The Upright Piano

Our piano was delivered on the day Pearl Harbor was attacked. I was only nine years old and didn’t know the significance of that day. I overheard the deliveryman discuss the event with my mother. Then the man and his helper moved the beautiful walnut finished upright to our living room, which was in the front part of the house; but he had to go through the long hall to the back first. The kitchen was on the right, and he turned left briefly entering the dining room and then went through two bedrooms before reaching the living room. You guessed it; we had railroad rooms as they were called in those days.

The piano was used, and it was a gift from an uncle. It looked beautiful in its new setting. Mother had my older sister take classical lessons, and after some time, we enjoyed listening to her playing. She did well for a 13 year old. Her fingers flowed effortlessly over the keyboard. About two years later, my mother had my sister introduce me to the mechanics of the keyboard, too. But, sister had no patience with me. I was learning, but it wasn’t fast enough and she would close the piano cover onto my fingers or smack me in the head and shove me off the piano bench whenever I made a mistake. Mercifully, that didn’t go on for too long. Eventually, my sister’s lessons stopped and mine began.

I enjoyed walking the distance to the music professor’s home for my lessons. I chose popular music and memorized each song that was given to me to play. At the same time, I did absorb the fundamentals, knew all the chords, and that was as far as I got. Soon the lessons stopped. On occasion, I would play the piano in high school during gym class. I would play one song after another without reading any notes, and my classmates would dance with one another. It was another form of exercise and it beat climbing ropes and squatting.

The piano rested at my parents' home up until I became married. It was at that time that my mother turned it over to me. The piano was moved to our apartment, and then eventually came along with us when my husband and I purchased our own new home in the suburbs. We placed the upright in our recreation room, and painted it a light enamel; all the better to withstand the playful abuse of our three children.

Over time, I noticed that the old piano needed frequent tuning, and on impulse, I traded it in for an electric guitar. I do admit that I miss that wonderful upright piano with its memories and those affected by it.