A Piano's Path Through History

Well, I have... a huge, massive, old upright piano and bench. (It takes six men to move it, and it has had to be moved eight times just since I've had it!) The piano was acquired shortly after my ancestors joined other settlers in the Oklahoma Land Run in 1889, ending up on a farm near Hardtner, Kansas. During this period, the family became reacquainted with Carry A. Nation, the famous saloon smashing, temperance vigilante. She and my great-great grandmother, Phoebe had been friends since childhood, so when Carry went on a rampage in Kiowa, Kansas around 1900 ( smashing up a saloon there), our farm became her retreat for awhile.

My great-grandmother, Pearl Jenkins- Hood, Phoebe's daughter, told me about these times. She was about eight years old when Carry came to stay. "Granny," as Phoebe's daughter came to be known, once recalled how she had gone many nights without much sleep because Carry and her mother would play the piano and sing hymns all night long. When they weren't at the piano singing in their loud, boisterous voices, they were perched on the bench reading the Bible. Granny lived to be 98 years old, but each time she told us her stories, it was as though she was remembering them from mere days ago. I was blessed with lots of wonderful stories; perhaps more will eventually show up here.

According to other stories passed down over the years, a devastating fire in the 1950s destroyed the old farm house but miraculously, the old piano survived. Its varnish had bubbled up and absorbed the soot and smoke, giving the piano a black appearance, and the bench was left virtually unscathed. In the 1960s, a series of deaths in the family occurred and the piano was up for grabs. Three women who were raised with it all wanted it, and the fighting went on for months. Finally, the woman who lived the closest just went and took it. That was "Granny" ... she swore the piano was always intended for her, since after all, she had been the one who lost sleep night after night listening to her mother and Carry play and sing. During these years, I spent a lot of time with the heirloom piano at Granny's house; playing it, eating Thanksgiving dinners off the bench (the kids' table!), and listening to the adventures of Carry Nation and Phoebe. Granny even spoke of the Indians (which might have been just the idle musings of an old woman for the amusement of a little girl). At 94, Granny still lived alone and played that piano quite often. Her hands, gnarled with arthritis, could only play one song: "She'll Be Coming 'Round the Mountain." (It still brings tears to my eyes to remember the keys on the piano... the ones used in that song were all wore down and chipped away.) Granny died in the 1970s, and again, all of her children wanted the piano; even more than the many other heirlooms that had been bequeathed. After more family squabbling, from many who hadn't even visited Granny in years, my great-aunt Fran did what her mother did... she just went and snatched the old piano, rescuing it once again.

When my great-aunt Fran died, her estate was ravaged by in-laws, not even blood relatives, amidst a newer generation of family squabbling. They gave us 24 hours to "come get a few small things." I took a huge trailer with me, knowing I would not leave without that piano! My husband, brothers, and a few friends all chipped in to make the long trip. When we arrived at Aunt Fran's house, we stormed the place like a bunch of bandits; the 'in-laws' had taken our heirlooms that were clearly mentioned in the will. Most everything was gone when we got there... hundreds of pieces of fine china and glass, eight curio cabinets, all full... trunks full of family quilts... all gone. In my shock though, I happened to look around the empty space, and there it was... the piano and bench, waiting for me, calling for me to save it. And, so... like two generations of daughters before me, I did what they did... I snatched that piano and bench. There was some fuss, but when the interlopers to the family finally got the message that I was not leaving without my Granny's piano, they finally relented, saying "Fine. Load the %#&* thing up. We don't know how we'd move it anyway".

The piano came to my home, and moved again and again as I went from one rented house to another over the years. My son and his generation of cousins all had to eat on the bench during the holidays, just like generations of kids before. In fact, it became something they looked forward to, since I often told them stories about Carrie Nation (and the Indians) using that bench! My sister had always wanted the piano very badly, and after a lot of painful soul-searching and reflection on other things going on in my life, I finally decided with heavy heart to let her have it. And perhaps, that was the best thing for the old piano; my sister has the resources to have it refinished and re-strung, and even have those precious ivory keys replaced. (I kept the bench, and now the grandchildren are using it as their holiday dinner table!)

While I'm torn about this chipping away of the Carrie Nation era varnish, I'm eager to see the kids playing on it again, knowing that it will be in our family for another 100 years or more, and bringing us all together with our past. The truly amazing thing is the original keys somehow made it through every single move, every fight, the fire, the Indians, and the dozens of children who have used it. God Bless those matriarchs of my clan... it's been a fascinating journey learning about them ... and about the Piano.