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I come from a musical family. Not always musical in ways that would be readily recognized, but musical nonetheless. So music has always been part of my home life.
From my earliest memories I recall my Mom almost always
either singing a song or whistling music around the house as she worked
at cooking, cleaning, laundering, ironing, or just caring for us boys.
Mom was a surprisingly good whistler – a talent not often associated
with women. I never heard where she learned to whistle, and regrettably
never asked her. And it was one of the major disappointments of my
childhood that I never could learn to whistle myself. To this day I can
barely manage a decent wolf whistle, much less whistle actual music.
I did learn that Mom had sung in her church choir when she
was a young woman. She and her sisters all were a regular part of that
small Methodist church’s choir. I like to think that Mom’s own mother
also sang, though with her tuberculosis, her wind power must have been
very limited. Perhaps she hummed soft lullabies to Mom and her other
babies.
Dad was almost completely deaf; and yet he liked music.
Evidently, he could hear enough of the base notes to at least catch the
rhythm and a bit of the melody. All I know is that he enjoyed listening
to shows like Lawrence Welk, whose band featured an amazingly
deep-voiced bass singer. And Dad could occasionally be heard humming
nearly tuneless music to himself as he worked or drove a car.
My older brother, though never talking much about it, had a
reputation in elementary school as a good singer. And it was him who
brought the first record player into our house – one that he cobbled
together himself from parts he had scrounged from friends. Our first
music on that machine was eclectic to say the least (and, of course, on
78 rpm disks). We had one recording of bits of classical music; one with
a couple of weird novelty songs – parodies – that included “I’m Walking
Behind You-all On Your Wedding Day”, a country-style takeoff of the
then wildly popular hit “I’m Walking Behind You” by Billy Reid,
originally recorded by both Eddie Fisher and Frank Sinatra in the very
early 1950s.
I don’t remember much music in my Mom’s extended family; but
my Dad’s family was very musical. Aunt Florence taught music in public
schools in western Oklahoma. It was said she “could get music out of a
stump”. Her beautiful upright piano was the first I ever played on, 65
years and more ago. It still exists, in playable condition, stored
lovingly in a heated barn at a cousin’s farm.
My Uncle Ralph played a pretty fair country hoedown fiddle;
his son Gerald played piano; his other son Pete played guitar. I delight
in my memory of them playing for family one evening – no doubt folk
classics like “Turkey In The Straw”.
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(Restored photo version.)
When I was approaching my teen years I campaigned long and hard
to get a piano of my own, inspired by playing around on the old pianos
in Oklahoma that belonged to my aunts. Much to my amazement, my parents
actually sprung for a brand-new Wurlitzer spinet in 1953, paid for
lessons for a few years (until I dropped out) and never complained about
my loudness or my erratic attention to practicing. I still have that
piano; it still sounds good; and I still play it.
And I love listening to music. I was blessed with an
excellent music education program in the public schools I attended.
Children in elementary school had a visiting music teacher; and several
times a year we had opportunity to attend full concerts (designed for
childrens’ tastes) by the Wichita, Kansas, Symphony. I have never
forgotten that experience. By junior high school I was listening to
opera on the radio (for class credit) and going every year to the annual
performance of Handel’s “Messiah” by full orchestra, visiting soloists,
and a chorus of 500 voices. Today I have a collection of well over a
thousand music CDs – mostly classical but including many other kinds as
well.
My wife’s love of music was primarily only for listening; but
her father, her paternal grandfather, and paternal great-grandfather
all were musical. The last two had been members of a German singing
society in Brooklyn, 100 years ago and more, and had even gone to a
contest in Vienna, just before World War I put a stop to that. I have
photos of them and numerous singing society medals and ribbons, kept in a
box. My father-in-law once sang and played the ukulele on commercial
radio in New York City (in the late 1920s I believe).
And now my son and granddaughters are carrying on the
tradition. My son learned to play a violin at a young age, but then
shifted his attention to guitars and became a lifelong devotee of both
acoustic and electric guitar, keyboards, singing, and composing. His
forte is rock music and electronic music. He has a fully equipped home
recording studio. My youngest granddaughter sings with her elementary
school class at annual performances. And my older granddaughter has been
taking piano lessons for a couple of years (having started with me as
her teacher). She plays in recitals with such aplomb it amazes me. (When
I was a piano student I always went through major meltdowns around
recital time.)
Some people would speculate that music is in our genes; some
would insist that it’s environment. I think the only thing that matters
is that music is still part of our lives – an essential part!
©2016 John I. Blair
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