The Piano Man’s Piano

Grand Prompts to Ask Your Grands

What was the most memorable piece of furniture or home decor item in your childhood home? Was there an iconic comfy chair reserved for one family member, a clock, or a picture that never filled the room? How was it acquired? Who took care of it? What made it special? 

The Piano Man’s Piano

My grandfather’s Steinway middle-grand piano moved into my childhood home when I was 16 years old. Somehow, it fit through the front door and found space in the front room. It was a beautiful piece of furniture with an ebony stain and ivory keys. My little brother reluctantly had lessons until my mom gave up nagging him to practice. 

The piano was my dad’s. He played his favorite pieces by ear and motor memory and patiently showed a daughter or grandchild chords and finger positions. He played his favorite Christmas carols, surrounded by his singing brood. 

The piano initially belonged to my grandfather, Willy, who acquired it shortly after his marriage. Dad grew up with the piano always tucked into the corner of the dining room of the Brooklyn apartment. There are teeth marks where the baby gnawed his aching gums. He took lessons, practiced after dinner, memorizing the patterns and imitating his father’s improv style. 

My grandfather was the musician. Willy grew up in New York City’s Little Italy tenements with his large family. His playground was the streets where he and his brothers ran wild. His mother, Nelly, a friend to anyone she said hello to, was a gifted barterer. She made deals for her family without paying a cent. One of her greatest barters was an upright piano and lessons for her eldest son, Willy. 

It soon became apparent Willy had a natural aptitude. Although impatient to read music, Willy quickly picked out melodies and bass chords and played popular songs and operatic arias. He soon landed a job playing the organ or piano at the movie theaters, accompanying the silent films. As a young man, Willy and his brother traveled the Catskills and Pocono entertainment circuit. Toning down his Italian roots, Willy dubbed himself Billy Doyle, the piano man.

Those were carefree years filled with adventure and music. But the world was restless and the tether to home taut. Willy met and fell in love with Mary Caristi, a pretty girl from the Brooklyn neighborhood his family now lived. Mary’s family had lost two daughters to tragic circumstances and were not about to allow their only daughter to spend her life in want with a musician. Willy needed a real job. 

An uncle set Willy up as a tailor, another aptitude he quickly honed. The shop was called Truly’s. Willy altered, hemmed, and pressed men’s suits while the radio filled the shop with classical music, big band numbers, operatic arias, and crooners serenades. Willy and Mary married in 1932 and set up domestic life in Mary’s home, a multi- generation walk-up apartment. They welcomed their first-born son, Bill (my dad)  in 1933.

Although Willy worked six long days each week, he was not a businessman. He got by. Occasionally, an opportunity presented itself, and his aptitude for bartering, like his mother, yielded a great deal. A customer paid his hefty Truly’s bill by offering a 1907 Stienway piano as payment. It was not clear why it was left languishing in a garage. Willy looked beyond the worn finished and sticky key action, and agreed to the arrangement. The only problem was convincing the big boss of the family—his mother-in-law. While Willy repaired and polished the body of the piano, Mary pitched the find to her mother as an incredible opportunity for little Billy to play beautiful music, making him more wonderful than he already was. The woman could not deny her beloved grandson such a gift. 

They rearranged the dining room and pulled out the  front windows to haul the piano to the second floor. Willy cleaned, repaired, tuned wires, and adjusted. He polished.the body to his mother-in-law’s standards. The piano gleamed in the cramped dining room. 

Bill was Willy’s only child who took to the piano. He dutifully practiced, listened, and memorized without really reading the music, like his father. His piano teacher arranged a recital at Carnegie Hall for her most talented students, that included 13-year-old Bill. 

In 1956, a week after his son’s wedding, Willy died, leaving Mary alone with three other children and her mother, now suffering from dementia. The family scrambled and moved forward. Mary got a job at the library and learned to drive. She remained in her home with Willy’s piano tucked in the cramp dining room. Grandchildren banged on keys. Only Bill played the familiar pieces when visiting his mother. 

When Mary retired and sold her Brooklyn home to move to Long Island suburbs on Long Island near her children, the piano moved to my house. It has been there over 50 years, still beautiful, but sadly not as tuned or played often. My mom wants it to go to someone in the family who would appreciate its beauty and history. Her only grandson, so wonderful in so many ways, will adopt it, providing it a place of honor and play it for a new generation.  

Thank you for reading a Grand Prompt to Ask Your Grand. I invite you to exercise your writer’s hand and link your prompt response in the comments below.