Piano Man
I heard him from two floors above. I followed the sound down two massive marble staircases to where the polished grand piano was placed. The piano man’s fingers played the song I’d learned as a teen, and those notes drew me to the place where I now stood. I was half a world away from my home, but the song of my youth, made me feel connected in a way only music can. The piano man sensed my joy, and asked, "May I play something else for you?" As he played I thought back to another piano man.
The sawmill was brutal on unprotected ears and violent to unprepared hands and arms. Frank had his ears exposed, but the saws were carefully managed by his skilled, muscled arms. Placing huge green timber’s before the sharpened blades was his job, ten hours a day. Returning home at night, his ears would be ringing painfully.
After a nightly meal, his wife Alice and step-daughters Agnes and Mary would play lilting melodies on the old upright piano. The sound was a balm to his wounded ears. The piano had been a tavern cast-off—missing keys and unable to keep in tune. Yet, there was never a complaint from his gentle wife—who managed their home on his meager salary. Hard times surrounded them, but she made life easy.
Heading to the foreman’s office, Frank asked for more hours and an extra shift as often as he could. Every extra penny he earned went into a hidden sock at home. Almost two years passed, and then Frank spoke to the church organist and got a name. He placed an order with the carefully collected funds.
A huge crate was delivered to the door of the old home. Alice was mystified and her children gathered around as the delivery men maneuvered the crate inside. And there, next to the old upright piano, a brand new parlor grand piano was revealed. It’s polished wood gleamed, and the ebony and ivory keys were lustrous. It had traveled thousands of railroad miles from Boston to Portland, Oregon.
Frank came home that evening weary from another shift at the sawmill, but seeing the absolute delight of his wife and daughters brought incredible joy to his heart. The piano became the evening medicine that gave Frank all he needed to wake and do it all again the next morning.
Decades later, when Alice passed on, Frank, was heartbroken. He sold their home and all of their belongings, except for the piano. He had it carefully shipped to his granddaughter so she could have her daughters learn to play.
The music needed to continue—and the wholeness it brings.
Yes, my Great-grandpa Frank is the real piano man in our family, for it was his labor that bought it, and his love that kept it for the generations to come.
