The fall of 1958 was a significant time in my life. That was the year I began piano lessons; more than 50 years later, playing the piano, teaching piano remains a central part of my identity.
In 1935, my then 10 year old mother lived in Rainier, Oregon. To her great delight, her father arranged for her to take piano lessons. But it was the Depression and money was scarce in that family with seven children. The lessons ended after just four weeks. Decades later in 1958, Mom was grateful to have the money to provide piano lessons for her daughter.
Buying a new piano wasn’t a consideration. My parents searched the classified ads and found a used upright piano. A neighbor who knew about pianos and music went with Dad and Mom to inspect the piano, a lovely old Kimball upright. They bought it for $150, borrowed a pickup truck and moved it into our house. It occupied one wall of the dining room for 25 years.
Our former next door neighbor, Inez Tracy, was my first teacher. She was a big, kind woman with a broad smile that showed a gap between her front teeth. When she hugged you, it was like being hugged by the Pillsbury Dough boy. Lessons took place in the living room of the two bedroom house that was home to her family of six.
Each week, Mom drove me to my lesson. I handed Inez the dollar bill Mom had given me for payment and opened my John Schaum Primer and Note Speller. I remember the first song in my first book, the song that taught me Middle C:
Putt, putt, putt, putt, putt, putt, putt (all middle C’s)
Goes the flash speedboat.
Putt, putt, putt, putt, putt, putt, putt (all middle C’s)
On the same old note.
Not great music, but I was playing songs. I practiced daily, proud of each mastered note.
