Piano Horror Stories
By Damon Atchison
In the spirit of holiday upset, why don't we all add to it? No, I won't send over your mother-in-law, but I'll do the next best thing: I suggest we all contribute horror stories of "restoration" slaughter jobs we've found.
I'll share first. My tale starts in a garage in the deep north of Michigan. In there, among the old fishing poles and beer bottles, sat an Aeolian player. The front boards were removed to show it's empty interior, and the bellows and various tubes were sitting on garage shelves. This was the first player piano I looked at buying. The man said, "All the parts is here; I wuz tryin' to fix it but I ain't got no time. I think it's from 1903."
I thanked him and let him return to eating macaroni and cheese on a TV tray, watching "Wheel of Fortune." I never called again.
Damon Atchison
Damon66@aol.com |
(Message sent Sat 14 Dec 1996, 17:46:30 GMT, from time zone GMT-0500.) |
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