Tuning Tale

[paulrevenkojones at aol.com]

 Debbie:

Think about sending this to the Journal. Good reading.

Paul


 


 

-----Original Message-----
From: pianolady50 at peoplepc.com
To: Pianotech List <pianotech at ptg.org>
Sent: Wed, 28 May 2008 9:26 pm
Subject: Tuning Tale
















The following tale is copied from a post I wrote on 
my blog a few weeks ago.? As the blog is read by mostly non-piano tech 
folks, there is not a lot of technical wording.


?


Debbie Legg


-------------------------------------------


Even the booking of today's tuning was a little different. The phone call 
came a couple weeks ago from a pleasant sounding woman who said she was making 
the call for her backdoor neighbor. Mr. J needed his piano tuned. She was 
calling to check on the price and to schedule a convenient date. I asked her how 
long it had been since Mr. J's piano had been serviced. She paused and then said 
she would put him on the phone. Odd, I thought she was making the call because 
he was at work or something and unable to personally speak with me. Mr. J gave 
me the information needed. He owns a Steinway grand. It had been tuned about a 
year ago, but since then one bass string had broken. I told him my tuning fee 
and talked to him about string replacement. He scheduled the tuning for today. 
"Just make it sound good for me," he said.




This morning I slept in a bit and once I did get going with breakfast and 
shower I was dreading the tuning job. Having a string break on it's own is not a 
good sign, nor was I relishing dealing with ordering a replacement and the 
subsequent repeat visits to install and tune it. I'm in a 'give me simple' mood. 
Nevertheless, with tuning gear in hand, I headed out for the 10:30 
appointment.


Mr. J's place was about a fifteen minute drive and easy to find. But what a 
place. As I approached and parked in the gravel drive, it was difficult to 
convince myself to stay. His house looked like a small, old barn. Added on and 
patched however the mood had swayed the carpentry. It was two stories tall. With 
a deep breath I gathered my tool kit and headed for the aged front door. Rough 
sawn and slightly beaten, it did boast one small window, a kitty door, and an 
enormous door knocker. As I rapped with the knocker, I stole a cautious glance 
through the window. It didn't look good. My quick view didn't show ordinary 
living quarters. To the right, and in a little, was a large utilitarian sink. To 
the left, haphazard storage. I stepped back from the pane as I heard footsteps 
approaching from inside.


Mr. J seemed to be in his late sixties or early seventies. I found it very 
hard to tell exactly. He was disheveled but clean and seemed somewhat reserved. 
I extended my hand as I introduced myself and my purpose for being there. He 
commented that he had forgotten my name but did remember our appointment. Since 
all I could see was the old sink and lots of piles of 'barn-ish' storage, I 
asked where he was hiding the piano. Mr. J said it was upstairs. At that point I 
noticed the worn staircase to my right that had been hidden from outside view 
and hauled myself and tools upward. Mr. J followed. Halfway up I noticed a kitty 
bowl filled with water on a small landing.? Can't be too bad, he's likes 
cats.


Upon arriving on the second floor I was greeted by an expansive view of 
Ipswich Bay hampered only by the white streaks of thermal glass panes gone bad. 
I made a quick assessment of my surroundings. The second floor was one large 
room. I was standing in the 'living room' section. I looked further and saw the 
old Steinway M at the far end. As I approached the piano, still looking around, 
I spotted Mr. J's bed on the left. A double sized mattress on the floor. Mr. J's 
house seemed as disheveled and forlorn as Mr. J.! The lid to the piano was open 
so I set my tool case down by the bench and had a look inside the Steinway. It 
wasn't a pretty view. What should have been bright and shiny was layered in gobs 
of rust. Everything steel was host to the orange-y brown parasite, including 
moderately sized patches of the cast iron plate.


I was thrilled with this discovery. Nothing better than piles of rust to 
justify my exit. I pointed out the problems inherent with trying to tune a piano 
with such decay to Mr. J. He was unfazed. I told him that ethically and 
professionally, I felt it best that a tuning not be attempted. I told him that 
there would be no charge. I would just leave. Still he wanted me to try. I knew 
I had dreaded this appointment for some reason! Not many sounds worse to a piano 
tuner than strings breaking or the plate cracking. I got everything ready to 
start and then closed the lid. Better for breaking tensioned steel to hit the 
interior of the piano than me. Luckily, things weren't too far off, tuning-wise, 
and I gingerly began making some fine adjustments where needed. And only where 
needed.


About fifteen nerve-racking minutes into the tuning, I heard Mr. J holler, 
"MoMo get over here!" I turned to see Mr. J grabbing on to a cat's tail trying 
to 'haul'er in'. A split second later there was even more commotion. MoMo let go 
of a field mouse and it scurried across the floor and under a couch. Then the 
fun began! MoMo was frantic. She couldn't find her new playmate. Mr. J was 
frantic because he couldn't either! They both searched and searched and scolded 
each other. Finally MoMo headed out to find another friend while Mr. J continued 
his search. After ten minutes, or so, even he gave up. I told him that between a 
rusty piano and a loose mouse in the house, he was fortunate that I was still 
there! He said he usually just catches the mice in his hand and carries them 
outside to free them.


Wonderful. 


But where was that mouse?


Remarkably, after temporarily forgetting about the newest, tiniest house 
guest, and after an hour of tentative tuning waiting for the snap, the snap 
never happened. The piano was tuned with not one string breaking. My nerves, on 
the other hand, were nearing the breaking point! I advised Mr. J that paying to 
replace the one broken string was probably not an economically sound choice. 
It's absence was not perceptible being one of a pair. It's partner was still 
there for that note and the damper still functioning. I sat down at the key 
board and played a short passage of ragtime. Afterwards, Mr. J sat down and 
performed a stunning piece of 30's jazz. He was totally amazing.


Makes me wonder about Mr. J and what was.



?


?

 

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