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