Ed Sprankle said in 991215 MMDigest:

> Hi MMD'rs -- I've never found any surprises in roll boxes, but I've
> always suspected I might. On the other hand, a piano roll box makes
> a hell of a neat place to hide small objects.  Just don't forget the
> tune!  Happy Holidays to All.

I'll never forget my first visit to big bad America, in September 1967.
My brother-in-law (a Brit) was flying for TWA out of JFK and had a
spacious pad at Sparta 70 miles into New Jersey.  Sparta was one of
dozens of dormitory communities of amazing Walt Disneyesque houses
grouped around pretty tree-lined lakes which, mostly, were poisoned
by sewage.

Thumbing through the local Yellow Pages, I was amazed to see player
piano dealers, no less, a thing (except for the odd enthusiast) dead
and below the water in Great Britain by 1939.  We went and visited one,
a gracious man who lived in a wood, mended fine old pianos and told me
more about Aeolian pushups than anyone before or since -- and that's
saying something when you consider I knew Benet Meakin, he of the 208
player pianos in Sussex.

But then I wanted to visit Manhattan by bus.  I was dropped off in
Dover NJ which was its nearest stop and my sister arranged to pick
me up in the afternoon.  On my return she said in some excitement,
"There's a pianola dealer just up the next street !  We've just got
to go and see !"

The next street proved to be one of those marginal commercial affairs
you get in all sizeable towns, where failure lurks behind taped-up
plate glass.  The player shop had an uncracked window but it had not
been cleaned for a decade or so.  Inside were veritable Ellington
Weltes and a thing called a Playatone and even an Ampico upright.  The
proprietor put a roll on the latter for us and although it mistracked
and the hammers must have been down to the wood, inside 20 seconds my
sister and her husband were sold on buying a player piano, though that
didn't actually happen until later when they were back in England.

Then my brother-in-law had to go and get the car, my sister went with
him and I was left in the shop for ten minutes.  And the proprietor was
called away to the phone.

The shop like all such had a back snug, behind frosted glass, and the
door was left ajar.  I peeked.  Inside were three men who had been
keeping extremely quiet during our visit.  They did not look well, and
were in dirty undervests.  It didn't even look as though they would be
able to stand up smartly.  In that one flash, I saw a syringe on the
table, and with it, two roll boxes, with the lids off.

Inside the boxes, instead of rolls, were long sausages of white powder,
in plastic bags.  And against the wall was a big, big library of rolls
...  or at least, roll boxes.

Did they trade whole pianos full of white powder too ?  I often wonder.

Dan Wilson, London