THE DESIGNATED RAMBLER, #5
That train crash put an end to any
piano/music lessons I had - for
maybe a year or so anyway. I'll
be getting to that. The genesis of
this music training - which was
somehow so out of character and
caste for my family - was all my
Mother's doing : she the errant
driver. It all tied together, somehow,
that her 'idea' would result in my
getting creamed. As soon as I had
school-learned the alphabet, say
by first grade, she said it would
be great if I learned to play piano.
In her thinking I'd be popular, a
favored at parties and gatherings,
and a center of attraction, popular
with girls, etc. Weed was not yet
legalized, so I never asked here
what she'd been smoking. Ha.
-
When you're a kid - face it -
you really have no escape. You're
stuck with the parents you have,
for the most part (rich kids can get
minders and personal guardians
and all that, yes). There's no way
out of, say, the dilemma of having
music-lessons forced on one's self.
All I ever cared to do, in lieu of
those tedious practice times plinking
away on the keyboard (wait! there's
more to this), was be outside playing
baseball and other prancing kid
stuff with the other Sluggos I
knew. My pals. But my mother
would always be sure to muffle
me into piano practice. On the
face of it, that would not have
been so bad; a pain perhaps, yes,
but manageable. The trick here was
that - at age 7 - there was no piano!
-
The only thing I had to play on was a
board about maybe three and a half
feet long on which my father had
carefully painted a facsimile of a
piano keyboard. Maybe 60 keys,
instead of 88. Early piano studies
never used the extreme low or high
notes anyway, so it hardly mattered.
The black and white of the differing
keys were each represented nicely,
and precisely. Ludicrous to think
of now, this mute piano-learning
went on for some year and a half.
I'd only actually 'hear' myself when
I was at the piano teacher's piano.
It was uncomfortable, often enough,
and I'm sure my 'practice' never did
anything other than maybe familiarize
me with but the 'idea' of what I was
supposed to be doing. Sitting at the
teacher's side once a week didn't
really allow for much. One try, and
you're out. My first piano teacher
was a guy named Mr. Slater (all I
remember). I can't recall much about
him, nor where he was located. I
was so stupidly young that most of
it was foreign to me at first anyway.
Not like any of those prodigy piano
kids you hear of. I don't know what
happened to him, but he disappeared
and the next one I had was Miss Frank,
as I've gone over. In the interim at some
point, my father - who worked in
Newark - managed to get a 25 dollar
bar-room piano. He trailered it home
at the rear of some old Dodge he had,
and I suddenly had a piano! It was in
the basement because that's where
the cellar-entrance was and it was the
easiest place to bring the piano in. A
while later, it was moved upstairs.
Then Mr. Slater came back - he
started making a weekly visit and at
this 'real' piano I'd have a lesson with
him, and then another at Miss Frank's
house. Eventually that stopped again
and all I had was Miss Frank. That
was OK with me; for she was pretty
passive, whereas the Slater guy always
pushed hard - scales and chords, lessons
on music sheets he'd have marked up
in pencil - as if I was an idiot - so I
wouldn't get a sharp or a flat that was
coming up, crescendos and loud/soft
and tempo changes too. I was glad when
he disappeared again. That went on
for probably a good year and I was
making nice progress, I thought. It
satisfied me anyway - the fact was,
in those early stages I had little interest
in what I was doing or learning. Piano
schmiano, I couldn't have cared less.
Being forced to do things was never
much fun. In spite of what my mother
said, I was about as popular as a fart
in a school auditorium.
-
Then, of course, the train wreck ended
all that. I was 'out' a long time and to
re-enter piano training was the last thing
on my, or anyone's, mind. I'd been narrow
and near to the sound-tones of death, and
everyone knew that. Aunts and uncles,
neighbors, kids and all the rest. After
finally getting released from Perth Amboy
General Hospital, much of my time was
spent going back and forth to doctors
there anyway. First I had to have my
mouth unwired. That took a visit or two
to some dental doctor and another guy.
It was pretty amazing when I first again
had a free mouth, or jaw-movement
anyway. Funny, they told me to chew
a lot of gum, so as to reawaken and
strengthen my jaw muscles. So, I did
that for a while. Then, I had some
jammed up teeth on the right side
that needed attention; that came later.
Then I had constant check-ups and
visits to bone doctors for the breaks
and the healings. I was on crutches for
maybe two months too, and got really
good at 'fast-crutching' around. Then
they were taken away and I was told to
just start walking, with care and with
deliberation. Then I had what were
called 'brain-wave tests' - I never
figured that one out. They'd clamp
about 20 little cups or something
onto my skull, and I'd have to sit there
for maybe 20 minutes while they dd
something - ran electrics through my
head or whatever it was they did, (I
never did know. Maybe my parents
did, and got results and all, but I was
never told a thing). There'd be hums
and buzzings, and some sort of paper
graph or something. Conceptualizing
piano music was one thing, but the
big problem that arose, and which
really concerned me, was this big
consultation where they told my
parents that I had 'spinal fluid'
leaking into my eardrum, or ears.
I didn't know what in the world
they were talking about, and it was
all hush-hush. No one told me much
of anything. I started to be afraid of
getting my head drilled or my spine
repaired or something; but nothing
ever occurred and I don't know what
went down. The concept was eerie,
and all I could think to ask was 'Am
I going to go deaf?' I figured that
would surely be a perfect conclusion
to this entire mess - from mute piano
playing on a stupid board, to real piano
lessons which got me hit by a train,
and (full circle) which then made me
go deaf - right back to mute piano!
What justice! What fate!
-
My next piano episode, and teacher,
I'll go into next time so as to advance
this thicket a little more than I have.
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