THE CALL: I have tuned pianos located on yachts, railroad cars, even airplanes, so, when I was called to tune a piano in a warehouse on the Philadelphia waterfront, it did not surprise me. What did get my attention was stepping thru the door of the aging brick and sheet metal structure to find myself in a garden, which graced the entrance of a large stone mansion. My first thought was that it was a movie set facade, until the front door opened, and a butler ushered me into the foyer. As my eyes darted about, taking in details, I realized I was in a real house. People actually lived here. It was 1972 and I was in the "home" of one of the wealthiest women in the world. A woman I never expected to meet, let alone wind up working as her secretary for almost a year!
THE WOMAN: My client turned out to be a member of a famous international banking family. She introduced herself simply as Marge.(not real name) Sensing my curiosity, she explained that people in her position run the risk of being kidnapped by third world types who try to fund their revolutionary causes by holding multi billionaires for ransom. Therefore, unusual security measures were called for, such as, a mansion secluded in a warehouse. After I started working as her secretary, I discovered she did not even own a car. Rented limos,taxi cabs, and, car services were used to make her movements difficult to track. She had her own security force who escorted her, and, her teenage son, everywhere, and also guarded the warehouse. Marge, a long time widow, was an attractive plump woman about fifty. Her son, the piano player, was in his late teens. They lived in the mansion with a handful of trusted servants. The mansion also contained an office area for employees who tended to Marge's business interests. As I tuned the piano Marge sat nearby watching me work and asking occasional questions such as how long I had been tuning pianos,was I married, kids, pets, etc. I got the eerie feeling that she already knew what my answers would be.
THE OFFER: I'm neither shy, nor stupid. I swung around on the piano bench to face Marge directly. I told her I could tell the piano had been taken care of regularly, so, I was sure she already had a good tuner. Also, given the security situation, I doubted her staff pulled my name out of the phone book. She admitted to knowing a number of my other clients and to having read various articles I had written for local publications. At that time, I was writing freelance for a number of local newspapers and magazines, a combination hobby and part time job for a young guy with a growing family. She noted that I had several times written that I stayed up half of the night. I noted that since few people take a day off from work to get a piano tuned, it was mostly a 3pm to 10pm job. I normally arose at noon and retired around 5am. At that point, Marge confided that she was an insomniac who napped frequently, but, seldom actually slept. One of her many secretaries, who worked part time from 11pm to 4 am, Monday thru Thursday, was leaving. The job required excellent writing skills. "How much does it pay," I asked? Marge fixed her eyes on me and said, "One of your responsibilities will be writing checks. Write yourself a check each week based on whatever you think your services were worth. If you are being too generous to yourself, I'll fire you." I liked her style. I took the job.
THE JOB: The requirement of exceptional writing skills proved to be untrue, save for writing an occasional letter or R.S.V.P. Mostly I worked the phones, getting people on the line that Marge wanted to speak to. Despite the fact that it was the wee hours of the morning, Marge would have me call bankers, politicians, judges, entertainers, team owners, sometimes, even The White House. Everyone took her call, or, returned it promptly. Her rolodex seemed to contain the home, or mobile number, of most of the important people in the world. Many calls were not pleasant. Marge would berate some half awake congressman saying, "You idiot! Do you think we put you in office to pull a dumb stunt like that? Fix it. Understand?" She would slam the phone down for dramatic effect. The WE she referred to were the others of her ilk. The super wealthy from all around the globe who hold no office, but, run everything. I learned that the life blood of every business, or country, is banking. If you control the banks, you control everything. I could also summon anyone, be they a senator, or, bank president, to the warehouse at any hour that Marge desired. If I told them that Marge wanted to see them at 2:15 AM they showed up, hat in hand. I learned from Marge a new version of The Golden Rule. He who has the gold, makes the rules!
MONEY IS NOT WEALTH: Marge made this point to me by grabbing a stack of fifties out of our "petty cash" drawer and setting them on fire in a waste basket. She said,"See John, cash burns. Money can be stolen, destroyed, devalued. It's useful as a medium of exchange, but, it's not real wealth. Wealth is buildings, land, oil, gas, minerals, precious metals, silver, gold, gems, all of which I have. Paper money is expendable. I don't even know how much of it I have. Actually, people who know how much money they have, don't have that much of it." Part of my job was to use the "worthless" paper money to accomplish whatever Marge wanted. Theater tickets to sold out shows. Tables at the finest restaurants. Private boxes at sporting events. Hotel suites. Charted planes. Anything was available at a moments notice, if, cost was no object. I once hired Duke Ellington, and his entire orchestra, to play at a dinner party for just six people!
EXIT STRATEGY: Eventually, Marge and I formed a comfortable friendship. Many evenings we did not work at all, just talked or watched TV. I often escorted her to social affairs, honing my skills as a raconteur, and, gaining access to people who were normally hard to get interviews with. This moved my freelance writing from local to national publications. Marge was quite generous to my family and I, and, I stayed with her for almost a year before I quit. Why? My first love was, and still is, piano tuning. (See blog: The 88 Key Addiction) The more time I spent with Marge, the less I tuned pianos. Also, the power that I had acting on her behalf, became quite seductive. I had to constantly remind myself that some senator, sports team owner, or, starlet was only chatting it up with me because of Marge. We Welsh have a saying, "Every string has its end." Marge took my resignation with resignation. Almost, as if she had expected it. She made no attempt to change my mind. She just asked that I stay a few more weeks to wrap up some loose ends. "Besides," she winked, "I need time to buy you a parting gift."
THE PARTING GIFT: When one of the richest women in the world says she is buying you a gift, all kinds of thoughts go thru your head. You're like a kid waiting for Santa. On my last day, Marge handed me a thick envelope. "Something you wouldn't buy for yourself,"she said, "a token of my appreciation." The gift turned out to be the deeds to four adjoining cemetery plots in Philadelphia's ritzy, high society, cemetery. My family and I were to someday rest in peace with the rich and famous. Years later, after Marge died, I disposed of the plots.
LATER YEARS: I tuned the piano at the warehouse a few times a year until the mansion was vacated after Marge's death. Sometimes, I would encounter her, but, usually I dealt with a servant. Last year, I took my grandson to see the warehouse which is still standing, and, the mansion still looks to be inside. The complex is now surrounded by a high chain link fence. From rust on the padlock and chain on the double gate, it looks like it has been many years since anyone has been there. A motorized security camera mounted on one corner of the warehouse scanned back and forth. After 36 years one wonders who pays for it, or, who's watching?
