Monday, May 19, 2008, 17:09
A Member of the Family
A member of the family came home on Sunday. I haven't seen her in 30 years. I thought she was long gone and that I would never see her again. But she is here to stay. She is white now. When I knew her well, she was more of a blond, although the first time I saw her, she was very dark.
It's my old piano from when I was a kid! The piano from "Don't Make 'Em Like That Anymore" in my book Where the Green Grass Grows. The piano that my dad and brother dropped bringing into the farmhouse.
It all started last fall when a friend of ours called my husband to ask if Randy would go over to the friend's uncle's house to fix their computer. When Randy got there, he discovered the computer was set up next to an old piano. They got to talking about the piano, and when the man found out who Randy was, he said they had bought it from my sister-in-law. Randy put two and two together and figured out that it was "my" piano.
When he got home, I dug around until I found an old picture of it, and he said, "yes, that's it!"
After my folks retired from farming and we moved to this house, Dad did NOT want to move that piano again. "You don't really want that old piano, do you?" he said. I did. But from the way he said it, I knew he did not want to move it again. So I said, no, I didn't really want the piano. My brother and sister-in-law kept it in the house on the farm until she got an opportunity to get *her* mother's piano. Then once again, Dad said, "You don't really want that old piano, do you?" I knew he still didn't want to try to move it, so I said, no.
My sister-in-law sold the piano, but I never really did know where it had gone to. By that time I was out of high school and out on my own. And so, for about the last 30 years, I had no idea where the piano was. Even if I had known who had bought it, what are the chances that they would have held onto it for all of those years anyway?
And then last fall, Randy went to fix a computer, and there it was.
After church on Sunday, we borrowed a trailer and Randy asked a couple of friends of his (very strong friends) to help move the piano. They had quite a time getting it out of the house where it was, around two corners to get it straightened out enough to go through the door, down the sill to the porch and then down the steps to the lawn. Getting it on the trailer was easy enough because the trailer had a ramp. And then getting into this house was easy enough because we still have the ramp that Dad built for Mom. He built it when she was in the hospital after being diagnosed with gall bladder cancer so she could come home. But she died before she ever even saw it, and we haven't had the heart to take it down.
The piano came up the ramp, over the sill, through the dining room and into the living room. Randy and I spent quite a bit of time Saturday evening rearranging furniture to find a place for it, but we did it.
When Mom and Dad moved here, there was no ramp. They would have had to get the piano up a set of steps and into the house, and I can see that it would have been quite difficult. After they were finished moving the piano on Sunday, Randy knew, then, that I was not exaggerating about how heavy it was and how much trouble Dad and Ingman had moving it into the farm house -- up a set of steps, through a tiny landing and up more steps into the living room.
The piano is a Schulz. After doing a little research on the Internet, we discovered that Schulz pianos are known for their sound quality, and that the company was very careful in making "art quality" cases for them. This one is not particularly elaborate as Schulz pianos go, but you can see what they mean by that by looking more closely at the leg. From the serial number on the piano, we think it might have been built around 1914.
The piano is in good shape, considering all that it's been through. There is one key that doesn't work, and a couple more are sticky. Some of the key ivories are missing, too -- six in all. But all things considered, it's not in bad shape. It still sounds wonderful.
Unfortunately, it has been painted white. When Mom first bought it, it was covered in a heavy, black, kind of grainy varnish. My sister didn't like it, so she painted it beige. When my brother and sister-in-law had it, my sister-in-law didn't like beige, so she "antiqued it." When the people who bought it had it, they didn't like the antique, so they painted it white.
Randy wants to try to restore the original finish. I can see that it might be a project that will take a couple of years. We found a picture on the Internet of another one that's been restored, and it is beautiful. Just absolutely lovely wood.
Sunday afternoon I sat down and plinked around on the piano for four hours. I am rusty. Very, very rusty. And my hands are not used to reaching back and forth that way. But, I was able to eventually play (very slowly) a couple of hymns with both hands.
I am surprised I even got that far!
Henry, Katerina and Dora are afraid of the piano. They hid out in the bedroom while I was playing around with it. I suppose they will get used to it someday. The piano still does have a big, grand sound to it.
I noticed, however, than when the cover is down and I'm not playing the piano, it's just another piece of furniture for Henry to sprawl on. Katerina, on the other hand, likes to walk around on it. Dora doesn't want a thing to do with it all.
I asked the lady what I owed her for the piano just before we left. She said they didn't want anything for it. I told her that it wasn't just a piano, it was a member of the family coming home. She looked at me and smiled and said, "It means something to you. Then it really does belong with you."
Oh, yes. The piano means something to me. I spent many happy hours playing and singing when I was a kid. I was never very good, and mostly I could only play hymns and Christmas songs that I knew what they were supposed to sound like. But it was fun, and I enjoyed it.
Hmmmm . . . I wonder where my old piano lesson books are. In a box in the basement somewhere . . .
LeAnn R. Ralph
Wednesday, May 14, 2008, 19:45
More Tornado Stories
I did a couple more "tornado interviews" Tuesday. And I am still amazed by the stories. One gentleman was driving a vendor truck. He delivered potato chips and bread and candy to small country stores, stores in town, taverns -- that sort of thing. He had only come across the village limits in my hometown on June 4, 1958, when the tornado struck.
The truck was slammed on its side, lifted upright, slammed on the other side, lifted upright. In all, it was slammed back and forth about five times. (It was a tall delivery truck with a 15-foot door in the back). He knew he had to get out of the truck. Eventually, both doors were gone, and while he was still hanging onto the steering wheel, he was pulled out of the truck feet first. He landed near a cemetery not far away and burrowed down in the mud to try to save himself.
When it was over, all that was left of the truck was the chassis, the motor and the rear wheels. He had a severely injured shoulder, a head injury that required 48 stitches, and a hole the size of a grapefruit and about three or four inches deep in his thigh.
He considered himself lucky to have survived.
He began walking toward a little store that was at the intersection of the highway and the county road. The owners were his customers. There was nothing left of the store. He began to call out their names.
As he came closer, a table began to rise up out of the middle of the rubble.
The store owners had taken refuge under the table and had held onto the legs for dear life. Neither of them were injured.
As he was walking farther into town, he saw a car with two people hanging out the windows. He thought they were dead. Later on, he learned they were just unconscious.
A while later, a gentleman with a car came to take him and several other severely injured people to the hospital. He could see that the car was brand new.
"I don't want to get in your car. It's brand new. I'm muddy. I'm bloody. I'll ruin your new car," he said to the man who owned the car.
He also said he would never, for the rest of his life, forget the man's reply: "To hell with the car. I can always get another one. Get in. We're going to the hospital."
On the way to the hospital, there was a little girl 12 years old in the back seat with him. He could see she had some severe injuries, and he wondered if she was going to make it. He knew that later on, she had been transferred to a hospital in the Twin Cities. But he never knew if she survived. Almost 50 years later he found out that she had survived.
As for the little girl, all her life, she wondered about the man who had been riding in the back seat with her. She didn't know his name. She didn't know if he had survived.
Nearly 50 years later, she found out who the man was, and she has spoken to him by telephone.
They will meet up again at the memorial service in my hometown this year on June 4.
The other gentleman I talked to was a member of the National Guard unit that was called out to my hometown. He was a 22-year-old college student at the time. He said he didn't know why his unit was called out. It was an artillery unit. They didn't have any first aid equipment. All he had was the first aid training he had gotten in a physical education class.
The truth of the matter was, though, that no one had any first aid equipment. There were really no ambulances in those days. A few hospitals had their own ambulances, but when someone needed medical attention, people used their station wagons or funeral home directors used their hearses to transport people to the hospital.
And that's what was available in my hometown after the tornado -- station wagons, cars, pickup trucks, a cattle truck, a hearse.
The man later spent his entire career in emergency medical services. He didn't have the skills or knowledge or equipment to help people on June 4, 1958, and he hoped to be able to do something about that for other people in other situations.
All these years later, there is one woman who died who haunts him still. He said they found her, that her legs were cut up, but that she did not have particularly life-threatening injuries. They wrapped her in some blankets and put her in a station wagon to get to her out of the rain. He told several people that she needed to go to the hospital. Later that night, when someone went to check on her, they found out that she had died. He thinks she went into shock. He is certain that if the ambulances and medical equipment available today had been available back then, the woman would not have died.
The stories that people continue to share with me are amazing. And the fact that people are willing to share their stories with me and the readers of the newspaper is amazing too. I really am fortunate to be able to interview these people and to write their stories.
LeAnn R. Ralph
