In any normal business, it would require an engineer to design a good amplifier circuit, a designer to create the casework, an assembly house to put it all together, a quality control team to do the testing, a packing and shipping department, and a whole team of folks to do the marketing. Don did it all himself, and he didn't even have a website or run ads. In the 21st century, he did not have a website. Let that soak in for a moment . . . . . . . . . . . It was all word of mouth, and some passionate reviews, which was how I discovered his work. You see, the amps belong in the Museum of Modern Art. They are gorgeous pieces of industrial sculpture. And the sound? I never grow tired of them. My heart beats a little faster when I power them up. Stereo fanatics are usually thinking about speakers and wires and tubes and transistors, but I tend to forget all about that stuff with my Fi gear, and I simply bathe in the music that they so effortlessly loose into the room, much in the same way that my best saxophones allow me to forget technique and totally focus on the emotions of the art.
I was surprised to find out that, although he lived in Brooklyn for most of his adult life, he was from Virginia, and his father was from Harrisonburg, where I currently teach at the very university where his parents met - then Madison College, but now James Madison University. I wasn't surprised to find out that Don Garber was (primarily) a gifted painter, and I was even less surprised still to find out that he was a saxophonist in his younger years. His work reflects the soul of an artist, in every regard. Even the intricately cutout cardboard puzzle pieces that he used to pack his amps for safe shipping were strikingly unique and oddly beautiful. I hated to recycle them.
When I first contacted Don, he asked about my speakers and he expressed concern that they might not work with his amps (and he was right). He tried to talk me out of ordering, but I told him that I would gladly put the amps in the closet and save up for the right speakers. When the amps didn't mate well with my Tannoys, he gave me detailed instructions on how to rewire the output transformers for a 4 ohm load. I remember him calling me up and saying "how are you with a soldering iron? You're going to need 40 watts, if you don't have one already." I ordered a heavy duty soldering iron that same day. He sent me copies of his hand-drawn schematics and he even gave me some of his preferred solder, free of charge. In the end, as fate would have it, I had inherited some old Wharfedale speakers a few years earlier that turned out to be perfect mates for my Fi 300b, but the bottom line was that he wasn't happy until I was happy. For the record, I am, to this very day, tears-on-cheeks, don't look at me, I need a minute . . . that happy. They have been singing in my listening room ever since.
Down the road, Don contacted me with concern that a reviewer wanted to order, for his personal use, a pair of Fi 300b amps to use with speakers similar to mine - the ones that didn't work, because complex crossovers are the work of the devil, by the way. He was hoping that I could talk the guy out of it. Who does that?!!! "I don't want you to buy my expensive, hand-made product because I don't think it will work for you." Don cared. It wasn't about money or ego. He wanted to share a piece of his soul with you. I have owned all kinds of interesting electronics, but Don's amps are the only ones that I could honestly call "soulful." The way they look, the way they work, the way they sound . . . every aspect tells you something about their creator. He was part Picasso, part mad scientist, and all in.
Fast forward: I hadn't been in touch with Don for a few years, so I decided to write him a letter around the holidays. I let him know how much I love the amplifiers, and how they have become the center of many intimate social gatherings in my home. I thanked him for being such a devoted artist. He got back to me very quickly with a particularly artsy card and a handwritten note, complete with a Sarah Vaughn stamp. It is worth noting that even Don's handwriting spoke to his attention to detail. It was almost like a stylized version of architect script, very clean and legible, but also quite distinctive and unique, and captured on the printed logo on his amplifiers. Anyway, I am so grateful for this final exchange between us. I was surprised and saddened to hear of his passing, but I could not have engineered a finer farewell to a person that I deeply admired.
It isn't very often that you hardly know a person and yet somehow, you feel like old friends. I suspect that Don Garber was simply that sort of person, the kind that instantly felt well worn and comfortable. The world was better with Don in it, and I will feel his absence for a long time, but I am among the lucky owners of these amazing amplifiers that contain a little reflection of his soul. Every time I play music through them and find myself quietly sobbing, or laughing out loud - every time I forget about the artifice and drown in the art, my friend Don will be right there with me.
