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.

COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP

One summer afternoon, about thirty five years ago, I was tuning a piano in a middle class suburban home, when a gruff voice, aided by a bull horn, barked, "WE HAVE THE HOUSE SURROUNDED, COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!" I glanced out the window to see dozens of police cars forming a barricade around the house, with an army of police officers and federal agents brandishing enough weapons to arm a small third world country. I immediately dove under the grand piano. My first thought was that the lawmen had the wrong address. I had tuned the piano many times for this pleasant couple in their early sixties, and, their bachelor son in his forties, who still lived at home. Imagine my surprise when this seemingly normal family started pulling weapons of their own out of closets and from behind draperies! After peering out many windows, and accessing the situation, "Ma Barker" and her gang decided that they were out numbered and the best course of action was to give themselves up. The most chilling thing about the situation, besides my life flashing before my eyes, was how calm the family was and how quickly they reacted to the situation. This was like a normal day at the office to them. Under the piano, I was shaking like a frightened child. The son directed me to follow them out the front door with my hands up as the father waived a few sheets of white paper towel out the front door and shouted, "We are coming out. We are unarmed." We paraded down the front walk hands high in the air, dad still holding the paper towels in one hand. It was dad, mom, me, and the son bringing up the rear. It seemed like a hundred guns were trained on us. I remember thinking, if a car backfires a block away, we'll be cut down in a rain of bullets! Apparently the police knew this family and expected only three people to come out of the house, because, I could hear voices saying things like, "who's the fat guy?" The fat guy, of course, was me. I was actually relived when, at some point, a bunch of cops grabbed me, threw me onto a car hood, and handcuffed me in one smooth motion. All I could think of was that I was still alive. After giving a good account of myself I was released and escorted back into the house to retrieve my tools. It was on this walk that the officers told me this family were major drug distributors who supplied the local street dealers in the area. I had no idea. I thought I might be called upon at some point to testify at a trial or something, not that I knew anything, but, nothing ever happened. Aside form the arrest, nothing ever showed up in the news about a trial or the family. I guess they cut some kind of deal. Of course the news media at the scene tried to interview me, but, I just waived them off with a terse "no comment." I always wanted to say that.

WORLD TRADE CENTER TWIN TOWERS 911 MEMORIES

Save for some professional musicians and institutional clients, no one takes a day off from work to have their piano tuned and serviced.  If you are going to be a successful full time piano technician you must reconcile yourself to working evenings and Saturdays. Due to my work hours I got into the habit of going to bed in the wee hours of the morning and rolling out of bed in the early afternoon.  On a day when I arise early I quip, " I was up at the crack of noon."  On September 11th, 2001 I was putting on my morning coffee and checking phone messages as my TV in the living room was showing what I thought was a Science Fiction movie that  showed airplanes crashing into the World Trade Center Twin Towers.  From the kitchen I could not hear the audio, only view the screen images.  My attention was caught by the same scene of the airplanes crashing into the towers repeating over and over.  The film must have gotten stuck I reasoned. Someone at the station must be asleep at the switch.  As I walked into the living room to change the channel I finally heard the audio portion of the broadcast.  Horrified by the news, it triggered memories of a short book E.B.White had written in 1949 called HERE IS NEW YORK. Ironically, he predicted such an incident 52 years in advance! I've always been a literature buff, but, I still find it strange that my mind went first to E.B.White.

 My grandmother Christine sang with the London Opera Company and the singers continued to perform during the devastating "London Blitz" of World War Two with the intention that it was important to keep up the morale of the public.  I asked her once how she and her family survived the destruction and carnage.  "Well, we just took it as another day," was her reply.  Perhaps the Philadelphia area was too far removed from New York to feel the full impact, or, perhaps my clients had my grandmother's mind set and simply took it as another day, but, not one of my three appointments that day canceled. That being so, I worked.

My second client of the evening was obviously shaken up because she worked in World Trade Center South Tower Two.  Many people in the Philadelphia area commute to New York for work by train or bus to take advantage of the substantially higher pay rate for most jobs. She had taken the day off to have new carpet installed in her home.  All of her co workers died in the terrorist attack.  To this day she still sees a therapist as she suffers from a psychological condition known as "Survivors Guilt."

Several months after what has become known simply as "911" I was servicing a piano for a client who worked in a brokerage house in the North Tower One.  He told me his story of  how he became the lone survivor of about thirty workers at his office.  It seems for several years he had tried to quit smoking.  He tried all the methods and programs, but inevitability, he always went back to cigarettes.  This caused him to have to endure quite a lot of teasing and sarcasm at the hands of his coworkers.  He quit smoking again just a few days before the fatal attack.  He had a habit of coming to the office several hours before everyone else.  When the bulk of the staff showed up each morning at their normal work time he would leave to "take a walk and get a bite of breakfast."  This, of course, was his cover for ducking out to grab a smoke.  He always walked a few blocks away so no one would discover his secret.  As he was lighting up his second cigarette he looked up and saw the airplane crash into Tower One.  He suffers no "Survivors Guilt" and never tried to quit smoking again.  As he said to me, "Who says smoking is bad for your health?"

On the morning of 911 my son-in-law Rick was in San Diego, California aboard an airplane poised to take off and return him, and two business colleagues, to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.  Suddenly all the passengers were ushered off of the plane with little explanation other than that there was an "air traffic problem."  Television monitors in the terminal were already showing the Towers crashing down.  Most of the travelers stayed glued to the TV screens, but, Rick and his team moved quickly to get their hotel rooms and rental car back.  After watching all the news coverage, and assessing the situation, Rick's trio made the decision to drive cross country to Philadelphia. The three drove in shifts, one driving, one keeping the driver awake, and one sleeping.  The group traveled 2800 miles in 45 hours.  Their average speed was 62 miles per hour. This was not taking your Grandma for a Sunday drive.

 An early writing teacher gave me a piece of advice I have always followed, "Write about what you know." Since I have no direct experience with the tragic events at Shanksville, Pennsylvania, the Pentagon attack, or, the devastating health issues that befell so many of the First Responders, I choose not to address them.  If the reader is unfamiliar with these other 911 happenings I hope you will look into them.  My omission of them in no way minimizes the importance of those horrific tragedies.

One factor about 911 that took me by surprise was that a large number of the victims left little to no life insurance to provide for their families.  The majority of these victims worked in the finical planning industry. Logic would dictate that, before you invested in your first stock or bond, you would make sure your loved ones were provided for.  In my day life insurance was the first thing a couple purchased, just after the honeymoon. Harry Gross, a noted Philadelphia C.P.A. and investment counselor was fond of saying, "He who has no life insurance doesn't die...he absconds."

Over time, most important holidays such as Memorial Day, Veterans Day, Pearl Harbor Day, Forth Of July, etc. degenerate into days for retailers to have sales, car dealers to trumpet "blow out savings," and the general public to have family parties.  This past 911 several retailers advertised 911 sales with tacky sayings like "towering savings."  Every 911 I watch news videos of that fatal day including the unedited versions of people jumping out of the tower windows and splattering on the sidewalks. Why the news networks don't air these every year is beyond my understanding.  After all, most of us still have the tee shirts and banners with the slogan, "WE WILL NEVER FORGET."

A BIRTHDAY SURPRISE GONE WRONG

I was called by a young woman to tune a piano as a surprise for her mother's fiftieth birthday. It seems her mom had always wanted to learn to play the piano and there was one in the house left over from years earlier when the daughters had unsuccessfully attempted piano lessons of their own. It was arranged for me to come during the birthday party, tune the piano, and play Happy Birthday plus a few of mom's favorite songs, after which, the daughters would present her with a gift certificate for piano lessons. All during the party mom kept an ear out for the door bell, having a suspicion that some surprise person would be arriving. When I rang she ran to the door and swung it wide open. Her face fell as she regarded this old, overweight, mostly bald, guy with a tool bag in hand. She gasped, "YOU CAN'T BE THE STRIPPER!"

NO TIME TO PRACTICE?

I once read a book on time management. The entire book distilled down to this fact: If you have a week to pack for a trip it takes a week. I you have a day it takes a day. If you have an hour, you'll be packed in an hour. The problem with most people, when it comes to practicing the piano, is they allow too much time. Actually THREE MINUTES A DAY is all you need!

Very few pieces of music are longer than three minutes, save for a few of the classics. Therefore, one can practice an entire selection in three minutes or less. Assuming you practice once a day, and assuming, like most people, you have about twenty favorite songs in your repertoire, you will wind up going thru each piece about eighteen times in a year. As you can see, that actually amounts to a lot of practice. This practice method is for those who already know how to play well enough to at least stumble thru a piece. It is not for the student still taking lessons.

Get started by asking yourself, what twenty songs would I want to be able to sit down and play if asked to play in public? Put the music in a stack on top of your piano. If the song is in a book, tape an index tab on to that page, or, photocopy the page out of the book. Each time you practice take the top piece of music off the stack and play it thru ONCE ONLY. Do not stop for mistakes. Do not play it a second time. Set the song you just played on the opposite side of the piano. Next time you practice play the next piece on the stack and transfer it to the played pile. Next time, same action. When all of your music winds up in the played stack, start the stack over again. After a few months of this type of practice, you'll be amazed at how good you get at each piece. After a time, you may remove some songs from your repertoire and add some new ones.

The best way to get your three minutes of practice in each day, is to tie the practice time to something else. Don't eat breakfast until you practice. Don't leave the house, take a shower, etc. I like, don't go to bed. Even if one is two hours past their bedtime, three more minutes is not going to make any difference. If you can honestly say you can not find three minutes in a day to practice, then you need a life coach, or a therapist, because, your life is seriously out of control!

If you need to brush up a bit on your piano skills I highly recommend the book HOW TO PLAY THE PIANO DESPITE YEARS OF LESSONS by Ward Cannel and Fred Marx. Library of Congress catalogue number 76-4037. Each lesson in the book can be accomplished in about three minutes. The book, originally published in 1976 is still the best review method I have seen.

I am often asked how long each day children should practice. Most piano teachers I know go with twenty minutes a day, five days out of seven. This is because children today, due to the entertainment media and computers, have a fairly short attention span. There is no benefit in the body sitting at a piano once the mind has drifted elsewhere. I actually further recommend splitting the twenty minutes practice into two ten minute sessions and tying them to other activities. For instance: right when the child walks in the door from school before any snack, changing clothes, etc. The second ten minutes can be after homework, but, before any leisure activity.