Chuck Levin's Riff 'n' Ready Charm

"I would call my dad, and say, 'Um, Dad, we need a PA system tonight.' "

"He'd come home from work with a PA system in the back of his car, help set it up and run the sound for us. . . . It was all because Chuck Levin would let us use the stuff, because we were part of the family."

Now when Dad is there for a sound check, it's in Madison Square Garden, which the band sold out earlier this year. But they still buy all their equipment from the Levins.

"I saw Robert write an order for the Rolling Stones, a monitor console, on the back of a string pack in the middle of a conversation with me," recalls Smith. "It took about 15 seconds. And he never said, 'That was the Rolling Stones.' Robert is not going to do that. He's not a boastful guy. It's the natural course of business there."

All Business

Okay, kill the smoke machine. Groupies, exit stage left. Behind the daydreams of fame is the no-nonsense scaffolding of a serious retail business.

Chuck's has thrived by keeping a wide and deep inventory in its warehouses and basement storerooms, by getting ultra-knowledgeable salespeople and keeping them around for decades, and by never missing an opportunity.

"When Kennedy died, Mom and Dad had a bathtub full of dye for the harnesses for the instruments. The marching bands had to wear black, but nobody had black straps," says Alan Levin.

To hold the line against what Robert calls "the bane of my existence" -- the Guitar Center chain, with its four area stores -- Chuck's has also stayed flexible, following the curves of the business as it shifted away from live bands toward DJs. . It rents thousands of instruments each school year and does millions of dollars in institutional sales. The Music Center is selling to the Navy, Air Force, Army and Marine bands. It's selling to schools in places like Cobb County, Ga. It does a heavy volume of church business.

Finally, there's just the good old-fashioned sell-sell-sell ethic of the family business. "When all of a sudden the phones weren't ringing for some reason, that would drive Mr. Levin nuts," says Judy Drengwitz, a 28-year veteran who handles institutional sales. "There's no such thing as sitting around, flicking on the Internet."

In an online testimonial, one regular customer remembered asking Chuck Levin what instrument he played. His answer: "The cash register."

Everybody Counts

You don't want to get someone going about Chuck Levin.

"When Chuck died, there was a line of cars, and I'm not exaggerating, that went a third of the way across Montgomery County," says Smith, the guitarmaker. "It was one of the most remarkable things I've ever seen in my life."