The Quiet Octave

She said to me one Friday evening, "Oh you know what I did today? I bought a piano!! Now, not having more than two nickels to rub together, I exclaimed in a somewhat heated manner, "You did what?! "Don't worry", said she, "It only cost $5.00!" Somewhat mollified, I found the piano was old and belonged to Eddy, a friend. So I contacted 5 other guys, promised them beer and then rented a trailer. They arrived the next morning and we started out for Eddy's home.In that Eddy had a cement slab just the right height for the trailer, it was no problem running the piano right onto the trailer and as we drove away, I noticed two heavily indented tire tracks in Eddy's lawn. On arrival at my home I drove the trailer up on my cemented driveway avoiding any indentation in my lawn and we unloaded the piano onto my "stoop" (Is that term still used?) and got it most of the way into my foyer/living room. That's when the trouble began. You knew there would be trouble didn't you? A staircase coming from upstairs was in the way and I removed a wrought iron railing so that we were able to lift the piano over the base of the stairs and get it into the living room. Our objective was to get it in the room with the wall we were backed up to but I found out pianos don't BEND and we couldn't get it around the two corners required to put the beast (By now I am getting unfriendly) into was what a spare bedroom. I should explain we had a spare room only because I had worked my tail off building two rooms and a bath up stairs in our "expandable " home. So there we stood, 5 guys having a beer, while I fumed a bit . You understand this was our first home and our living room was quite small. There that blasted monster stood, heaving and smoking with all our furniture and rugs and lamps pushed to one side of the room so that we could get the piano to its destination. At this point my frustration hit a new high and in somewhat of an unpleasant voice I said to my dear wife "I am leaving for New York in one hour. You had better call someone and have that #@%o:that#%$@&*&^% taken out of here before I get home Friday night!!!!" I arrived home Friday and was greeted by that thing in the same place it was when I left. I fumed and fussed and she said she couldn't get anyone that wanted it. At which point I stated in a voice that all five of the guys that helped must have been able to hear. I might add they lived in different parts of the city. "Well then" said I, its going to rot there," and I sat in the only chair available to read my trade paper. The next night my brother, Jack, came over and asked what the piano was doing there and I replied in a sarcastic tone, "Its rotting". I explained the circumstances and he said "We can't leave it there" to which I testily said, "I can"! He went out to his car, brought in his tool box and proceeded to begin to take it apart. What a nice guy my brother turned into. I joined in and when it was down to a harp we rolled it back into the spare room. It took us until mid-night to get it back together with no pieces left over and I sat down to play it and, you probably saw this coming, not a sound emitted from the piano. At this point, with a larger dose of frustration than I have ever known, my normally, nicely modulated voice rose into a stentorian bellow and I shouted "Louise, didn't you try this piano before you bought it??" I think she had left the house rather then reply. At this point, I looked at Jack and the humor of the past week began to infect me and soon he and I are laughing . Yes, we are laughing at the piano that didn't give up a sound and for the two years it sat there, it never did.

GETTING TO KNOW RACHMANINOFF

Entry for May 31, 2007
It all happened one night at the home of my Grandparents in Syracuse N.Y. Although my home was in Buffalo N.Y., Syracuse was where I went when my parents wanted to lose me. My cousin Bob Dodd was an excellent pianist and was playing a classical number of some great difficulty. He completed the piece and amidst the cheers from those assembled there, my Grandmother Dodd leaned over and said to me "Jimmie, don't you wish you could play like that? I replied, peevishly, "I could if I wanted to". Ah, that was my mistake. Now I had a personal challenge to prove me right. When summer approached I, somehow, acquired the number entitled "Rachmaninoff's Prelude in C# Minor". It had more notes than I had ever seen in my life and although I had been taught piano by Mrs Mueller from ages 7 to 10, never had I looked at a piece that was so scary. Nevertheless, I had issued to myself an obstacle which now looked to be way over my head. This piece began with three ominous notes that sounded like a frightening horror movie and went Bong, Bong, Bong, each note descending on the keyboard. Some of the chords had more notes than I had fingers on both hands!! But I practice religiously every day and some times twice a day and that Bong, Bong, Bong, must have driven my Grandparents crazy and yet they permitted me to continue my project without a word. Of course whenever I made a mistake I had to go back to the beginning and do the Bong Bong Bong again. However, after several weeks it was beginning to come together and I had reached a point where my fingers automatically went to the proper chords without having to read the page and think about it. So, Summer had concluded and I was enrolled in High School, attending parties and finding a piano there. I would sit down and play to the attending cheers the piece I had spent many weeks perfecting it. Then someone would say, "Play something else, Jimmie". In an embarrassed voice I would reply "I can't!. Thats all I know." In retrospect it was my love for my Gramma Dodd that propelled me to finish the task and validate my words "I could if I wanted to." I had accomplished my purpose and although I never did learn another piece of music with that degree of skill, I did get to know Sergei Rachmaninoff and he didn't turn out to be so bad after all.