Wot Cher!

It’s summer. The windows are open. Kids outside are playing since it’s either Saturday afternoon or Sunday. (Except for Christmas, Halloween, the school fall festival, or sledding, it always seems to be summer in my memories of the Heights.) Dad’s at his grand piano playing.

He and Mom were excited when they bought this used grand piano, and often propped open the back for the concert sound. Beethoven’s bust frowned on the keys, waiting to hear his favorite pieces. Wagner’s bust stood on the left. (We all liked Beethoven, and celebrated his birthday December 16th with a cake and candles.)

Mom played most often, between chores and meals and the usual hectic activities of a young woman with six children. If she dared to sit at the piano, I begged for “The Carousel Waltz” by Richard Rodgers, still a favorite, and a composition I associate with Mom. She told me once that, in her mind, she could dance to it.

Dad studied classical piano as a boy and tried to keep his practice sharp, but a large family and working second shift at Pontiac Motors didn’t give him enough time. Occasionally, he’d pull out his favorite pieces. I was like a bee to pollen at the sound of his fingers on the keys.

(And, on a side note, my parents tried to interest us in piano lessons, but I didn’t take advantage of them. Later taught myself guitar; Janet played flute, piano, and guitar; JoAnn played cornet and guitar, and Steve was the finest natural piano player in the family. Like Mom, we all sang, but only Janet and Mom had those Julie Andrews, angelic voices.)

I begged Dad for my favorites. Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini (Rachmaninoff, a difficult piece, but I didn’t realize how difficult), Reverie (Debussy), and Ase’s Death or Morning (Grieg). The music carried me away. Still does, because I listen to those compositions regularly, and many more.

Mom and Dad played records, too (LP albums for those younger than us)—musicals and soundtracks, classical, jazz (Dad). He did have one jazz album we kids giggled at. A “beat” version of “Green Eggs and Ham,” narrated by Marvin Miller with bass runs between verses.

Dad fell in love with Mom on a blind date when she was 17 and he was 20. “That’s the girl I’m going to marry,” he told his friend Bob. And so, he did, and stayed in love with her his entire life.

Mom was never wrong, even when she was. He saw her through his loving eyes, and to him, she never aged or changed. They were the fairytale couple, although life wasn’t “happily ever after.” Still, that couldn’t dent their devotion. Mom missed him so much after he died of a stroke, part of her went ahead with him.

In fact, when Mom was in her last moments, Janet and I sat by her bedside, trying to grasp the reality of the end of our mother’s life, when I heard Dad’s voice say my name, as if thanking me, and sensed his hand on my shoulder. Seconds later, both of them disappeared.

Dad came and got Mom. I have no doubt about that.

My father was a man of strong opinions, otherwise known as stubborn. (“I thought I was wrong once, but I was mistaken!”). He loved his family, origin and children, our country, Mom, life, reading, music, and had an unshakable faith. Come to think of it, he really was right most of the time.

His father had deserted the family when he was in high school, leaving my grandmother with four children, one a baby, and no job skills. She taught herself clerical skills and ended up as secretary to the head psychiatrist of the old Pontiac Mental Hospital, the castle one in Pontiac.

Dad, on the other hand, was devoted to his family, and helped my grandmother support his sister and brothers. Was a friend to them all his life. My aunt still misses his conversations, letters, voice.

Occasionally, Dad would put away his classical pieces and pull out an old favorite. I sang along, and can still recall the melody and words to the first verse and refrain. You’ve probably never heard of it, but we Russells all knew this Music Hall tune:

Last week down our alley came a toff
Nice old geezer with a nasty cough
Sees my missus, takes his topper off
In a very gentlemanly way!
“Ma’am,” says ‘e, “I ‘ave some news to tell
Your rich uncle Tom of Camberwell
Popp’d off recent which it ain’t a sell
Leaving you ‘is little donkey shay.”

“Wot cher!” all the neighbours cried,
“Who yer gonna meet, Bill,
Have yer bought the street, Bill?”
Laugh! I thought I should ‘ave died,
Knock’d ‘em in the Old Kent Road!

Dad’s “knocking ‘em in the Old Kent Road” now!

Thank you, Dad, for everything.
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Published on January 23, 2022 14:15 Tags: classical, father, memories, parents, piano, rachmaninoff
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