"I remember one occasion where Joe left the guitar in the car overnight," she says. "It was secluded, so there was no danger of it being stolen, but it got a little cold out. The next day, when Joe realized what he had done, he ran out brought the guitar inside. For 20 minutes he kept wiping the guitar, almost as if to warm it. As he rubbed polish on it he spoke to it, or to Duane, saying he was sorry about the mishap and would never let it happen again. That was the only time I observed him letting his feelings about the guitar be known. He never left it outside again."

Today, Marshall suffers from a health condition that makes speaking difficult. Some of his responses to the questions below, therefore, were compiled from remembrances he shared with family and close friends. Other commentary was gathered from memories he either wrote down himself or expressed in a previously recorded interview. What emerges from Marshall's fond recollections is not only the tremendous regard he had for Duane, but, by inference, a portrait of the degree of devotion Duane felt toward those he considered friends.

As regards the '59 Cherry Burst, Marshall ultimately presented it to Duane's daughter, Galadrielle, in accordance with an informal understanding and a love for Duane. Below are Marshall's remarkable remembrances of the man who came to be known as Skydog.

How did you first meet Duane?: A friend and I first met the band—back when they were the Allman Joys-- at a place called Pepe's A Go-Go, in St. Louis. This was in November of 1966. We were passing by and heard them playing The Beatles' "Drive My Car." We peeked through an opening in the drapes and saw this young guy playing guitar. His hair was nearly down to his shoulders, and he was rocking back and forth as he played. When they took a break we met the band outside, and they invited us up to their apartment above the nightclub.