BLOG DIRECTORY: The blog you are on now is JOHN AARON STORIES and there are over 50 entries. To read them all keep scrolling down on your screen until you come to the end of what you think is the last story. Then, look to the bottom right and click on the link OLDER POSTS. Keep repeating until you come to the actual end. John Aaron Stories contains true accounts of incidents that actually happened during my long carrier as a piano technician.

A second blog I write is WELSH STORY TELLER which can be accessed by going to the ABOUT ME profile and clicking on MY COMPLETE PROFILE and scrolling to the bottom of the profile. Click the WELSH STORY TELLER link. This blog can also be accessed directly at http://welshstoryteller.blogspot.com/  The entries in WELSH STORY TELLER are based on actual incidents that happened to my family and friends, but, are fictionalized for comedic entertainment. They are typical of stories I tell at my public speaking engagements. We Welsh have a saying, "Truth is a poor story teller."

The third blog I write is called JOHN AARON COOKS which can also be accessed by going to MY COMPLETE PROFILE and scrolling down to the JOHN AARON COOKS link. It can also be accessed directly at http://johnaaroncooks.blogspot.com/  JOHN AARON COOKS contains stories and recipes drawn from my hobby of cooking.

The fourth blog I write is JACK OF HEARTS HOBO which can be accessed by going to the ABOUT ME profile and clicking on MY COMPLETE PROFILE, or, accessed directly at http://jackofheartshobo.blogspot.com/  This blog is about another hobby I enjoy, recreational hoboing.

The fifth blog I write is JOHN AARON POETRY which can be accessed by going to the ABOUT ME profile and clicking on MY COMPLETE PROFILE, or, accessed directly at http://johnaaronpoetry.blogspot.com/

 Enjoy all five blogs.  JOHN

THE 88 KEY ADDICTION

I remember reading something Mark Twain wrote in his old age where he said that he loved being a river pilot more than any other profession he had ever undertaken, and, had the Civil War not closed the Mississippi River and put him out of work, he would gladly have spent his entire life on the river. Considering his future success as a writer, many would doubt the sincerity of his remarks, but, not me. When something gets into your blood, it's hard to shake off.  In my case it is being a piano tuner/technician, a trade that goes back in our family to my grandfather. I've been at it for over forty years. I have often said that if God gave me the choice of either playing pianos, or, working on them, I'd rather work on them. Did I have other options? Sure. In the late sixties I worked for several major record companies as a studio and road musician, writer, arranger, and artist road manager. By the time my oldest daughter was two she had an English nanny and we lived in a penthouse overlooking the ocean with Johnny Cash as our neighbor. However, I still did piano work part time. (If you care to hear some recordings for which I wrote the songs, arranged the orchestrations, and played the piano, Google recording artist Janie Christina.) While still in my twenties, I was a highly paid consultant for Bell Labs and helped develop the musical note sequences used in the touch tone telephone system. Since it was my call, and I was still a piano technician, I set the dial tone at A440 so my tuning customers only had to hit the A note on their piano, while listening to the dial tone, to know if their instrument was in need of tuning. As a free lance writer and photographer I have published hundreds of articles and photographs in major National publications. Many editors offered me full time employment. A major Philadelphia radio station offered me a job as a talk show host. A large National corporation tried to make me their vice president of research and development. I was the personal secretary to an International multi billionaire banker. I get paid to do story telling and stand up comedy, an avocation I could easily pursue full time. Some of the preceding I may write about in future blogs, but, the point is, piano work was neither my only option, nor, was it the most lucrative, but, it was my addiction. Although I get to tune for many famous people, I actually enjoy the everyday people I meet much more. I love learning about their work, their hobbies, and their viewpoints on life. Bottom line, however, it's the instruments themselves. I remember taking the piano in our living room all apart and putting it back together whenever my parents were away for the evening. I was about ten or eleven years old. All these years later, I still do not claim to totally understand this complex instrument fully, because, pianos take on a life of their own. There is a weird phenomenon in physics where an object becomes greater than the sum of it's parts. Steam locomotives, ships,and even computers are like that. Likewise, is a piano. If it were not so, a concert artist would not test dozens of instruments of the same make and model to find the one that is just right. Each piano I work on has it's own personality and quirks. I'm never bored. Then there is the fact that in most jobs, be it a salesman, surgeon, or soldier, most days come down to "you win some, you lose some." At the end of my day I get to look back and know that every piano is better because I worked on it. That feels great!

YES, I'M THAT JOHN AARON!

Often when I meet people for the first time, and they find out I'm a piano tuner, the next thing they say is, "You're not the John Aaron who was in READER'S DIGEST?" I am that John Aaron and I have answered that question thousands of times since February of 1989 when an anecdote about my piano tuning appeared in the popular READER'S DIGEST feature, ALL IN A DAY'S WORK. At that time, the United States readership alone was about 45 million, and nearly every reader must have seen the piece about me, because, of the ten anecdotes that were published that month, mine was the only one that the editors added a color illustration to. With its position right in the center of the page, you couldn't miss it. When the magazine came out I got phone calls for days. Since starting this blog, it is the thing readers most often contact me about. My "fifteen minutes of fame" has been going strong for twenty-eight years!

I actually submitted the item myself because my living room needed painting and I HATE to paint. I had noticed that READER'S DIGEST paid $400.00 for contributing such tid-bits and that was a lot of money in 1989. More than enough to hire a pro and get me out of my upcoming painting chore. So, I thought over funny incidents that had happened to me in my work, weeded them down to ones that were publishable, and, picked one involving a cute eight year old girl. Nothing like buying a little insurance. I typed it up and put it in the mail. In a short time I got a phone call form an editor at the magazine asking how he could contact the girl and her parents to verify my story. If everything checked out, my item was in, and the check was in the mail. Sometimes the good Lord blesses the lazy.

Following is the anecdote as it appeared on page 84 of the February 1989 edition of READER'S DIGEST: "Like Many Piano Tuners, I am a semi-retired professional pianist. One day after tuning a customer's concert grand, I played a few scales in the same manner that a racing driver might open up a car on the track - to see what it can do. After I made a few runs up and down the keyboard, my customers eight-year-old daughter, who apparently had been struggling along with her lessons, looked at me and asked, "Mister, do you have more fingers than I do?"

Besides working on pianos I have played studio sessions for many recording artists. If you would like to HEAR ME PLAY THE PIANO Google Janie Christina. The guy backing her up on the piano is yours truly. You may also E-Mail rockpresspublishing@comcast.net and request free MP3 downloads.

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.

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.

LIBERACE, THE ONE MAN DISNEYLAND!

"I don't give concerts, I put on a show! I play classical music, with the boring parts left out. I'm a one man Disneyland." So said Wladziu Valentino Liberace known to his family as Walter, his friends as Lee, and his fans as Liberace. I had many encounters with Liberace in my career as a piano technician, and, at sales conventions for Baldwin pianos, and, Thomas organs, two instruments he endorsed. My mother was a huge fan, and, for her 65th birthday, Lee was kind enough to give us front row seats for his show, and, also grant my mom a dressing room "audience" afterwards. This was typical of his graciousness. Lee especially loved children, animals, and fans. Unlike other single name mega-stars, Lee typically did not disappear backstage at the end of a show. Rather, he invited fans on stage to touch his costumes and jewelry, take photos, and try their hand at playing his piano. If a person showed any musical promise, Lee would often throw in an impromptu lesson. Someone once correctly wrote that Liberace loved his audience, and they returned that love a hundred fold. That love translated into him being the highest paid entertainer in the world for over two decades!

Liberace was born in 1919 in a suburb of Milwaukee Wisconsin into a musical family of no notoriety. He started piano lessons at age four and early on displayed an amazing ability to memorize long complicated pieces of music. He was classically trained and in his early twenties toured the United States performing with many major symphony orchestras. While still in his teens, to help support his family during the Great Depression, he played popular music for radio dramas, theaters, cabarets, weddings, even strip tease shows. Although his father was Italian, and, only his mother was Polish, Lee considered himself Polish and became enamored with the great pianist Ignaz Paderewski who had a second job as Prime Minister Of Poland. Eventually they met and it is said Paderewski took the young Liberace under his wing, but, to what extent is not clear. By his mid-twenties Lee was referring to his performances as "pop with a bit of the classics." Around age thirty he played The White House at the behest of President Harry S Truman. By age forty it would be a command performance for Queen Elizabeth II. By the time he was thirty four Liberace was earning a million dollars a year. In less than two years more his income rose to approximately four million dollars a year! Not much money by today's standards, but, in the early 1950's it was a king's ransom allowing Lee to live like royalty. The big bump in income was due to his wildly successful television show that aired around 1953 and went on for many years. The show attracted about 30 million viewers a week and received 10,000 fan letters weekly. Liberace had been a headliner in Las Vegas since 1944 where he first appeared with his now trademark candelabrum. He also appeared in many movies. Songwriter Pat Ballard paid homage to Lee's enviable head of hair in the 1954 smash hit by The Chordettes, MISTER SANDMAN. Most people, however, remember Lee's TV show with his violinist elder brother George, and, the signature sign off, Lee singing I'LL BE SEEING YOU. Of course, given Lee's flamboyant costumes, it was one of the early shows to go color. Elton John, then six years old, recalls being fascinated with both Lee's piano ability, and, his costumes. I was also a fan of the show and only realized while viewing old clips of the show to prepare this blog, how much my own piano style had been influenced by Liberace. There are plenty of old clips of THE LIBERACE SHOW on the Internet on sites like U-Tube as well as clips of Lee on ED SULLIVAN, LUCY, JACK BENNY, KOJAK, THE MUPPET SHOW, OPRAH, AND, SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE. They are all worth checking out.

FOLLOWING ARE THE TYPICAL QUESTIONS I AM USUALLY ASKED ABOUT LIBERACE:

HOW GOOD A PIANIST WAS HE REALLY? I have discussed this issue with many top pianists, both popular and classical. Everyone agrees that his technique was almost effortless to the point that he made even difficult pieces look a lot easier to play than they actually were. A world renowned concert pianist recently told, me off the record, that he felt that Liberace could give most concert pianists a good run for their money playing the classics, and yet, turn right around and play ragtime, blues, country, rock and roll, or, almost anything else he pleased. He speculated that few pianists have mastered the instrument to that extent. Popular pianists, likewise, envy his ability with the classics. A conductor of a famous symphony orchestra once stated that Liberace did more to introduce people to classical music than anyone else he knew of. To speculate on how good he would have been if he had specialized in only one type of music is futile. If a music critic wrote anything negative about Liberace they often got a personal note from him that read something like: I read with amusement your recent review. It was so upsetting my brother George and I cried all the way to the bank. In another variation Lee would write, I would have cried all the way to the bank, but instead, I just bought it.

WHAT MAKE OF PIANO DID HE PLAY AND HOW OFTEN DID YOU TUNE IT? Liberace owned between 35 and 40 pianos at any given time. He only played Baldwin pianos in public which were his preference long before he became an official endorser for Baldwin. The only exception was when he played a one of a kind Melville-Clark marking piano used to make player piano rolls. Lee performed on player piano roll recordings for both QRS Buffalo and AMPICO. Notable among his arsenal of instruments were George Gershwin's Chickering Grand and Chopin's Pleyel. Lee's main stage piano was a mirrored Baldwin nine foot grand for which Lee had a matching mirrored tuxedo and a matching mirrored Rolls Royce. Unlike artists who walk across the stage to the piano, Lee was chauffeur driven. There are urban legends about this mirrored Baldwin being cursed, or, haunted, but, I doubt they are true. Lee's other stage piano was a similar rhinestone encrusted Baldwin concert grand. On rare occasions he used other Baldwins.
There was a white Baldwin baby grand that he used for his "drop in" visits to the GOOD MORNING AMERICA SHOW which I tuned on occasion. There was also Baldwin's flagship SD-10 touring concert grand that Lee used for one night only performances. I tuned this piano on a number of occasions for Liberace, Ferante & Teicher, Duke Ellington, and, Roger Williams if memory serves. How many times I tuned for Liberace I cannot recall. Most concert artists, have a legion of piano technicians all over the world who are called upon as needed. Often we are just hired by the concert promoter, or, work for the manufacturer, or, piano dealer who is furnishing the concert instrument. Because we both had a connection to Baldwin pianos and Thomas organs, I saw Lee more often at sales promotions and conventions.

DID LIBERACE ACTUALLY LIKE WEARING THE COSTUMES? From my observation he did and didn't. I hefted more than one and they were both heavy and hot. Very uncomfortable to wear at best. I think he enjoyed the way an audience reacted to them. I think he was also aware that they detracted from his musicianship. He wore at least two per performance, usually quipping at intermission, "Please excuse me while I go backstage and slip into something more spectacular!" The second costume always was more elaborate than the first. At times they made him perspire to the point that he actually lost weight. Staying hydrated was a must. It all started in his early days when he played with symphony orchestras and wore a white tuxedo to stand out from the black clad musicians. Soon came a white piano to match the tux. When he started in Las Vegas booking agents insisted that each appearance was to be accompanied by a yet more elaborate outfit. And so it went. Whatever burden the costumes imposed I think Lee well knew he would have been less popular, and, less wealthy without them.

DIDN'T HE SPEND MONEY LIKE IT WAS WATER? Liberace spent money on the things he enjoyed such as pianos, antiques, cars, clothing, and jewelry. Typical of his mid-western upbringing, he really didn't spend that much in proportion to what he earned. He supported some members of his family and was generous to his friends and those in need. His older brother George, besides being his violinist and musical conductor, was his business manager. Lee had many investments from a restaurant (he loved to cook) to a shopping mall, real estate, etc. The trappings of wealth were almost second nature to him. I remember an occasion backstage somewhere on a hot day. We were all drinking cold beverages from cans or paper cups. Lee was strolling about drinking from a gold chalice with jeweled accents as nonchalantly as if it were only a paper cup. Lee always struck me as the type whom, if he lost his fortune, would take at as noting more than a new phase of his life.

WAS LIBERACE A HOMOSEXUAL? People have so many fixed opinions on this question that it would be of no use to express mine. Here is what I know: His speech, mannerisms, and dress often did fit the somewhat misguided stereotype of the "flaming fag." However, he was personally and politically conservative. He was a devout Catholic. Lee considered his meeting with Pope Pius XII one of the high points of his life. Lee took two publications to court who accused him of being a homosexual in print, and,in both cases, won substantial awards via the juries. No man, or woman for that matter, has, to my knowledge, boasted about having a sexual affair with him.

Before this blog post turns into a book I'll close by saying that Liberace was a kind, gentle, generous, and, extremely talented man. A legend in his own time. He's been gone nearly a quarter of a century now........and his job is still available.

"WHAT DO YOU SAY TO A NAKED LADY?" Allen Funt

In 1970 Candid Camera's Allen Funt secretly filmed people's reactions to unexpected encounters with nudity in unusual situations, such as when a naked young woman casually exits an elevator.  He titled his movie, WHAT DO YOU SAY TO A NAKED LADY?  In more that fifty years of going into peoples homes to take care of their pianos I've had a number of such encounters.  I have yet to come up with a good answer to Allen Funt's question.

My first encounter was back in the days when the World was deemed a safer place and young children were permitted to answer the door.  I rang a door bell and a little girl answered.  I asked if her mommy was home.  She motioned  me to follow her.  Mommy was indeed home....IN THE BATHTUB!  I resolved never to follow a child into a house again.

Another encounter occurred when I arrived at a rural residence on a sunny summer day.  As I got out of my car, after coming up a long gravel driveway, a female voice called out, "I'm in the yard by the pool."  It was there that I found my customer sunbathing in the nude. Embarrassed she explained that she had forgotten her appointment with me, but, was expecting her sister.  When she heard my car she thought I was her sibling.

At one point I was training a young apprentice who was studying for the ministry at an ultra conservative Bible college.  My customer's college aged daughter answered the door and then went out to the pool where some of her friends were waiting.  The picture window, where the piano was situated, overlooked the pool.  After a while she and her friends stripped off their clothes and went skinny dipping in the pool.  She either forgot we could see them for the window, or, simply didn't care.  My Bible college apprentice just kept muttering, "This is Evil!  Evil!  Evil!"  I think I was more amused by his reaction than the goings on around the pool.

I've tuned pianos at nudist resorts, burlesque houses, strip clubs, and legitimate theaters doing nude productions, but, in such instances, one is more or less, prepared.  It's the surprises that leave you fumbling for words.

OF LIGHTHOUSES AND BOATS

A college economics professor I know likes to teach his students that free enterprise is not the answer to all situations.  Government intervention is sometimes necessary.  He often poses this question to his students: "Who, for profit, would build a lighthouse?"  Well, one of my piano tuning clients might well be just the person.  After all, he did build a boat in his basement.  A boat that was too large to ever exit the basement.  A boat that was never meant to set sail.  Why was it built? 

My client, who wishes to remain nameless, got hooked on the hobby of woodworking after taking a wood shop class in high school.  Hectic days at his law office were followed by relaxing evenings turning raw lumber into tables, chairs, cabinets, bookshelves, patio furniture, and just about anything else his family and friends desired. Often he would show me around his well equipped basement work shop to view his latest project, or, point out the differences between a table saw and a radial arm saw. He owned numerous woodworking machines and scores of hand tools. However, after more than forty years he ran out of projects.

Many times, while vacationing at the New Jersey seashore, he had noticed the many older boats made totally of wood.  The more modern fiberglass boats lacked the style and charm of their wooden predecessors, not to mention the meticulous craftsmanship.  Although he himself was not a boater, he obtained a set of plans to build a vintage sport fishing vessel.  Although it was a small boat it would still be too large to fit thru any of the exits from his basement.  He considered building it outdoors with an eye towards eventually selling it, but, the reality was that most of his spare time was in the later evening, so, daylight would become an issue as well as weather.  Also, he loved using his machines and wanted the project to be conveniently located near them.  Finally, due to their high maintenance, few sportsmen wanted wooden boats.  He decided it would be a labor of love, a work of art, and, it would be built in his basement.

Each time I visited to service his piano, I was treated to a trip downstairs to view the latest progress on the boat.  It was a slow moving, but, impressive undertaking. After about a year and a half  the boat was finished.  He never named it or christened it.  He did, however, prove it would float by filling the hull with water and letting it set a few days.  No leaks were detected.  The water was bailed out of the hull using buckets.  The boat sat in the basement for many years until he retired and the house was listed for sale.  Sadly, the vessel was sawed into pieces and hauled to the municipal dump.  He sold the contents of his workshop and he and his wife bought a small home at the seashore.  In time he may build that lighthouse.

ABOUT THAT SAFETY PIN?

When Peter Falk played the relentless detective Columbo, his character examined even the smallest detail. If Columbo encountered a corpse with a safety pin stuck thru the chest area of a perfect dress shirt, it surly would have raised his suspicion. He would never have rested until he had the answer to the question: what about the safety pin? This is a true story, not a TV script, and only I knew the significance of the safety pin.
It all started when a long time customer called me to tune his piano on a Wednesday afternoon. On Wednesday morning he telephoned me to say that he had been out of work and had just been called for a job interview that afternoon. Rather than cancel on me, he would leave the front door unlocked and my check on the piano. I was to let myself in.
When I opened his front door and entered the foyer he was dead, hanging by his neck from some clothesline rope attached to an upstairs hallway banister. A chair, he had apparently stood on and kicked aside, lay sideways on the floor. He was wearing dress slacks and a pastel dress shirt, both crisply pressed. A piece of notebook style paper was pined to the chest of the shirt with a hundred dollar bill taped to it and a message to me written in large blue letters, probably from a marking pen. The note said something like: Dear John. My wife is away. I did not want her to be the one to find me. Please call the police. Thanks. P.S. The money is for the tuning which you don't have to do plus some extra for your trouble. At that time the fee for a piano tuning was $35.00 so he was paying me almost triple.
I did not panic and run away for various reasons. For starters, this was not the first dead body I had ever encountered in my years of going into thousands of homes. It was about the third or forth. Second, two members of my family were homicide detectives and I knew from hearing them talk shop that the person who finds the body gets the honor of being the first suspect. Even if you are absolved form any involvement in the death, a coroner's inquest will tie up days of your time. So the thing to do was get out of the house with no clue that I was ever there. This meant the note had to go with me. I reached out to unpin the note, but, could not bring myself to deal with the pin, which would have meant touching the deceased. Instead, I tore the note from the pin. It came off clean leaving only the pin in the shirt. I made one more vain attempt to get the pin too, but, lost my nerve. I left the house making sure to leave the front door wide open.
This happened in the days before cell phones. I drove to the nearest pay phone and called the police claiming to be a concerned neighbor. I told them the door on the house across the street was wide open and I knew the owners were away. I also thought I saw men walking around inside. I hastily gave the address and hung up. I drove to a bakery, got a much needed cup of coffee, and drove back by the house about twenty minutes later to make sure the police had arrived. They had. For months I worried about that safety pin I left behind, or, if the deceased had written down the day and time of my appointment on a calender or something, but, nothing ever came of it. I guess there were no "Columbos" in that police department.
EPILOGUE: Many months later the deceased man's wife called me to help her sell the piano. Of course, I acted surprised to hear about her husband's demise. I asked if he had been ill or involved in an accident? She told me that he had taken his own life because he was depressed over the fact that his company had let him go, and, as an older man, no one seemed to want to hire him, despite his years of experience. She ventured that he had sent out hundreds of resumes. She told me that between his severance package, and what they had saved for retirement, he really had no need to worry about ever working again. There is a great difference between need and want.

"QUEEN ELIZABETH" MEETS "CHASE UTLEY" OVER A CHEESESTEAK

Often, when tuning pianos in the Italian Market district of South Philadelphia, I would treat myself to a cheesesteak at GENO'S to wind up my night.  Joey Vento, an iconic Philadelphia character claimed to have started his eatery in 1966 with only fifteen dollars in his pocket and built it into a ten million dollar a year business.  Over the years, as South Philadelphia evolved from being a primarily Italian neighborhood, to a multi-cultural melting pot, Joey Vento grew irritated with those who refused to make English their primary language as his family had. Around 2007 Joey posted a sign at the counter at GENO'S which read: " THIS IS AMERICA.  WHEN ORDERING PLEASE SPEAK ENGLISH."   Many people thought the sign to be racist and the Philadelphia city fathers launched a campaign to force Vento to remove the sign.  Joey refused, and the legal battle raged on for years with Joey Vento emerging the winner.  The sign remains to this day. During the course of the controversy the press coverage grew to international proportions.  A woman from Manchester England followed the stories and came to admire Joey's grit. So it was that when she got to vacation in Philadelphia she waisted little time in making a visit to GENO'S

The night I arrived at GENO'S for my dinner I noticed a confused,middle aged, women dressed in a dark green dress with white pokadots, accessorized with white shoes, white handbag, and a white pill box hat.  It was her hat and heavy British accent that caused me to dub her "Queen Elizabeth."  I asked as to the cause of her distress and she told me she had not realized the menu of steak sandwiches was so extensive with numerous options.  She had no idea of what to order to be sure she had tasted an authentic Philly cheesesteak. Although it is not my personal favorite, I told her a steak with CHEEZ WHIZ and fried onions is what most Philly natives consider the classic.  As I walked her up to the order window I taught her how to order like a true Philadelphian. "One, wit, Whiz, here."  You should have heard it in her British accent!  I decided to keep her company as we sat at one of the outdoor picnic type tables and had our meal.  Somewhere from the depths of her over sized purse she managed to produce a knife and fork to eat her sandwich with.  If she thought I was a barbaric American eating with my hands, she never said.

As I was learning her reasons for dining at GENO'S a rowdy group of Phillies fans showed up wearing team caps and jerseys.  The Phillies had lost, and, as the fans waited on line for their steaks, the language grew rough and salty. The F word was flying!  My new friend from Manchester was becoming quite upset.  She commented that her nephew was a Rugby player back home, and, when his team lost a game they, "took it on the chin.  The did not behave like animals!"  It was then I realized that she thought the crowd on line was the actual Phillies team, not, fans in costume. I walked over to the folks on line and asked the fans to tone it down a notch or two because they were disgracing the team in the eyes of a visitor from England.  Surprisingly they complied.  Then, one man dressed in a Utley jersey approached our table hat in hand.  I caught his sly wink as he said "Pardon me lady, I'm Chase Utley, and I just want to apologise on behalf of the entire Phillies team.  Our behaviour was way out of line."  He put his cap back on and strode back to the rest of his group.  The "Queen" was charmed, and clearly, all was forgiven.

When I got home and relayed the incident to my wife she scolded me for not telling the lady the truth, that she had not really met the great second base player Chase Utley.  I, on the other hand, just smiled at the thought of the great tale she would have to tell the folks back in Manchester.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY THREESOME menage a trois

One warm spring afternoon I arrived at a client's home to tune her piano.  As I parked my car at the curb, a young blonde woman pulled up in a sporty red convertible and parked directly behind me.  As I got out of my car she exited hers.  As I walked up the front walk she walked a few paces behind me. When I arrived at the front door she stood next to me and asked if I were the man of the house.  I explained I was the piano tuner.  She smiled and said, "Are you going to ring the door bell or should I?" I rang.  My client opened the door.  Flustered and red faced she told the young women to head upstairs and explained to me that she had forgotten our appointment and it was her husband's birthday.  He had always fantasized about he and his wife having a threesome with a pretty young blondie.  His wife had arranged the menage a trois as his birthday present.  I offered to come back another time to tune the piano but my client brushed the idea off by saying, "You'll be downstairs and we'll be upstairs.  I'll pay you now and you can just let yourself out."  The three were fairly noisy so it was a very erotic piano tuning.  When I got home that evening I told my wife about the incident.  I prefaced with, "Honey, what were you thinking about for my birthday?"