times—the day his daughter was born “out of wedlock,” work stress, firings, transfers, and “yes, people.”
“If I’m feeling blue, I have a guitar hanging on the wall by my bed. It takes the mind to a happier place—even if it’s four minutes—the time of a song.”
In 2012, Wayne got rid of his television to tune out the noise of the world. He doesn’t own a cellphone and prefers communication in person.
The weekly jam sessions are about more than just the music, he said. They provide him with a venue for like-minded people to discuss whatever bothers them in a society gone wrong.
“Personally, our nation is circling the drain,” Wayne said. “Art is a mirror for the times. That’s how I look at it. Even though I’m in pain, my life has a purpose.
“I see the way the country is polarized, and I think it’s on purpose. If you stop and think about all this stuff [too long], you'll be in a straight jacket. That’s why I love this place.”
His advice: “Keep it simple—and play guitar.”
Pastor Larry is another local musician who sings and plays the bass. His signature song: “Help Me Make It Through The Night” by Kris Kristofferson.
Though his music is essential, his faith comes first.
“We all basically think the same way,” Wayne said. “Even though we’ve all been canceled by friends to a degree, I’ve got people who won’t even talk to me anymore in California because I’m a Trump supporter.”
When the soulful music takes a deep dive into government and politics, the musicians ride the same current of thought:
“Question authority,” a man playing guitar said.
“Question everything,” said another musician, while another added, “Think for yourself.”
Wayne took it a step further: “Live every day like it’s your last,” he said. “Someday, it will be.”
