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The students have too many activities and academic deadlines, the Montessori school principal informed me. This is not a good time for piano recitals, and the piano wasn't needed either.
"Please feel free to take the piano and donate it" elsewhere, the email said.
Several months ago, with help from my favorite piano technician, I had found a free upright piano and arranged for its delivery with the school principal. It had stood against the back wall of the classroom, used as a table for lunches and backpacks, and now it was no longer wanted.
As a pianist, I wanted my children, who attended the elementary school, and their friends to hear the sound of a real piano at school. The kids have one music class a week, which involves a few pop songs played on a keyboard. There is nothing wrong with pop songs or keyboards. But I had imagined the kids' delight at hearing the full sound of chords on a piano, the storm of a Beethoven sonata, the mist of a Debussy prelude, the bouncy bass of Scott Joplin.
After helping to arrange the piano delivery, I offered to play for the children, and to tell them about adventures in music and piano. But I never got the chance.
I have a soft spot for upright pianos. I learned to play on an upright of the brand Red October as a child in Soviet Odesa. Upon coming to the U.S., my parents bought an upright piano for me with the $200 they carried with them through months of immigration, so that I could continue my musical training. It was the only money they had.