On Tuesday night about 8pm, I walked into the Prime Rib restaurant with a couple of old friends from a former life. Every table in the old-school eatery was occupied, as was most of the bar, and as I looked about the room and took in the sport coats, ties and dresses, it literally was like stepping back in time. As you walked in, you could hear the conversation, laughter and cocktail glasses tinkling…and there was a fellow in a black tux (with white hair) sitting at the piano tickling the ivories with all of my favorite old tunes. At a point in my life where I literally feel like an island, where much of what I truly love seems to be dying, this instantaneous step back to another era immediately transported me to a better place. If you’ve ever read one or two of these stories, you know this old-soul was genuinely in heaven.
One of the friends I was with knows the owner pretty well (I think his name is Russ…the owner…not my friend), and he came over to greet us at the bar. The guy was classic…sporting a handsome tanned complexion, white hair neatly combed back and a tailored blue sports coat, red tie and matching red handkerchief neatly tucked (in a fold I could never duplicate) into his coat pocket. He looked like something off of a 40s movie screen, and he oozed of sophistication and class (kind of like a male Barbara Shailor for those of you that know her) in a way that no amount of money, wardrobe upgrades, Emily Post training or Beverly Hills makeovers could ever do for me.
The piano player took a break, and when he did my friend walked over the owner (now seated opposite us at the bar) and asked him if I could sit in a play. He walked over and said “you’re on…but don’t play too loud.” One of the good things about hanging out with these guys is that after three drinks, my judgment is impaired enough that I’m up for just about anything. Without hesitation, I walked over to the piano, sat down, and discretely started playing “As time goes by.” I blended that into “I’m in the mood for love” which morphed into “Smoke gets in your eyes.” As I looked around the restaurant, it dawned on me that nobody really noticed the switch. You could still hear the conversation, the tinkling glasses, the laughter and the tapping of silverware on the plates. As I finished up with “Autumn Leaves,” I was struck by the fact that for me, it really was a magical moment.
When I walked back to the bar, the real piano player sat down and essentially replayed my entire repertoire...but he played it the right way, like a pro. As I glanced back at him and smiled, we exchanged the classic “leave it to the experts” glance. It was actually nice to hear the songs performed by a master, and I bowed down signaling his superiority. When he finished he came over and explained how I missed several of the chords…so I beat the crap out of the old man.
Actually, I didn’t…(for all I know he could have dropped me)…and he was a charming guy who was just trying to help. He started talking about minor chords (I didn’t know there we minor chords) and immediately started talking way over my head. I thanked him for the opportunity to play…and he graciously encouraged me to practice more.
When I was a kid I used to hate practicing the piano. I would be able to hear the kids playing football out in the street, but my old man would make me sit and practice 30 minutes every, single night. I wouldn’t complain much, but whenever I did, he would often respond by saying “someday you’ll thank me.” As I sat at the piano Tuesday night at the Prime Rib and played to a full room…I was thanking my dad. The son of a gun was right again.
So…what’s the point of all this? I have no idea. Maybe it’s just a story for a Friday morning, or perhaps if you have a child or grandchild contemplating taking up the piano (or any instrument), you can encourage them to play. That way, if the coarsing of America ever reverses and civility ever becomes vogue again, there might still be a restaurant with white table linens, tuxedoed waiters and a grand piano where they can one day sit down and play.
Have a truly fabulous weekend. Try to do something fun.
BTW...this is one of my all-time favorite songs. It's not the best version, but it's a good one nonetheless and I promise to send along the best one at some point before too long. Also...once again, I hadnno time to check typos so I apologize for all the mistakes.
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