Piano Man

I’d been warned that the piano tuner was a crusty old guy. But he’s good at what he does, so I was willing to put up with his salt. Besides, I’m always eager to meet an interesting character.

When I called him last week and described my upright grand, I could picture him rolling his eyes over the phone. “I don’t know about those big, old pianos. You could buy a new, little one for the cost of fixing it up.”

“Actually, it’s a lovely instrument–in amazing condition for its age. I know the old strings might break if tuned to pitch. But I just want it tuned to itself. I love its touch and sound quality. I have no intention of replacing it.”

He showed up right on time this morning at 10:00. He frowned and shook his head when he saw the piano. “This is probably a hundred years old. No telling what kind of shape the works will be in.”

I said nothing. I already knew the works were in great shape. He removed the front and began surveying the hammers and action. He played all the notes.

His attitude began to change. “You know, back then they overbuilt these instruments.” He ran his hand lovingly along the brass. “Look at this! They don’t use materials like this anymore.”

The first thing he did was repair the hammer on the low F. He worked with the meticulous skill of a surgeon. “This’ll cost you extra,” he mumbled. “At least ten bucks.”

I laughed. “Okay. I’ll pay whatever you say.”

As he tuned he made occasional comments. “Years ago I took a few pianos of this vintage and quality, restrung them, refinished them, and tried to sell them. No one seemed to understand the value of such an instrument.” He shook his head and fine-tuned another note.

When he finished the job he sat down and played. Blues scales. Jazz. He had a nice touch. “This piano has a remarkable sound.”

“I know.” I didn’t add, “That’s what I told you.”

He stood and gestured toward the keys. “Want to play it?” He smiled sheepishly. “I mean, so you can tell me if everything’s okay.”

I played a few arpeggios, then began playing a song called “Breathe.”

He listened. When I turned to face him he had a huge grin on his face. I smiled my approval. “It sounds lovely.”

His eyes twinkled. “If you restrung this piano and replaced the felts, the sound would be unbelievable. I almost never recommend it for an instrument this old . . . but I almost never see one as nice as this.” He ran his hand along the wood and spoke, it seemed, almost to himself. “It doesn’t even need refinishing. Amazing.”

He handed me the bill. “I only charged you five dollars for the extra repair.” As he walked down the front steps he paused and offered me his card. “Call me whenever you need me.”

I made a friend today. We found common ground on the ivories of an antique, upright grand. I hope you find interesting, new friends wherever you play.

♥