Von Maur

The walk from his usual handicap spot to the entrance was getting harder and harder for old George Schumann. The snow and ice certainly didn’t help. It not only slowed him down, but put him at severe risk of injury. His tote bag overstuffed with sheet music, and a cane that seemed to be more trouble than it was worth only managed to make his walk more cumbersome. George was never one to let anything get in the way of doing the things that mattered most, especially since his gig as Von Maur’s resident pianist was his single source of joy.

It had been almost a year to the day when he slipped on the sidewalk outside his apartment, fracturing his wrist. And it was during his recovery that inadvertently landed him this gig to begin with – smack dab in the middle of the worst depression since his wife had passed twenty years prior. Fortunately, his buddy Frank made sure to check in on him from time to time, bringing along with him food and bawdy jokes.

And then one day, news that the local Von Maur was looking to hire a pianist.

“It helps to sleep with the current pianist from time to time,” Frank said, referring to his part-time lover Dolores, who was finally retiring after 15 years on the job.

“Maybe you should give it a go!”

“Are you kidding me?” George said, looking out the window of his 5th floor senior living apartment – which was how he spent most of his days recuperating from his injury.

An octogenarian Rear Window.

Thankfully, the cast would be coming off in two days and George could at least get back to the one thing that gave him joy in life: tickling the ‘ol ivories. It was the only thing that made him feel young

Or, more specifically, ageless.

“Why not?” Frank asked.

“You know exactly why…”

“But you love playing. And when was the last time you played in front of an audience?”

“You know exactly when…” George said, bowing his head.

“Twenty years ago…”

“So why would I suddenly start again now?”

“Don’t you miss it?” Frank asked.

“It’s not like I don’t play anymore.”

“But not in front of an audience!”

“We’re talking about a mall here, right?”

“Exactly! Less pressure! So why not throw your hat in the ring?  Your music will be heard more there than inside this place, where your neighbors are half-deaf anyway!”

George shook his head, but didn’t let on that he was at least slightly intrigued.

“Oh, and Betty already gave supervisor in charge your number. So expect a call any day now.”

“What in the hell is wrong with you?”

“Just living life to the fullest, as usual. And hoping my best pal can, too.”

Two days later, just an hour after getting his cast removed, George received a phone call and a job offer. Initially, he turned it down. Three weeks later, he officially began his tenure as the new Von Maur resident pianist.

Five days a week.

Three hours a shift.

And damn how much his missed it!

Other than a sprinkling of ensembles he did for the local high school – and even that had been awhile now – it was difficult to fathom how long it had been.

George couldn’t remember the last time he felt this… alive.

And despite not having the rapt attention of an audience, this was nothing new. After all, bars and restaurants didn’t always lend themselves to a captive audience, either. So, this was familiar territory. But more laid back. And without the late hours.

Now, almost a full year into his gig, he couldn’t imagine going back to life before Von Maur. He felt such a deep, unexpected sense of comfort and familiarity. After all, it was his wife’s favorite store. She even bought her wedding dress there! In fact, since her death, he typically avoided going in there because he was worried the memories would flood his soul with melancholy. This actually factored into his initial reluctance to take the job. But as turned out, it had just the opposite effect! It made her feel closer to him. He never thought he could ever feel closer to her than he ever did.

And then there was the music itself– the very heart of his marriage. It was through music that they fell in love. And it was music that sustained their love through thick and thin. In sickness and in health. And in her death, music always made him feel closer to her than anything else. Only, her death also marked the death of his zest for improvisation. He could still play the old charts, mostly from memory – though lately, he found that he needed to rely on the charts more than his fading memory. Every note he played was dedicated in her honor and memory. And she never felt closer to him than she did while playing what he always referred to as “ol’ chestnuts” – a phrase that always made her laugh.

He missed her laughter the most. In truth, there was nothing he didn’t miss about her, but her laugh was her essence. And she never held back. She laughed often and heartily. And its absence put such a void in his heart. There was never a day when they didn’t laugh together.

The raging Michigan winter certainly wasn’t helping his mood. Especially this winter. One of the most brutal ones in recent memory. Polar vortex they called it. In his 81 years, he had never heard of a polar vortex.

First time for everything.

Aside from deluge of snow, he was having trouble fighting off the remnants of a nasty cold – a nagging cough no amount of his special hot toddies (his grandmother’s recipe) could help shake. As happy as this gig made him, he wondered how much longer he could keep at it. Perhaps the time had finally come to hang ‘em up for good. With spring just around the corner, he could spend more time outdoors, focusing on his – her –garden that he simply continued to maintain, even though gardening was something he shared no interest in while she was alive.

On this particular morning, with heavy snow in the forecast over the next several days and his cough seemingly worsening, the idea of calling it quits seemed more like a foregone conclusion than ever before.

George trudged his way through both the falling and already accumulated snow and entered the store, warmly greeting the security guard and scattered employees – even the ones who barely noticed him. He tried not to take it personally, but it was easier said than done. Customers ignoring him were one thing, but it saddened him that his own co-workers sometimes couldn’t muster a simple hello. Oh, well. Even if they didn’t appreciate him as a human being, he hoped his music was at least reaching them. And he wasn’t there to socialize anyway. He was there to play music. And at least most of his co-workers were friendly with him. And every once in awhile, a co-worker complimented his music. That always made his day.

And even though he had his standard repertoire, he liked to mix it up for his co-workers – as well as for himself. This also kept him fresh and on his toes.

However, on this particular morning, every one seemed less friendly than usual. The ones who usually ignored him, seemed to ignore him even more. And the ones who were normally friendly seemed less so. He chalked up to the weather. But hopefully his music could thaw out the ice that seemed to be permeating throughout the store.

George lumbered his way over to his “stage” underneath the escalator, took out a few songbooks, arranging them just so on the piano, and began to play his usual opener: “Daisy”. It was the first song he learned to play as a young boy, taught to him by his mother. It was also the first song he taught his wife. It had always been her dream to learn piano – growing up poor, she was never given the opportunity, despite begging her parents from the time she was five. But sometimes, life has a way of working itself out just so because it was through piano lessons that they ultimately fell in love.

He had many students over the years, but none were quite like his muse in terms of raw talent, and, of course, natural beauty (though he conceded to the notion that her beauty clouded his objectivity on the talent side of things).

After finishing up “Daisy”, he segued into “Stardust” – their wedding song, followed by a parade of ol’ chestnuts, including “My Funny Valentine”, “The Days of Wine & Roses” and “La Vie En Rose.”

His Valentine medley.

Of course, he knew most customers didn’t care what he played – let alone recognize anything. He did make attempts at playing “newer” stuff for the younger set, but this simply meant songs from the late 60’s.

The way some customers passed him by, he might as well have not been playing anything at all!

Most at least flashed a casual glance. A small handful would actually sit on the couch and listen – usually weary husbands more interested in their phones than hearing anything George had to play, as they waited for their wives to buy new undergarments that they would likely never see.

Whenever he felt himself getting frustrated or sad by the lack of attention from customers, he could at least take pride in doing his part to keep the music of his past alive – and by extension – keep her alive.

Of course, there were always his fellow old-timers who certainly appreciated his tunes. Weekday afternoons was when he was most likely to encounter them in droves. Especially for half-off Senior Matinee Wednesday at the multi-plex. They were the ones who either gave a knowing smile or nod, or sit down and listen intently to a song or two as they stopped for a much-needed rest. Recently, an old man sat down and began to weep as George played the overly sentimental “Misty”. A couple danced momentarily to “As Time Goes By.” These were the moments that made it all worth it. And kept him going.

He loved playing for children the best.

Children – and his fellow seniors – were the ones who paid the most attention – at least, until their parents pulled them away or scolded them for wandering off. They were drawn to the music like bugs to light.

George wished their parents would have more patience. How often do children these days get to hear music like this? Probably not too often. He knew it wasn’t his place, but if only he could convince them to let their children listen.

But then along came a precocious little curly-haired girl of about six or seven in a cute little dress adorned with flowers. George was mid-way through “Unforgettable” when he first spotted her, watching – listening – from the base of the escalator. A modern day Shirley Temple – the second coming of his first crush when he was just a young boy. It was no surprise that his wife always reminded him of a grown-up Shirley – ringlets and all. Her childhood photos was further proof.

George smiled at her. She smiled back, as George continued to tickle the ivories. He sensed that she was inching her way toward him, closer and closer, until she was standing right next to him, her little paws grabbing onto the piano

He was impressed at how intently she listened to the music. She certainly didn’t seem like other little girls her age.

Like a relic from the past.

Or…a ghost.

And she reminded him of exactly what he used to imagine his own daughter would have looked like. But children weren’t in the cards for them – certainly not by choice. God had other plans for them. He always does.

For his next song, without hesitation, George played the Shirley Temple classic “On the Good Ship Lollipop”. To his surprise and delight, the little girl started singing along to it! Though initially surprised, he realized it was probably because of how often she was told she resembled Shirley herself!

Passerby stopped and smiled at the magical duet unfolding before their eyes and ears. For all they knew, it was a planned act!

When the song came to an end, the little headed over to the couch. George broke into “Dream a Little Dream of Me”.

The little girl continued to listen intently, nodding her head along to the music. As the song drew near completion, George realized something: she appeared to be alone. As he continued to play, he scanned the surrounding area and saw no sign of who this little girl might belong to. But if she were lost, the little girl certainly wasn’t letting on!

He thought about asking her if she was lost, but didn’t seem to be in any sort of panic, so instead, he started playing “Over the Rainbow”.

Midway through, a frantic woman approached. It was very clear where the little girl’s curls came from.  But this woman was clearly, the grandmother.

She grabbed the little girl by the arm:

“You had me worried sick!”

“I have been here the whole time, Grandma! Listening to music!”

The woman looked over at George with daggers in her eyes, as though he was somehow to blame. When George smiled, their eyes locked and for a brief, fleeting, frozen moment in time, he had a feeling he knew all too well, but hadn’t felt since – well, the last time he had been in love.

The first time.

And only time.

But after the span of 3-4 seconds, the woman quickly reverted back to tending to her granddaughter and leading her by the hand toward the concourse, prompting George to begin playing “I’ll Be Seeing You.”

“Grandma, can we get a pretzel?” he overheard the little girl ask.

“After that stunt you pulled, I should say no. But it’s a good thing you’re so darn cute!

George continued watching them, realizing that his magical encounter was now a thing of the past.

Like everything else in his life.

Would they remember him like he would remember them?

And then, before disappearing out of sight, the little girl turned around and waved. George winked.

And then they were gone. And he realized he probably never see them again. It made him so sad.

Though he no longer had any doubt he made a lasting impression on the little girl, he wondered if the woman felt the same connection he did. Or, was she too distracted disciplining her granddaughter?

Maybe they would pass back through the store on their way out, but unless they were parked outside the Von Maur entrance, he knew it was unlikely. He looked at his watch. Another hour to go and it would be time to head home. Back into the cold. And the snow. And the same old chicken noodle soup he ate most nights.

The hour passed uneventfully, with one eye always on the lookout for his new friends. He ended his shift the way he always did – playing “My Way”.

He didn’t sleep very well that night. He couldn’t stop thinking about the lovely little girl and her equally lovely grandmother.

He awoke the next day with the sun shining in his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw the sun.

Following his usual breakfast of toast and coffee, he returned to work. The snow glistened in the sun, forcing him to squint.

Birds were chirping. Spring truly was around the corner. Not only did this mean warmer weather, but it also meant baseball.

And bringing his wife’s garden back to life.

Though it had only been 24 hours, what a difference a day makes! Especially as far as his mood was concerned. It wasn’t as much about the sun as it was about the little girl and her grandmother. Thinking about it filled his heart with so much joy.

George floated to his seat at the stool and entered into the solace of his musical sojourn, once again keeping one eye open for the little girl and her grandmother. Even in their absence, he hadn’t played with this much energy and zest since his first few weeks on the job.

Two hours into his shift, he began to accept that his encounter yesterday was what it was…fleeting. Now, it only served as a reminder of how lonely he actually was. It was nothing a meeting up with the fellas at the V.F.W. couldn’t fix.

He tried to focus his thoughts solely on his music. Following “Daisy”, he delved into the impressionistic “Claire De Lune” – another song he coached his wife through. It was her proudest moment.

George closed his eyes, and disappeared into the warm nostalgia of his past. A time when he never thought it possible to be alone.

With his eyes still closed, he brought the song to a close, keeping his eyes closed a moment longer as a small smattering of applause was heard coming from the couch.

Pleasantly startled, George opened his eyes.

And there, as though plucked right out of a dream, sat Shirley Temple and her grandmother on the couch adjacent to him.

“Why, hello there!” George said with genuine surprise.

The little girl waved, smiling enthusiastically.

“And what is your name?” George asked her.

“I’m Lillian.”

“Well, hello, Lillian!”

“What is your name?” she asked.

“You can call me Mr. George. And who is this young lady with you, little miss Lillian?”

“This is my Grandma. Her name is Dorothy.”

“Oh, hello Dorothy. Back for more shopping, I see?”

“No. She wanted to hear your music! She actually begged me to bring her!”

“Well, that just makes me so happy. What would you like to hear, Miss Lillian?”

“’Over the Rainbow’!”

“You got it”

George jumped right into it.

Lillian swayed her head back and forth to the music, even singing along in parts.

When he finished, they applauded once more.

“What next?” George asked.

“How about some ‘Stardust’”

George’s heart skipped a beat. Of all songs! For a brief moment, he considered saying no. Playing it would almost seem like…an act of betrayal.

But then he saw it as some sort of sign.

So he played it. For Dorothy. For Lillian.

But most of all, for his wife.

His audience sat and listened to another half dozen songs or so. When George finished playing “A Kiss to Build a Dream On”, Dorothy stood up.

“Well, Mr. George, we ought to get going. It’s been a pleasure.”

“Well, the pleasure’s been all mine. You have yourselves a great evening.”

“You, too.”

Dorothy smiled at him, as did Lillian.

Identical smiles, in fact.

Once again, George found himself heading toward the exit, only this time, it was out the Von Maur doors. Because it was their only destination. They came to hear him play and nothing could have filled his heart with more love.

When was the last time that happened?

He knew exactly when.

A lifetime ago.

When he first fell in love. She would come to café where he played every Saturday night just to listen to him play. With a book in hand. She loved to read as much as she loved music.

He turned his thoughts back to his present reality. Unlike yesterday, he was now certain he would see his new friends again. And it filled his heart with such warmth and purpose.

But was it fool’s gold? There was no way it could be real, was there? From the moment his wife passed away, he never thought himself capable of experiencing feelings such as this. And with it came a sense of guilt.  Perhaps it would be for the best if they didn’t come back.

Then again, why would he want that? What did he have to lose? He wished he told  them that he would be off the next couple of days. What if they came back looking for him tomorrow? He knew he shouldn’t dwell on such matters. But he couldn’t help it! He felt like a schoolboy again.

When he returned to work, he asked if anyone had come looking for him, trying to play it cool. But no one came looking to anyone’s knowledge. The next two days passed with no sign of them. He was growing increasingly anxious. When over a week had passed, he started to accept reality. He tried not to let it get him down too much, focusing on the fact that spring was drawing closer. His put his decision to quit on hold…just in case.

And then. After two weeks had passed, Dorothy appeared. But this time, no Lillian.

“Hello, George.”

“Well, hello Dorothy! I thought I lost my favorite audience forever.”

“Well, I’m flattered that you think so.”

“And where is my favorite little girl?”

“She’s gone back home to Indiana. She was only visiting. She wanted me to tell you goodbye. And to give you this. For Valentine’s Day.”

Dorothy handed George a red construction paper heart. With the following message:

“Dear George. Thank you for playing such beautiful music. I will miss you. Love, Lillian.”

George felt a tear come to his eye. He already missed his little muse so much.

“She’s right,” Dorothy added. “You do play beautifully.”

“Years of practice.”

He wiped away a tear, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

“I would love to learn.”

“I can teach you.”

“I would love that.”

He hadn’t taught a single lesson since his wife had passed.

He ripped of a corner of sheet music and jotted down his number.

“When you’re ready for a lesson, give me a call.”

“I will.”

“Would you like—” he began.

“Yes?”

“Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?”

“Of course! Thought you’d never ask.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful. How about tonight?”

“Tonight? Yes. Tonight is perfect.”

George got her address. And plans were made for 4:30 at what turned out to be one another’s favorite diner. How did they not recognize one another?

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” Dorothy began. “I’m going to pick out a new outfit.”

She flashed him a flirtatious smile, then turned to walk away.

George, meanwhile, began to play another tune. Only this time, it wasn’t an ol’ chestnut out of his tote bag, but rather something he hadn’t done since his wife passed away: he played a fully improvised piece. Straight from his heart and soul. And boy, did it feel good.

And just like that, he was young again.

A reminder that the end is never as close as one might think.

And everything was possible.

As it always is with music.