My father was a self-taught classical pianist and throughout my childhood the sounds of his music rang through our house. And in my mind’s eye I can still see him sitting at the baby grand playing a piece by Chopin or Beethoven. (See Moonlight Sonata)
That baby grand followed my folks from the house I grew up in, to one they moved to in their later years, and of course that house too was filled with my dad’s beautiful music – until years later when he died and the piano stood there silently, as if missing him as much as we did.
And less than thrre years later my mother was gone, and the sad task of selling their house fell to us. Family and friends took some of my folks’ furnishings, books, and keepsakes, but no one had room for a baby grand.
At a neighbor’s suggestion I advertised in the local paper that the baby grand would be given gratis to someone who would arrange for piano movers to take it. A lovely young family replied and said they’d love to have it for their musical son.
The movers arrived, removed its legs, wrapped the piano securely, and set it out on my parents’ front porch ready to load on their van. Then watching that van pull away from my parents’ house was heart-wrenching, but I knew my dad’s baby grand was going to a good home.
And I knew what was a bittersweet ending for our family would be a sweet beginning for another.
– Dana Susan Lehrman
Dear Dana, The timing of your story is fascinating. I had considered getting rid of my piano in Lakeridge. I’m not playing it much, and it needs work. But I have a sentimental attachment to it. My grandmother left me some money when she died in 1964, and I bought the piano. It’s a second-hand Steinway and has a wonderful tone. I decided, just last Friday, to keep it. I’ve bought two side dining chairs which will sit on either side of it. My grandmother played the piano, and I would play my clarinet, forming a duo. The piano that I have in my New York apartment was hers, and it’s beautiful — that piano will go out when I go out! Your story speaks to me.xoxo, Alice
I’m so glad Alice!
Keep the piano and let me hear you play it, and do you still have the clarinet?
To lose such a vital connection to your father!
Thanx Glenn, my dad’s been gone 30 years but our parents never really leave us, do they.
It was lovely seeing you and our other old friends at Reunion!
Watching such a beloved part of your childhood disappear is wrenching but you had the best possible response!
Thank you Paula.
In a writing workshop I took years ago we were prompted to write about an inanimate object that had special meaning for us.
My piece was called My Father’s Piano.
Very nostalgic story.
Reminded me of our Baldwin Acrosonic piano on which my sister and I took lessons, in my case from 5th grade until my bar mitzvah when sports superseded my musical talent. We each practiced one hour a day/ 6 days a week and on the 7th day Mrs Hilda Kornfeld came to our 1BR Bronx apartment to give us a one hour lesson.
I had little talent but my sister got into Music and Art and went for a year before transferring to Walton HS where my mother had gone.
The piano was a beautiful mahogany and followed me from the Bronx to AL and the army, and then to Miami where it resides in my living room, painted white many years ago.
I sat down at it and tried to play Fur Elise by memory and my fingers remembered more than my brain. One of my children took lessons on that piano. I have it tuned annually and it’s done electronically while Mrs Kornfeld and Beethoven are both spinning in their graves as sadly now is my sister.
You’ve done it again Ms Brown eyes. I’ll probably dream about that piano tonight. And BTW I did play at a competition for which I got a certificate, at Town Hall where the judge was Van Cliburn’s mother. But it was more important to me that I was struck out in a HS baseball game against Monroe by Ed Kranepool. He probably doesn’t remember.
Thanks for stimulating my amyloid riddled brain.
I don’t know how well your riddled brain remembers Phil, but your heart certainly does.
Love your Bronx, piano – playing memories, and my fingers too remember those opening bars of Fur Elise!
And BTW I went to Monroe with Ed Kranepool and I bet he remembers that he struck you out!