The first house I lived in was already old when my parents moved in. A two story brick structure with a long front porch it had already served as a home, a hospital, and a home again in addition to surviving the fire consuming the old hardward store next door with only a little charring of the attic timbers.
We called it the “middle room”. On a floor plan the label would have been dining room. I only remember dining in it a few times, when large numbers of relatives came for a holiday dinner. It did contain many things, and my brothers and I spent many hours there. One of the constant furnishings was the piano.
A majority of houses, or at least the ones we visited in, had a piano in those days. Some of them were played regular by parents, children, or both. Mother played ours the best. Dad played a little treble melody line. Among the hymnals and songbooks were some beginning lesson books so I think my oldest brother took a few lessons before my memory was strong.
The best piano memory in that room came from an Aunt – a Great Aunt – if we go for precision. She didn’t visit often but when she did we children insisted that she play. For you see — when she was young, she played the piano at the silent picture show. The room would fill with the “villian”, the “hero”, the “Indians”, the “chase”, and the “happily ever after”.
