story

[Clyde Hollinger]

I parked along the curb and got out of the car.  He was standing there, 
waiting for me.
"Do you remember my name?"
As we walked toward the suburban house I looked at my service card.
"Well, I have two names written down here, Nathan and Austin."
"Which one am I?"
I sized him up.
"I think you must be the younger one, which I probably wrote down 
second, so I think you must be Austin."

I was right.  We walked into the living room where the 1964 Winter 
spinet was waiting for me, with everything already cleared off the top.  
Mom drove away to get the groceries and left the visiting grandma in 
charge.  Austin watched as I pulled the piano a few inches from the wall 
so the lid would stay up, put a cloth where it touched the wall to avoid 
the possibility of marks, and began inserting my strip mutes.  Kids 
sometimes ask me why I do that, but I think Austin watched me last year.

"What grade will you be in when school starts?"
"Fourth."
Smart kid.  Nice kid.  I like kids like that.  Interested, but not 
getting in the way.  Savor the moment.  In a few years he'll be a 
teenager, not likely to greet the piano tuner even though I'm not a 
stranger to the family.  I've tuned this piano every year going back 
well before Austin was born, and I tune for at least five of his 
mother's siblings.

After I opened up my Toshiba Libretto with RCT, powered it up, checked 
where the pitch was (3c both ways of A-440) and began to tune, he sat 
down briefly on the other end of the bench, quietly watching.  When I 
finished with the computer I had him put it in my case and began tuning 
the unisons aurally.

"I tell you what, Austin.  If you will help me a little, I'll clean the 
bottom of the piano for free.  Go out to that Buick and bring in three 
things -- the sweeper, the hose and the sweeper tools."
"Like these?"
He opened up the closet nearby and showed me his mom's sweeper tools. 
"Yes, like those.  There's a blanket over everything in the trunk.  Just 
move it around so you can find the things."

I popped the trunk lid open from the house.  As I continued tuning I 
could watch him through the front window.  He was focused and soon had 
the items out of the car, brought them in the front door and put them on 
the floor beside me.  I finished the tuning, took off the kneeboard, and 
he watched as I worked, on his hands and knees beside me.  Fat aging man 
and a little boy, side by side, with their heads stuck inside a piano.  
Norman Rockwell subject matter.  Where's the camera?

I replaced the kneeboard and lid, and we were finished.
"You are a good help.  Maybe I should hire you to work with me other 
places."
"Nope, just at this house," he smiled.

I completed the invoice and filled in the amount on the blank signed 
check Grandma gave me.  About that time Mom came home with the 
groceries. With shining eyes Austin exclaimed to her, "He cleaned inside 
the piano for free!"  I explained to her that I would normally charge $5 
to $10 to do that, but the tuning went smoothly, and "I had good help."

As I drove away, I found myself smiling all the way to the next job.  
Every now and then you have a day that stands well above the norm.  
There is a Hebrew word "shalom" which I think means sort of a general 
peace and wellbeing.  I felt like I was having a "shalom" day.  Indeed, 
the whole day went smoothly, something I really needed at this time.  
And in my mind I still see the bright eyes, the fleeting smile, and the 
efficient helpfulness of a fourth grade boy named Austin.

Clyde Hollinger, RPT