Gordy here. Dad’s a violin player. Doc III plays violin although at times that violin sounds like Mother sings. Dork plays the clarinet. I have to admit he's pretty good at it. I play the piano.
When I was five years old, Dad asked me which musical instrument I wanted to play. Of course, little kids are kind of grandiose, a word I learned two weeks ago on the Reader’s Digest Word Power page. I picked one of the biggest and heaviest musical instruments of all, except for a church pipe organ
As to the rest of the Hoffmans, Mother shrieks along with Patti Page as she sings on the radio, "How much is that Doggie in the Window?" Mother sounds like a baying foxhound. During Sunday's High Mass, she's none too happy when I cover both my ears. She gives me the look, which means, "Stop it, or you're going to get it."
Crazy Annie takes ballet lessons. Dork and I perform the dance moves better than she can. Pete is too young to play a musical instrument. So, he just plays.
Let me tell you how the piano came to our house. One Friday night, after Dad finished his house calls, he and Mother took me to Daly’s music store on the other side of the river. The salesman grinned and told me to sit and plunk the keys on six different pianos. I liked the way the Wurlitzer blonde spinet looked best of all. “Are you sure?” asked Mother.
“I think so,” I said.
“You'd better know so, young man,” said Dad.
“Uh-huh, I do.”
Workers, using a special piano dolly, brought the spinet up the front stairs and into our house on Monday. They placed it in a niche (Thanks to Readers Digest) in the dining room. After the workers left, Doc III and Dork started to plunk the keys. I started to whine. "Boys,” warned Mother, “after you finish, I don’t want you fooling with that again. It’s Gordy’s instrument.”
“Big deal,” said Dork, running off.
“Who wants to play a piano, anyway?” said Doc III, huffing and puffing his way out of the house.
Piano keys don’t open locks, but when I strike them in such a way, they can make pretty music. That first day, I sat on the piano bench and banged away, made a lot of noise, but no music. It didn’t bother me, but Crazy Annie went nuts. "Mother, make him stop."
"Gordy, not so loud," yelled Mother.
A second later, Crazy Annie stood next to me. “You’re hurting my ears. Please stop.”
Because she’s my only sister and two years old but had stuck up for me plenty of times, I stopped banging away at the keys.
Later that afternoon—Is six O’clock afternoon? It seems more like night to me. Anyway, Dad said at the supper meal, “I have an important announcement to make.”
The rest of us stopped eating and waited. Dad began to eat.
“And your important announcement is?” asked Mother.
“Oh, Mrs. Mah-JESS-kee has agreed to be Gordy’s piano teacher.” (Actually, Diary, her name is spelled Majewski, but isn’t pronounced Mah-JEW-skee).
“She’s a patient. Isn't she?” Mother asked Dad.
“Yes, Loretta and her husband, Frank, are patients.”
“But they live on the other side of the river?”
“So?”
“That’s quite a walk for Gordy.”
“That’s okay,” I said. I never met Mrs. Majewski, but I had met Louie Abler’s piano teacher, a hag. I now knew she wasn't going to be my teacher because she lives near the high school on our side of the river.
The next afternoon, Dad drove me to the Majewski home on the corner of Twelfth and West Grand Avenues. Dad parked the car in their driveway. “Okay, Gordy, time for your piano lesson.”
Dad walked ahead of me and pressed the doorbell button. A grinning man smoking a pipe came down the stairs, opened the door, and greeted us. “Hi, Doc. So, this is our little guy who’s interested in playing piano?” He wore a mile-wide smile.
"Hi, Frank. Yes, this is Son Number Three, Gordon." Dad's hand rested on top of my head. "Everyone calls him Gordy.”
“Hi, Gordy,”
Dad continued. “Gordy’s oldest brother, James, plays the violin. Number Two Son, William, plays clarinet. Gordy’s going to be our piano player.”
“Maybe you'll have an orchestra someday,” said Frank, laughing. “Well, come on in. Gordy can meet Loretta.”
Waiting in the kitchen was this pretty, smiling lady with dark hair and beautiful blue eyes. She wore slacks and was as tall as Mother who claims she’s five feet tall but everybody knows Mother fibs about her height.
“Hi, Gordy. I'm Mrs. Majewski and I'm going to be your piano teacher.”
Of course, I knew I couldn’t call her Loretta, could I? She was much younger than Louie Abler’s hag of a teacher, even younger than Mother.
She looked at Dad. “And good afternoon to you, Doctor Hoffman.”
“Hi, Loretta. You look chipper today.”
“That's because you brought me my newest student, Gordy.”
I liked her right away. She didn’t call me Gordon. Besides, she was kind of pretty.
“Gordy’s our only redhead,” said Dad.
“And I see it's naturally curly,” observed Mrs. Majewski.
“I don’t like curly hair,” I told her.
She chuckled softly. “I suppose not because you're a boy, but I’ll bet a lot of girls wished they could have natural curly hair like yours.”
“Well,” said Dad, “I'd better get going because it’s time for Gordy's lesson." When
"Let's go to the piano room, Gordy," said my teacher. She led the way. With difficulty. At first, I thought one leg was shorter than the other, but soon I was certain that wasn't the case. When she sat, I noticed her shoes. They were like men's high tops except her high tops were higher still and had women's higher heels. There were plenty of holes she had to lace up.
In the piano room, I noticed her piano was dark and had a high back. She eased herself into a chair on one side. Her piano had real ivory keys. The reason I knew this was because they were yellowed with age. My Wurlitzer has plastic keys and the salesman said the Wurlitzer's white keys would never yellow like ivory. Instead of a bench to sit, she had a stool. "Sit on the stool, Gordy. You might have to spin the top in order for the seat to go higher."
I sat. "Feels good."
"I guessed your height well. Didn't I?" Her smile was absolutely wonderful. I liked her almost as much as I liked Marcie who lives with Mrs. Hahn. She reached behind her and out came a red and white booklet. "This is your first piano book. It's John Thompson's Book I for Beginners."
I accepted her offering.
"You can open it to the page with the black and white keys."
It was the third page.
Her fingers moved to the piano. She softly struck one key. "This is Middle C." She struck it again. "It is the starting point for all pianists. See where it is? It's in the middle of the keyboard and it's just below those two black keys. They'll help you find it."
I nodded.
"Now, play Middle C."
I did.
"Again. And once again. Yet again. Now, Gordy, I want you to look at me, and not at the keyboard."
She looked like an angel, painted on our church wall above the altar. She smiled. So did I. "Now, turn your eyes back to the keyboard. I want you to play Middle C with the thumb of your right hand."
She lifted her right hand. I'm a southpaw. It was easy to do with the right thumb, though.
"Good for you," she said. "I can see you're going to be a marvelous student."
Marvelous. I liked that. I then learned in very short order the keys following Middle C to the right were d, e, f, and g. She showed me the scale on the John Thompson book and pointed to the notes. "That is Middle C. It will always be on the bottom line of the scale. The key of d is on the space above the line. Can you remember that?"
I nodded. This was exciting stuff.
"Now, I want you to play Middle C with your right thumb. Play d with your index finger, e with your middle finger, f with your ring finger, and g with your pinkie."
I did what she told me, but it wasn't easy because my hand and fingers were small.
"Again," she said. Again, again and again she said, "Again."
"Okay, I believe you've got it. Now, I want you to practice playing those notes on your piano at home. I’m certain it will be no problem for you to find Middle C on your piano and on the scale in your music book. You'll be fine, Gordy. Just practice every day."
Frank walked into the room. "Doctor Hoffman said you should walk to his office and wait there for him to give you a ride home. You know where his office is, about six blocks, straight down Grand Avenue?" He pointed the direction.
I nodded. Walking to Dad's office would be a pleasure. I knew I was going to enjoy playing the piano, especially with my having such a wonderful teacher.
When I was five years old, Dad asked me which musical instrument I wanted to play. Of course, little kids are kind of grandiose, a word I learned two weeks ago on the Reader’s Digest Word Power page. I picked one of the biggest and heaviest musical instruments of all, except for a church pipe organ
As to the rest of the Hoffmans, Mother shrieks along with Patti Page as she sings on the radio, "How much is that Doggie in the Window?" Mother sounds like a baying foxhound. During Sunday's High Mass, she's none too happy when I cover both my ears. She gives me the look, which means, "Stop it, or you're going to get it."
Crazy Annie takes ballet lessons. Dork and I perform the dance moves better than she can. Pete is too young to play a musical instrument. So, he just plays.
Let me tell you how the piano came to our house. One Friday night, after Dad finished his house calls, he and Mother took me to Daly’s music store on the other side of the river. The salesman grinned and told me to sit and plunk the keys on six different pianos. I liked the way the Wurlitzer blonde spinet looked best of all. “Are you sure?” asked Mother.
“I think so,” I said.
“You'd better know so, young man,” said Dad.
“Uh-huh, I do.”
Workers, using a special piano dolly, brought the spinet up the front stairs and into our house on Monday. They placed it in a niche (Thanks to Readers Digest) in the dining room. After the workers left, Doc III and Dork started to plunk the keys. I started to whine. "Boys,” warned Mother, “after you finish, I don’t want you fooling with that again. It’s Gordy’s instrument.”
“Big deal,” said Dork, running off.
“Who wants to play a piano, anyway?” said Doc III, huffing and puffing his way out of the house.
Piano keys don’t open locks, but when I strike them in such a way, they can make pretty music. That first day, I sat on the piano bench and banged away, made a lot of noise, but no music. It didn’t bother me, but Crazy Annie went nuts. "Mother, make him stop."
"Gordy, not so loud," yelled Mother.
A second later, Crazy Annie stood next to me. “You’re hurting my ears. Please stop.”
Because she’s my only sister and two years old but had stuck up for me plenty of times, I stopped banging away at the keys.
Later that afternoon—Is six O’clock afternoon? It seems more like night to me. Anyway, Dad said at the supper meal, “I have an important announcement to make.”
The rest of us stopped eating and waited. Dad began to eat.
“And your important announcement is?” asked Mother.
“Oh, Mrs. Mah-JESS-kee has agreed to be Gordy’s piano teacher.” (Actually, Diary, her name is spelled Majewski, but isn’t pronounced Mah-JEW-skee).
“She’s a patient. Isn't she?” Mother asked Dad.
“Yes, Loretta and her husband, Frank, are patients.”
“But they live on the other side of the river?”
“So?”
“That’s quite a walk for Gordy.”
“That’s okay,” I said. I never met Mrs. Majewski, but I had met Louie Abler’s piano teacher, a hag. I now knew she wasn't going to be my teacher because she lives near the high school on our side of the river.
The next afternoon, Dad drove me to the Majewski home on the corner of Twelfth and West Grand Avenues. Dad parked the car in their driveway. “Okay, Gordy, time for your piano lesson.”
Dad walked ahead of me and pressed the doorbell button. A grinning man smoking a pipe came down the stairs, opened the door, and greeted us. “Hi, Doc. So, this is our little guy who’s interested in playing piano?” He wore a mile-wide smile.
"Hi, Frank. Yes, this is Son Number Three, Gordon." Dad's hand rested on top of my head. "Everyone calls him Gordy.”
“Hi, Gordy,”
Dad continued. “Gordy’s oldest brother, James, plays the violin. Number Two Son, William, plays clarinet. Gordy’s going to be our piano player.”
“Maybe you'll have an orchestra someday,” said Frank, laughing. “Well, come on in. Gordy can meet Loretta.”
Waiting in the kitchen was this pretty, smiling lady with dark hair and beautiful blue eyes. She wore slacks and was as tall as Mother who claims she’s five feet tall but everybody knows Mother fibs about her height.
“Hi, Gordy. I'm Mrs. Majewski and I'm going to be your piano teacher.”
Of course, I knew I couldn’t call her Loretta, could I? She was much younger than Louie Abler’s hag of a teacher, even younger than Mother.
She looked at Dad. “And good afternoon to you, Doctor Hoffman.”
“Hi, Loretta. You look chipper today.”
“That's because you brought me my newest student, Gordy.”
I liked her right away. She didn’t call me Gordon. Besides, she was kind of pretty.
“Gordy’s our only redhead,” said Dad.
“And I see it's naturally curly,” observed Mrs. Majewski.
“I don’t like curly hair,” I told her.
She chuckled softly. “I suppose not because you're a boy, but I’ll bet a lot of girls wished they could have natural curly hair like yours.”
“Well,” said Dad, “I'd better get going because it’s time for Gordy's lesson." When
"Let's go to the piano room, Gordy," said my teacher. She led the way. With difficulty. At first, I thought one leg was shorter than the other, but soon I was certain that wasn't the case. When she sat, I noticed her shoes. They were like men's high tops except her high tops were higher still and had women's higher heels. There were plenty of holes she had to lace up.
In the piano room, I noticed her piano was dark and had a high back. She eased herself into a chair on one side. Her piano had real ivory keys. The reason I knew this was because they were yellowed with age. My Wurlitzer has plastic keys and the salesman said the Wurlitzer's white keys would never yellow like ivory. Instead of a bench to sit, she had a stool. "Sit on the stool, Gordy. You might have to spin the top in order for the seat to go higher."
I sat. "Feels good."
"I guessed your height well. Didn't I?" Her smile was absolutely wonderful. I liked her almost as much as I liked Marcie who lives with Mrs. Hahn. She reached behind her and out came a red and white booklet. "This is your first piano book. It's John Thompson's Book I for Beginners."
I accepted her offering.
"You can open it to the page with the black and white keys."
It was the third page.
Her fingers moved to the piano. She softly struck one key. "This is Middle C." She struck it again. "It is the starting point for all pianists. See where it is? It's in the middle of the keyboard and it's just below those two black keys. They'll help you find it."
I nodded.
"Now, play Middle C."
I did.
"Again. And once again. Yet again. Now, Gordy, I want you to look at me, and not at the keyboard."
She looked like an angel, painted on our church wall above the altar. She smiled. So did I. "Now, turn your eyes back to the keyboard. I want you to play Middle C with the thumb of your right hand."
She lifted her right hand. I'm a southpaw. It was easy to do with the right thumb, though.
"Good for you," she said. "I can see you're going to be a marvelous student."
Marvelous. I liked that. I then learned in very short order the keys following Middle C to the right were d, e, f, and g. She showed me the scale on the John Thompson book and pointed to the notes. "That is Middle C. It will always be on the bottom line of the scale. The key of d is on the space above the line. Can you remember that?"
I nodded. This was exciting stuff.
"Now, I want you to play Middle C with your right thumb. Play d with your index finger, e with your middle finger, f with your ring finger, and g with your pinkie."
I did what she told me, but it wasn't easy because my hand and fingers were small.
"Again," she said. Again, again and again she said, "Again."
"Okay, I believe you've got it. Now, I want you to practice playing those notes on your piano at home. I’m certain it will be no problem for you to find Middle C on your piano and on the scale in your music book. You'll be fine, Gordy. Just practice every day."
Frank walked into the room. "Doctor Hoffman said you should walk to his office and wait there for him to give you a ride home. You know where his office is, about six blocks, straight down Grand Avenue?" He pointed the direction.
I nodded. Walking to Dad's office would be a pleasure. I knew I was going to enjoy playing the piano, especially with my having such a wonderful teacher.
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