Out to the lake

Gershwin plays Gershwin: The Piano Rolls; George Gershwin, piano

About five miles to the west of our farm sits Oakwood Lakes State Park. Eight glacial lakes interconnect to form land and shore configurations ideal for picnics, swimming, camping, boating, skiing, fishing, hiking and horseback riding. I couldn’t even guess how many warm afternoons, when my sisters and I were little, found their conclusions out at the park for a dip in the lake.

We all know the drill. First you wade into the water; it’s so cold. Up to the knees first, then come back out. Then up to the waist, then come back out. Then all the way up to the neck; then still come back out. Activities around the dock came next. How far out to the end of the dock will you jump into the water? As the evening comes on, bravery sets in and common sense dims, and that point on the dock gets further and further from the shore. About the time that we have the courage – some may call it courage – to take that ultimate plunge…

“Kids! Let’s pack up. It’s time to go.”

Not home, though. No swimming evening was complete without a stop at the Wagon Wheel Resort, right by the swimming area. It was really little more than a burger place. But with its wrap-around bar, pinewood walls, its wagon wheel motif and local, wall-size maps of roads, trails, cabins and picnic shelters, the place sustained the wonder of a summer camp. While you ate your burger, gnawed on your French fries and sipped your pop – Yes. Pop! – you wondered where all the other campers were.

Mr. and Mrs. DeB. owned and operated the little resort and always kept the place neat, tidy and classy. Clientele seemed to know to conform its behavior to the family environment, otherwise the master of the house, or more likely the mistress, might remind them where the door is. Mr. and Mrs. DeB. always made it a point to come out and talk to the people who visited their little corner of the lake.

One evening at the Wagon Wheel, Mrs. DeB. said, “I’ve got a surprise for you when you’ve finished eating.” When the last French fry found its way home, she led us back behind one of the booths and there stood a piano. Was that there before? “No, I bought it about six weeks ago. It’s an old player piano. It was here a few weeks ago when you folks stopped in, but I didn’t want to tell you about it until I got it tuned. Go, ahead. Try it out.”

I played one chord on the piano and knew that I was in trouble. The C chord that I played didn’t sound like a C chord. It sounded like a B chord. “The tuner said that, if he tuned the strings all the way up to where they’re supposed to be, they might break.” I looked up at Mom, she looked back at me, and said, “It’s okay. I understand. Just do the best that you can.” I tried a couple of songs, the simplest ones I knew. But with each passing note, my fingers automatically went one note lower to try to play it in the key that it sounded. I was frustrated, embarrassed and crushed. And a little sad. Mrs. DeB. smiled and said, “That’s okay sweetheart. Maybe another time.” I could tell, though, that she was disappointed.

She had a couple of piano rolls and she put them in. I had seen a player piano only once before, at Shakey’s Pizza. But we weren’t aloud to touch. This time I got to watch the whole process. I was completely fascinated. This was an entirely different kind of tape recorder. It was a paper tape recorder.

George Gershwin played his own music, in the way that he conceived it, on a reproducing piano (a step beyond the standard player piano) in 1924. Why it took nearly seventy years to imprint them onto a CD confounds me. The highlight of this CD is the solo piano version of “An American In Paris”. Absolutely outstanding!

They say that Art Tatum, possibly the finest solo jazz pianist to date, learned to play the piano by listening to piano rolls. Being blind in one eye and half-blind in the other, he played back what he remembered hearing on the rolls. Quite often, though, piano rolls, back in the day, were pressed with two pianists at the keyboard. Nobody ever told Art Tatum that he was listening to two pianists at one keyboard. The things that you can accomplish when you’re not told what’s impossible. I’ve never felt so handicapped than when I listen to blind Art Tatum.

Credits: To the inventor of the player piano. Genius!