Time tends to slip away. Before I was married, I roomed with Jim Gaden. I met Jim in college and started taking piano lessons from him.
On Saturdays, Jim fiddled around the house, playing the piano, and could he play! We would search the “LA Times” for grand pianos and often went looking. Jim was a piano tuner and found a Starr piano nearby.
I bought the piano, and he helped me regulate the action and taught me to tune my own piano. In this picture, Jim has stopped to play the bass—we probably were playing a record, and he decided to join the musicians. If I had to guess, I would think it was the Oscar Peterson Trio. Notice the piano action is on the floor on the lower left.
Saturday mornings became an easy time, Jim playing, giving me a lesson, and eating donuts. (If I hadn’t married Ruth, I would have eaten garbage and died.) My dream was to have a house in the country and a larger grand.
Now, when I should be writing on a Saturday mornings, I play the piano and think of Jim. He has been gone for 42 years, and that seems like forever and yet like yesterday. I have the house, and Ruth bought me a Steinway; all that is missing is a lesson from Jim.
This morning I listened to Jim on one of the few recordings I have. It has a beautiful run, and I duplicated it on the Steinway. I can’t help wonder what Jim would think of my progress after 42 years. Death is a thief, stealing not only life but lost knowledge, unattainable through the years.
When writing Members of the Cast, the character, T. Charles, plays the piano, and music flows through the house—definitely Saturday memories.
This Saturday, I will play the old tune “Sunday” that Jim played from time to time. Compared to Jim’s arrangement, mine pales. I fear he would give me a crooked smile listening to my efforts, but Jim was never critical in a harsh way. It would be fun to eat a donut and take turns playing.
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