In October 1998, while attending the King Biscuit Blues Fest, I went into Eddie Mae’s Cafe in Helena, Arkansas looking to see if I could jump in on a good jam. I was hanging out in back of the joint waiting for some music to start, and there stood Frank Frost. I had seen Frank in the movie “Crossroads” back in the ’80s, but he looked rugged and road worn now. Years of health problems and living a blues man’s life had caught-up with him. I gave him a harmonica as a gift, and we sat and sipped whiskey together. Like me, Frank appreciated the woody, pure, cleanly dissipating essence of smooth Bourbon. I thought to myself that sipping whiskey from a paper cup might not be the exact prescription that Frank’s doctor had written for him, but it sure was working for me. Frank liked it too. Years of hurt, disappointment and suffering couldn’t hide the smile in his eyes as we talked about music and harmonicas and the red headed girl in the corner. There I was, with Frank Frost in a juke joint down in the Delta – it was a special moment for me. Frank died exactly one year later on October 12th, 1999. I want to help keep his name in front of people so I’m calling this harmonica Delta Frost. With its whiskey smooth, stainless steel cover plates, and its comb that’s been milled and rounded for comfort, this instrument is up to the task of helping to keep the memory of Frank alive. Most harmonicas have brass reeds, but the Delta Frost has longer lasting, copper colored, Phosphor Bronze reeds that not only provide hours of dependable play, but they produce the dirtiest, bluesy tone of any harmonica I’ve ever heard – it’s a “cracklely” tone that would fit right in down at Eddie Mae’s place. © Copyright, first use August 2003.