HE GOT NO RESPECT

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I tuned pianos for many of the big night clubs that flourished in South Jersey before the advent of the Atlantic City casinos, which killed them all off. Because I could come and go as I pleased, I often dropped in to see performers I was interested in. Although I am a musician, I was always fascinated with the comics. Rodney Dangerfield was one of my favorites. "I used to date a girl from Buffalo," he'd say, "why can't I meet a girl with normal parents?" Pure corn by modern standards, but, I loved it. Unlike today's comics who do a ten minute routine, five minutes of which is four letter words, the guys like Rodney could do an hour or more and keep it clean. In those days most clubs presented two shows a night. One night I finished up my regular piano tuning service calls and headed over to the club to catch the end of Rodney's second show. Backstage he lamented that he had a toothache that was killing him and he intended to find a dentist first thing in the morning. I told him that most of the dentists in the area were tuning customers of mine and I knew a few who had offices attached to their homes. I would call my wife at home and have her access my files and find a dentist who was willing to open up his office at this late hour and take care of the tooth immediately. My wife soon called back and I drove Rodney to the dentist. I was in the room for the examination. As the dentist poked and prodded around Rodney's mouth accessing the problem I heard Rodney say," I've got lousy teeth doc, but, my kids have great teeth. Thank goodness my wife cheats on me!" As the doctor arranged his dental instruments Rodney gripped the arms of the chair and with a look of panic on his face inquired, "Warden, has the governor called yet?" The dentist took no fee for his work except for a few photos of him and Rodney taken by me. Rodney insisted that the doctor and his wife come to the club to see his show the following night from a ringside table with dinner on him.
Rodney passed away around age 82 from heart problems. I knew his legal name was Jack Roy, changed from his birth name Jacob Cohen early on in his life. I wondered what name he would be buried under. He went with Rodney Dangerfield on his headstone. The inscription? "There goes the neighborhood."

CRIMINAL MINDS

NEWS PHOTO

Criminal Minds is a popular television show about FBI profilers who often figure out crimes before they happen based on psychological clues.  About 25 years ago I unwittingly became a profiler and predicted a murder months before it happened.  Unfortunately, I was not believed and the ending was tragic.

Due to spousal abuse, a piano tuning client of mine had her husband removed from their home and filed for divorce.  She had been a music major in college and loved playing her piano. Despite having a restraining order in place, her husband got into the house when she was at work and filled the entire inside of the piano with kitty liter which made the piano unplayable.  It took me an entire day to clean it out.  A few weeks later the husband again entered the house and broke off many of the hammers which disabled most of the keys. Once again I had to do a big repair job.  A month later the husband got into the house again and took a hammer to the entire piano which rendered the instrument useless.  I explained to the wife that the violence was escalating and I was certain the next time her husband returned he would go after her.  I suggested she move out.  She dismissed my suggestion and asked me to find her another piano.  Unhappy with the way she brushed me off, I dropped by the local Police Station and asked that they put the house under surveillance since I was sure a tragedy was in the making.  One again I got the brush off.

A few weeks later I read in the newspaper that the husband entered the house, abused the wife, and then shot her to death.  He then drove his truck to a remote location along a nearby river bank, put his gun in his mouth, and blew most of his head off.  Would things have turned out differently had my warnings been acted upon?  You decide.

THE HONEST MILKMAN

MILKMAN AND HIS DIVCO  TRUCK

 Most of those who read my blog on line are under fifty years of age and probably have little to no recollection of home milk delivery which was all but over by 1976. Therefore, a brief history lesson is in order. Before the advent of modern preservatives, milk did not have a long shelf life. It also had to be packaged in glass bottles with cardboard stoppers.  Maximum container size was one quart.  Most households required fresh milk several times a week, if not daily. Add to that the fact that the convenience stores we all take for granted, had not yet planted themselves on every corner.  Enter the milkman.  His job was to go thru a neighborhood house by house and deliver the dairy goods required by each household.  Milk was the staple, but, often butter, eggs, and fruit juices were also available.  Next to each doorstep was a small insulated box.  The consumer left a note in the box to let the milkman know what to deliver that day along with empty bottles to return from the previous delivery.  Once a week the milkman left a bill in the box for goods received.  In turn, the consumer left a cash payment that the milkman retrieved on his next visit.  In those days people seldom used checks for small payment amounts.  Also, in those days, most people were honest and would not steal the cash out of a milk box. Milk was delivered in special trucks made by DIVCO  (Detroit Industrial Vehicles COmpany) which allowed the milkman to drive while standing up and exit the truck from either side.  The trucks were not refrigerated relying on dry ice to keep the milk cold. DIVCO ceased manufacturing after nearly sixty years in 1986.  Today DIVCO trucks are highly sought after by collectors.  Milkmen always wore uniforms, as did most blue collar professionals years ago.  Compare the smartly uniformed gas station attendant or cab driver of yesteryear, complete with hat and bow tie, to the last guy who pumped your gas, or, drove you to the airport.

 In 1966 a woman contacted me to service her piano.  She complained that many of the keys were making no sound at all and many more keys were sluggish and hard to push down.  I knew from experience that something had gotten into the mechanism of the piano.  Over the years I have extracted pencils, toys, eye glasses, coins, jewelry, photographs, greeting cards, paper money, dead rodents, you name it.  In the case of this piano it was approximately $1700.00 in cash.  About twelve thousand dollars in 2017 money.  Her husband, a milkman, was napping in another part of the house, resting up after doing his early morning milk route.  Her excited shrieking woke him up.  He ran to the living room to investigate and found me, forceps in hand, pulling bunches of cash out of the family piano.  His wife continued to shriek.  At this point he remembered that years earlier he had put the receipts from his milk route on top of the piano and retired to the bedroom to take his usual nap. When he awoke later that afternoon the money had disappeared.  Given the fact that most folks did not lock their doors in those days he assumed someone had come into the house and stolen  the money.  He called his supervisor at the dairy he drove his milk route for and was instructed to file a police report and then forget about the money.  The dairy's insurance carrier would cover the loss.

What actually had happened was that he had rolled up the money into a wad and placed a rubber band around it.  The bankroll was knocked inside the piano when someone, probably one of his children, opened the key cover without noticing the money.  Over the years the rubber band rotted away allowing the loosened money to migrate throughout the playing mechanism of the piano until it obstructed the keys.  The honest milkman returned the cash to his employer who ethically returned it to the insurance company who had paid out the claim years earlier.  To my surprise, about a month later, I received a check from the insurance carrier for $200.00.  About $1400.00 in 2017 money.  The notation on the memo portion of the check read FINDER FEE. My wife and I took a nice vacation thanks to the honest milkman.

THE VICIOUS DOG

About forty years ago I was tuning a piano to the accompaniment of a constantly barking dog. The lady I was tuning for kept apologizing for the racket. I told her that I often tune pianos in school cafeterias with the students rioting, or, in piano stores with customers trying out nearby instruments. Noise does not bother me, I simply ignore it and concentrate on my work. I told her I felt sorry for her living next door to such constant racket. She explained that the barking came from a German Shepard that belonged to her next door neighbors. They left the dog chained outside, day and night, on a short four foot chain, very thick, and, padlocked around the dog's neck. The dog kept quiet when it's owners were at home, because, if he did not, they would beat him with a broom handle, or, burn him with lit cigarettes. People who lived on the block feared the couple and considered them crazy, so, none dared call the authorities about the poor dog's plight. A few of the men had once tried to turn the dog loose, but, were stopped by the padlock on the chain around the dogs neck. Also, the dog was extremely vicious due to his torments and tried to bite anyone who came near. There seemed to be nothing anyone could do for the helpless animal. I determined that I would rescue the dog. I would steal him.

I telephoned my wife Lois and had her drive to the dog's address to take photos of his surroundings while I finished my days work. We had a Polaroid Land Camera which developed and printed its own photos. It was normally used to photograph pianos for insurance appraisals. This day it would do reconnaissance duty. That evening we went over the photos and laid our plans.

The next day, when we were sure the dog's owners were away at work, we backed our piano moving van into their driveway parking as close to the dog as we could. We let down the piano ramp and opened one of the rear doors. We laid a trail of hot dog pieces from the dog's area, up the ramp, and, into the van. The entire time the dog was barking viciously, snarling, and bearing his ample teeth. The plan was that I would bait the dog with the hot dog pieces, he would start munching them down, and he would follow their trail up the ramp and into the van. At some point, I would cut the chain with a large pair of bolt cutters I had brought from our shop. Once the dog was in the van my wife would slam the door and we would drive off. The dog wanted no part of our plan. He did not want to eat the hot dogs. He wanted to eat me, or, at least bite off an arm or leg! I now worried that the heavy chain was not thick enough to hold him back!

My baby daughter Jane was with us, sleeping in the cab of the truck. Somehow, my wife got the inspired idea to offer the dog a jar of baby food. I removed the cap and used the bolt cutters to shove the jar within the dog's reach. He sniffed it suspiciously and stuck is tongue into the jar for a taste. If dogs can smile, he did!
Lois quickly opened another jar and soon had the dog eating out of her hand. She lured him up the ramp as I cut the chain. Once the dog was inside the van Lois set the jar of baby food down and jumped off the back of the truck as I slammed the door shut. We drove off with the dog raising all hell back in the cargo area! We had counted on the fact that no one would be home to witness our caper at that time of the day, and, it turned out, we counted right. The next time I tuned the piano for the lady who told me about the dog originally she said, "You won't have to put up with that barking dog this time. Somehow, he broke that heavy chain and ran away." I tried my best to look surprised.

My wife and I lived on a large farm out in the country. When we got home we just opened the truck door and let the dog make a beeline for the woods. We did not see him for a few days, but, could see that he was consuming the food and water we left out for him. Then, one morning, we found him sleeping on the back porch. He was now calm and friendly and I finally got the opportunity to cut the remainder of the chain from his neck. He played the part of a yard dog for the next few days until he wormed his way into the house and made his bed beneath Jane's crib. He appointed himself her body guard, and, even kept grandparents at bay until Lois or I ordered him to stand down. We never took him to a vet or got him a license, because, we feared his former owners might be looking for him. We never knew his actual name, so, we just called him Shep. He was my daughter's playmate until she was almost three years old. One autumn day he romped off into the woods, as was his custom, and never returned. We searched in vain. Jane vaguely remembers Shep. I'll never forget him.

DARK SHADOWS

When I arrived at a typical suburban rancher tract home, I was surprised to find two closed caskets in the same living room where I was to tune the piano. Surprised, but, not alarmed in particular, because, when I was growing up, funeral viewings in the home were typical. In fact, my own father was laid out in our front parlor. Thus, I assumed the piano I was tuning was to provide music for a double funeral viewing. Perhaps a car accident that had claimed two victims. Eventually the gentleman who owned the piano explained to me that he and his wife were vampires and slept in the coffins during the day. That's was the reason he hired me, because, my phone book ad stated that I offered both day and evening appointments. Vampires, he went on to explain, cannot see daylight or they disintegrate. He could not have opened the door for me to enter his home in the daylight. I never got to meet the misses, and I did not believe he was actually a vampire, but, I'm quite certain he believed he was. Therefore, as I worked, I watched my back, and more importantly, my neck. I finished my work and left the house without event. The next time he called me to tune his piano I told him I was all booked up. For fun,I referred him to one of my competitors. I was a big fan of the Gothic soap opera DARK SHADOWS that ran on the ABC television network from 1966 to 1971. Johnathan Frid played the vampire Barnabas Collins. The "vampire" guy I met was not as well dressed, nor, as well spoken.

RIGHT PLACE, RIGHT TIME

It was a sunny summer afternoon in 1977.  Nancy had just graduated high school and was looking forward to college as she sun bathed on the front porch of her home.  Before leaving for work, her mother told her to wait for me to arrive to tune their piano. Not an exciting afternoon for Nancy, but, at least she could work on her tan while keeping an eye out for me. As I turned onto the street I noticed a car about a hundred feet ahead of me pull up to the curb. The middle aged driver tooted his horn at Nancy.  Since she recognised the driver, one of her former high school teachers, she sprinted across the lawn to say hello. It was then I noticed the driver swing open the passenger side door and demand Nancy get into the front seat.  His demand was backed up by a hand gun squarely pointed at Nancy's pretty blond head. Visibly shaken, she reluctantly got into the car and the teacher slowly drove away form the house, still holding his gun on Nancy.  I decided to follow his car at a respectable distance behind. I was stunned and, of course, had no plan in particular.

 It was fortunate that I had one of the early mobile telephones which allowed me to call 911 from my car.  I was connected with a police dispatcher and as I continued to report the position of the abductor's vehicle to her, she relayed the information to the officers on the street.  Eventually the abductor stopped for a red traffic signal and, as if they appeared out of thin air, officers with weapons drawn surrounded the car.  The wayward teacher surrendered without a struggle.  Nancy, still clad in just her swim suit, was handed a blanket and was whisked off to police headquarters to give her account of the incident.

In the end it turned out that, despite the fact that the teacher was a husband and father, he had developed a Lolita type obsession focused on Nancy.  His intention was to abduct Nancy and for the two of them to go away together and live happily ever after.  He was banned from ever teaching again and sent off to a mental institution.  Nancy went off to college and as far as I know was largely unaffected by the unfortunate event. She recently became a grandmother.  Since the incident happened before the days of the Internet and social media it was reported by the local newspaper and a short blip on the evening news.  I was briefly referred to as a hero, but, I never saw things that way.  I was never at any personal risk and was not the one who rescued Nancy.  I was simply at the right place at the right time.

NOTE:  Nancy was not the abducted girls actual name and the photo that accompanies this article is a professional model.

"THE DUKE"

I REGRET THAT I did not meet Duke Ellington until a few years before his death in 1974. On behalf of a wealthy client, I hired Duke, and his entire orchestra, to play at a dinner party for just six people! (For that story see my blog: MONEY IS NOT WEALTH) I had tuned the piano for that party. After that, he occasionally called upon me when he was in the Philadelphia area. Although the relationship was short, it resulted in the largest tip I have ever received, and, the greatest compliment of my career.

DUKE ELLINGTONS'S WORK spanned half a century. He was one of the most influential artists and composers in the history of recorded music, earning more than a dozen Grammy Awards. He was also nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, received The Presidential Medal Of Freedom, made the cover of TIME magazine, and was the first African-American to appear by himself on a circulating U.S. coin. His Steinway piano now resides at The Smithsonian. His prolific compositions include popular, classical, and sacred music, as well as, film scores and show tunes. He is best remembered as one of the greatest figures in the history of jazz music. Largely due to his efforts, jazz was elevated from the honky tonks to an artistic level on par with classical music. There is hardly a serious singer or musician who has not recorded something The Duke wrote. He lived until age 75, long enough to see himself regarded as a musical icon.

DUKE ELLINGTON RESPECTED his musicians and treated them generously. From my observation, Duke's orchestra was a break even proposition. The bulk of his income came from music royalties. For instance, in the pre civil rights era, The Duke charted private railroad sleeping and dining cars to transport his musicians so they would not have to deal with segregated hotels. Once, after doing a $100.00 concert tuning, he paid me with ten one hundred bills. The $900.00 tip is the largest I have ever received and amounted to about two thousand dollars in todays money.

DUKE ELLINGTON PLAYED for many years at Harlem's famous Cotton Club, which ironically, was frequented by primarily white patrons. Perhaps this is why many people assume He grew up as a poor kid on the streets of New York. Actually he was the product of a middle class upbringing in Washington D.C. His parents saw to it that he was both well educated and well mannered. He received piano lessons and was taught by his mother to live elegantly. His childhood friends took note of his dignity, grace, and dapper dress. Feeling he had the bearing of a young nobleman they nicnamed Edward Kennedy Ellington "The Duke." I experienced his royal manners firsthand after tuning the piano for one of his college concerts. The rented grand piano arrived early in the afternoon. Later I showed up and tuned thru it twice in preparation for the evening concert. When I presented my bill to the student who was acting as stage manager, he insisted I stay until The Duke arrived and approved my work. I agreed to wait, but, I would be charging heavy duty coin for every half hour. Several hours later The Duke arrived and the hapless stage manager requested that he try the piano immediately, because, he had kept me waiting on the clock. The Duke glanced over at me and politely informed the student that he had no need to try the piano. "If John tuned it, I'm sure it's fine." I consider that my greatest compliment.