<div> Debbie:<br>
<br>
<font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Think about sending this to the Journal. Good reading.<br>
<br>
Paul<br>
</font></div>
<div> <br>
</div>
<div> <br>
</div>
-----Original Message-----<br>
From: pianolady50@peoplepc.com<br>
To: Pianotech List <pianotech@ptg.org><br>
Sent: Wed, 28 May 2008 9:26 pm<br>
Subject: Tuning Tale<br>
<br>
<div id="AOLMsgPart_2_8da80c4a-3397-45d7-9396-85606831968b">
<div><font face="Arial" size="2">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.</font></div>
<div><font face="Arial" size="2"></font> </div>
<div><font face="Arial" size="2">Debbie Legg</font></div>
<div><font face="Arial" size="2">-------------------------------------------</font></div>
<div>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.</div>
<div>
<div>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.</div>
<div>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.</div>
<div>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.</div>
<div>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.</div>
<div>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.</div>
<div>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.</div>
<div>Wonderful. </div>
<div>But where was that mouse?</div>
<div>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.</div>
<div>Makes me wonder about Mr. J and what was.</div>
</div>
<div><font face="Arial"></font> </div>
<div><font face="Arial" size="2"></font> </div>
</div>
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