Mom's piano: the heaviest family heirloom

Today is my mom’s birthday and I told her I would blog about her piano, which my aunt thought had been in the family since 1942/43.

“Had” been in the family. After spending over twenty years in my parents’ basement or garage (garage for the last nine), their neighbors gladly accepted it and we moved it next door last Saturday.

A Walworth upright piano, manufactured by the M. Schulz Piano Company of Chicago, my mom said it was built sometime between 1920 and 1930. (I just discovered a way to find the exact year using the serial code and will need to get that.) My grandparents bought it used and my mom and aunt learned how to play it when they were young. At some point in the fifties, the original, natural grain finish was covered over with cream-colored paint — which my mom hated.

After my grandpa died in 1985, the piano was moved to another farm south of Iowa Falls. Around 1990, my dad and a family friend brought it to Iowa City in a horse trailer. During the move, the piano (which is very top-heavy) tipped over and crushed its matching seat. (It remains broken to this day.)

So the piano entered our lives — and took up a lot of space. I remember it being in our garage at first, where The Loud Sister and I helped my mom remove most of the paint. (Was it lead-based? Hmmm…) After a while, when we realized we were not going to get every last speck of paint off, we moved it into our basement.

It was mostly a piece of furniture. We used it as a shelf more than a piano. We may have toyed with the keys every now and then, and my mom got books of music, but we never learned out to play it. A couple keys were out of tune. When my parents moved, the piano stayed in the garage and we continued to use it as a shelf. It proved to be a very sturdy bike stand, too.

I doubt my dad ever wanted the piano in the first place, but he put up with it for my mom. It was hers. He always talked about getting rid of it, but it was never his decision.

For years my mom has wanted the player piano my paternal grandparents owned, and she and my dad made a deal: she could get the player piano if she got rid of her piano. (Why does my mom need a player piano? She doesn’t. Necessity has nothing to do with it.) A couple weeks ago, their neighbor happened to peek into the garage and see it. She always wanted a piano, and her daughter was eager to learn how to play. What a coincidence!

So last weekend my dad rented piano movers and five of us lifted and maneuver my mom’s piano onto the neighbor’s front stoop, through the door, and into the living room. Believe me: it was an unwieldy and heavy bitch.

I will admit, giving the piano away was a little sad. It was our piano and we shared a lot of history. The piano was part of my mom’s family before she was even born. However, it should be in good hands — and my dad will appreciate the extra garage space.