His Calling Was Blowing In the Wind

Life has a way of teaching humility to those who would make their living with a harmonica.

It is not a calling accorded gobs of respect.

Fathers do not look forward to the day little Cindy comes home with her cheeks flushed and a faraway look in her eyes.

“Oh, dad, great news. I’m engaged to the most wonderful man, and he plays a Hohner Marine Band harmonica--professionally!”

Systems analyst, whatever that is--now there’s a job. Or software engineer. But a professional harmonica player? Isn’t that like being a professional Slinky operator? How can anyone make a living off a stocking stuffer? With the Ed Sullivan Show off the air 28 years now, where does a harmonica player seek fame and glory?

“Oh, I wish I had a nickel for every dive I’ve played,” Bobby Joe Holman moaned the other day in the breakfast nook of his Thousand Oaks condo.

That sounds like the blues, I pointed out over my coffee.

“Yes, it does,” he said with a faraway look in his eyes. “Yes, it does.”

*

At 51, Holman is one of the best-known harmonica teachers in the U.S. He puts out instructional videotapes (“Play Harmonica in One Hour”) and books of harmonica technique. He has transcribed music for harmonica and done harmonica lessons on PBS kid shows. He has taught over the phone and been written up in “Easy Reeding,” the newsletter of Hohner Inc., the world’s largest harmonica manufacturer.

Holman has taught the blues in California prisons--a coals-to-Newscastle task if ever there was one. He hammered home the fundamentals of theory to men who had “fried every brain cell they’d ever even thought about having.” And, to women “who would snuff you in a heartbeat”--including one of Charles Manson’s former sweeties--he taught gentle ballads.

Now he teaches suburban kids at Borders in Thousand Oaks. He also teaches through Learning Tree University and the Conejo Valley Arts Council.

Holman’s lesson No. 1: The harmonica is no toy. It’s the quickest way under the sun to let the music inside you make its way out.

“It takes five to 10 years to really learn piano,” Holman said. “It takes a year to build up calluses for the guitar. Even then, you’ll have problems if your fingers are too short or too fat. Then there are lots of people who’d just love to sing--but can’t. But there’s always the harmonica!”

At times, Holman borders on harmonica evangelism.

“I’ve seen what the harmonica can do for people,” he insisted.

I had to know, so I asked.

“It can revive your soul!” he said.

*

Some years back, it was Holman’s soul that needed resuscitation. Laid off from his latest day job--as a carpenter in Rialto, he slipped into a funk. By then he’d played decades’ worth of dives. He knew he was good but he’d never be a Harmonica Fats.

“I was always the best around, but it was always in these Podunk places,” he said. “Who even cares?”

At the musicians’ union, job listings were scarce.

“If I’d have played bagpipes or mariachi, I’d be working every day of my life,” he said.

But there was one call for a harmonica player: Someone needed a teacher for an instructional video. Holman knew the drill because he’d been teaching on and off for years: Blow on eight, draw on 10, bend this note, lift that bale.

At around that time, Holman had the kind of revelation that transforms midlife crisis into midlife contentment.

“I finally realized my calling,” he said. “When you’re growing up, you’re led to believe that to be successful, you have to be famous. Well, I’m not famous. I realized it isn’t about me all the time--’I want to be famous, I want to win, I want the Academy Award’--I just wanted to share my passion for this musical instrument and what it can do for people. Since I had that revelation, I’ve just let it all flow.”

*

The other morning, Holman had just completed the harmonica notations for his book on the music of bluesman Sonny Boy Williamson. His next project: a book of interviews with harmonica greats like Larry Adler, Toots Thielemans, Little Stevie Wonder and Bill Waldman, a member of an old novelty group called the Harmonica Rascals.

“To get to do that . . .,” he said in wonder. “To meet these cats . . . .”

Up-and-coming players are different, he said. They challenge the limits of harmonica physics. They bend notes into shapes never before heard, twisting the old standards into melodic pretzels.

“I’m more of a B.B. King,” he said. “He plays just five notes--but on those five notes, he can take you around the world.”

Steve Chawkins is a Times staff writer. His e-mail address is steve.chawkins@latimes.com.