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| The composer at his desk ca1941 |
How does one search for the dead? Sometimes a trip to the cemetery, a hunt for a headstone, plodding through census records. I took a different path and arrived at a more fulfilling destination.
My search for Rachmaninoff began when my sister acquired the Concerto for Piano in C minor featuring Van Cliburn on piano and the Chicago Symphony under Fritz Reiner. It was 1961. And I was hopelessly hooked. My parents had rented an old stencil upright from the local Steinway dealer and I was taking piano lessons everyday at elementary school. For our graduation recital I was tasked with learning and memorizing the composer’s Prelude in C sharp minor. It took most of the school year devoted to one piece. My hands were small, and so I had to improvise a bit, but for the most part the recital went fine.
My love of Rachmaninoff’s music never diminished. I added his third concerto and the second symphony to my list of favorites. Other works too. I also wanted to know more about the man. Eventually I read two good biographies and gained much insight thereby. I was especially moved by the events that led the composing of his second piano concerto.
A midlife career change placed me at the piano - not performing, but tuning, regulating and repairing. After tuning I often tested my work by playing a few bars of the Prelude as well as other pieces. It was during one of these little exercises at a Little Rock client’s home that an elderly relative in town for a visit asked me if I could play the entire Prelude or just snatches of it. She went on to tell me about attending a performance of Rachmaninoff's in Chicago. My appreciation for the composer being quite high, I really wanted to know more. However, I had a packed schedule that day and after exchanging a few words, I left for the next appointment.
I regretted not taking the time to learn more of the composer through her eyes. Eventually I shared my feelings with a client-piano teacher. With a rather puzzled expression she asked: “What could she have told you?” “That’s just the point,” I replied. “I’ll never know.” But all was not lost. Little did I realize that a better day was coming. And this time I would seize the opportunity.
A few years passed. Late one afternoon before tuning for a regular client we engaged in a little chat about art and memorabilia. I sat down to tune and he left the room. When finished he reappeared in the doorway with an old scrapbook in hand. “I have something to show you,” he said. Inside the book was an original hand signed 1932 program along with a review from the local newspaper. It was all about Rachmaninoff’s recital at a high school in a little swampy Arkansas town across the river called North Little Rock. The autograph was his. The event was sponsored by the Little Rock Musical Coterie. I asked to hold the book. I wanted to read and to touch both program and signature. It was a wonderful experience. But the best was yet to come.
I wanted to know more about the recital. I had no idea that the composer once performed in the area, but maybe others might. One-by-one I asked coterie members if they had knowledge of Mr. Rachmaninoff's performance. It was news to them - even among the oldest members. But I had one last client to visit with. Pat was a piano teacher - quite elderly - just old enough to remember. My appointment to tune her two Steinway pianos was a month or two away.
The day arrived. After tuning both pianos I asked her about the coterie event. “I’m sorry,” she said. “We were living in California.” No doubt she saw my disappointment. But it was soon allayed and for good reason. “But I did know Mr. Rachmaninoff.” Talk about unexpected. My jaw dropped to the floor. She then shared her story - at least some of it.
Going back to the days of her youth in California, walking through the neighborhood, strolling up one street and down another, she often saw an elderly man through a window either seated at a desk or standing. (I do not recall which.) As she walked by he would wave to her, and she to him. This went on for some time when her interest piqued and she asked her mother about the gentleman. “Who is the man down the street who always waves when I walk by?” Her mother replied, “That’s Mr. Rachmaninoff.”
At this point, Pat’s husband interjected. “I can’t believe Rachmaninoff came to North Little Rock. Back then it was mostly woods and swamp." The conversation moved to the less interesting. And then it was over. Was there more to the story? I do not know. She passed away shortly thereafter. However, for me it was enough. My search was complete.
BOB WIDDING
PIANO TECHNICIAN
2014
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