Music was in the walls of our house. A sunshine warmth, that radiated from the old upright grand piano in the parlor. It would come to life, shining from my mother’s touch on the keys. In the 50’s and early 60’s, the piano still ruled the dominion of our parlor, even overshadowing the black and white television which now shared the room, but still cowered awkwardly in a corner, plotting its time.
On birthdays, holidays and other special occasions my mother would invite friends, family and the nearest neighbors for food and merriment. After the meal had been eaten, and the clinking of dishes was heard from the kitchen, my mother, Diana Rose Adam, would take her royal seat at the piano and map out our musical journey for the evening. Layering her sheet music one page atop another, creating her set list, she always left plenty of room for requests and improvisation.
During the day she was a 40 hour a week, minimum wage, factory worker, layering atop that, as she did with her sheet music, the duties of a 1950s wife and mother. But, at the piano, with her Kate Smith ”God Bless America” voice, she ruled.
This is where my love of music started. Although I never really learned how to play piano, I learned to sing through osmosis. Watching and listening to my mother, as I had done as a baby when I imitated the movement of her lips to form my first sounds and words, I learned her songs. Twenty years after her passing, I still hear the warmth of my mother’s voice radiating through my own whenever I sing.
An important chapter in my musical life happened at my cousin Morrie’s birthday party. He and I were around the same age, 14 or so, and for his birthday he had gotten a Silvertone plywood folk guitar from Sears.
Every teenage boy wanted to be The Beatles. They and Rock and Roll were everywhere, from the Ed Sullivan TV Variety Show to the AM stations that crackled from my powder blue transistor radio the size of a pack of cigarettes that I listened to on my paper route.
Since he was my cousin, Morrie let me try his new guitar. I picked it up, but being left handed I instinctively turned it upside down and began playing, or if I’m honest, not playing but rather banging on it with the plastic tortoise shell pick that Morrie had handed me. This was the moment, the beginning of a lifelong musical odyssey. Banging on that cheap guitar was like holding a basketball under water and letting it go, rocketing into the sunlight and spraying me with a thin warm wash of sound. It was my first fix and I was hooked. It would lead to a lifetime addiction to music.
That night, after the leftover food had been put away and all the furniture moved back into it’s proper place. Alone with my parents, I asked my Mom and Dad if I could play guitar like my cousin Morrie. My dad, a hard drinking plumber said just one word, No. That was that; the law.
But, remember, I was hooked. I kept needling my Dad, begging and promising him anything if I could just get a guitar. I’d pay for it with my paper route money.
Finally, after a week of persistent hounding, I caught him sober and in a good mood. He said, “OK, under one condition.” There was always that with my father &8212; keep the upper hand.
“One Condition.”
His eyes bored into me as he laid out the “Condition.”
”Lose weight.”
Lose weight?
Mission Impossible!
Everyone in my family on my mother’s side was large. My Aunt Tilly needed a wheel barrow to get into the house. I at fourteen, was on my way to being the Big boned champ of Pawtucket, Rhode Island. I weighted 229 pounds, with a 46 inch waste and I was only 5 feet tall.
But, that feeling that I had banging on that guitar had opened a peephole to somewhere and I wanted more.
So, long story short, I went to our family doctor and with his guidance I started to lose weight. In three months I had lost over 60 pounds and I got a guitar.
This year I celebrate my 50th anniversary of my love affair with guitar and music. I’ve made my living for the last 40 years as Professor Paddy-Whack One Man Band. I perform at fairs festivals and schools.
The music that moves me most is the music that I make, find and discover. Holding a guitar close to my heart and feeling the warmth from each note, hand carved of wood and steel, is, as Shakespeare put it, “…the food of Love.”
Music has taken me around the world and saved my life. And every time I open my mouth to sing, I hear my mother’s voice.