One of my favorite childhood memories is sitting around as a family {and by family, I mean everyone... grandparents, cousins, aunts & uncles, siblings} singing songs on my Grandma's player piano.
My favorite songs were always the Christmas carols and Bad, Bad Leroy Brown. Oh and We Have No Bananas! Classics. We'd play them over and over and over again for hours. Listening to my Grandpa's beautiful baritone voice singing with us as he sat on the old piano bench covered in dusty blue fabric, pumping the foot pedals up and down.
How my Grandma acquired the piano though is kind of legacy in our family.
The piano belonged to my my great-great Grandpa Delroy and Grandma Orpha Peacock. They passed it down to their son George Kenneth and daughter-in-law Hilma Peacok who then gave it to my Grandma Nan Jewkes. My Grandma H. Peacock actually had two pianos, one went to my Grandma and the other to my Great Aunt Buehlah's son. My Grandparents were living in Price, Utah at the time they got the piano. But my Grandpa Don Jewkes refused to move it for her because they didn't have anywhere to put it except in the basement and he knew it wasn't going to fit. He said it would never, no way, ever, ever fit in their little house and if it got stuck, that's where it was going to stay.
Forever.
My Grandma N. Jewkes cried and cried and cried about it. One day when my Grandpa D. Jewkes was at work, she asked her two brothers, Paul and Delroy, to bring it to Price for her. They brought it over in one of their trucks and left it on the porch. Where it sat until my Grandma N. Jewkes convinced Grandpa to move it downstairs.
Where it got stuck.
Sure enough when they got to the bottom of the stairs, just like my Grandpa D. Jewkes had predicted, it got wedged at the top under the floor beam. I'm sure there were a few more tears shed and a few colorful words used. Grandma just brought out a handsaw and handed to Grandpa. He thought she wanted him to saw the piano in pieces but she told him to cut the ceiling. He cut a notch out of the floor beam, which happened to be a support beam (yikes!) and the piano went into the basement.
When they moved to Logan, my Grandpa said the piano wasn't going to come. But his company, Nabisco, provided a moving company to get them from Price to Logan so the piano came to Logan too. When they were moving it into the basement and halfway down the stairs, one of the guys told my Grandpa a moving guy had been killed the week before moving one of the old, upright player pianos. I guess it really upset my Grandpa to hear he was risking someone's life just to get that darn piano into the basement... again. Luckily, the basement wasn't finished yet so it was a little easier to get down the stairs. He literally built a room around the piano! He always said the piano was going to have to be sold with the house when they died because there was no way it was coming back out of the basement again.
After my Grandpa died, my Dad got the piano. I'm wondering if he got it because he was the only one crazy enough to try and get it back up the stairs and then into his house.
Why my Dad decided to put the piano in a basement again I have no idea!
I so wish he would have taken a video of the poor piano movers trying to get it out of my grandparent's house and then down the stairs at my parent's because those guys deserved a raise. My Dad said when they saw what they were getting into, they weren't sure they still wanted the job. Apparently old, upright player pianos are the least favorite piano of movers because they are so massive. Not only did they have to lug it back up the stairs at my grandparent's house, scrapping the ceiling all the way up, but they had to figure out how to turn the corner into my parent's family room once they got it down their stairs. The only way to get it in the family room, was to turn it up on it's side at the bottom of the stairs. He said it was a little scary. Which coming from my Dad probably means he
closed his eyes and said a silent prayer that he wasn't going to have
to cut a hole in the ceiling or wall. Or scrap a dead piano mover off his floor.
Well. The piano sounds great. The big kids (aka, Kurtis) and the grandkids love it. It brings back a lot of memories of my own childhood watching Pearl, Ruby, and Cole pedal away singing at the top of their lungs.
I love old things with a rich history... stories. And just seeing all of the dings and scratches makes my heart soar. The wood is just gorgeous from years and years of love and aging.
It's beautiful. And if you look closely, you can see the keys playing.
Everyone can play a piano like this! No musical experience required.
I remember playing with all the little knobs and medal sticks (I have no idea what the technical term is for that little thing) that adjust the piano's sound and foot pedals.
But as a kid, my most favorite part was when the song was over and you got to flip the switch and "rewind" the piano roll again. As fast as you can! Until it flipped off the little hook and starting flapping around.
But I never remember those darn foot pedals being so hard to pedal. Apparently I'm a little out of shape. And so are they.... we must be vintage.
Look at all of those beautiful old piano rolls. I think I'm going to have to start antique shopping now.
So grateful for the wonderful memories this gorgeous heirloom brings to me. And I'm hoping it continues to create memories for generations to come.
That is, if we can get it out of the basement.
