Red River Regret

 A couple Christmases ago, I put together a scrapbook about my paternal grandfather's service in World War II. All I had to work with was a box filled with papers and a few photos. I tried to put everything in order the best that I could, but I had no one to ask for help. Both he and his wife, my grandmother, were deceased. I had lots of questions especially when I found out he helped work on radios making sure communications were transmitted smoothly.

It was interesting to me that my grandfather had this particular job in the service. Even though he died when I was only 12, one thing I knew for certain is that he loved music. He had quite the set up in his home - his very own music room consisting of two turntables, a reel to reel player and shelves upon shelves of records.

I bet being in the service, far away from home and his own record collection of big band, jazz and country western hits, a radio was probably the next best thing. As a cash-starved teenager, I also had a deep appreciation for my radio. Before the days of digital music abundantly at our fingertips, waiting by the radio to hear the Top 8 at 8 was crucial. Hearing a favorite song come on just in time to hit record on the portable cassette player, priceless.

When I started taking piano lessons, my grandfather went out and bought a bunch of sheet music to some of his favorite songs so I could learn to play them. The songs were too hard for me, as a beginner, who was not naturally endowed with sight reading ability. So they sat in my piano bench waiting for my talent to mature.

While we were waiting for that to happen a song he liked came around in my piano lesson book number 2. Good old Red River Valley. I think my dad really wanted me to play that song for him which is why I had to bring that book with me to a gathering at my aunt and uncle's house. Bad news though, they did not have a piano with 88 keys. They had an organ - a multiple keyboard organ. Not the same at all.

I dreaded playing this song because I knew I would screw it up. I probably could have muddled through it, but I wanted it to be perfect. I didn't like to make mistakes and I was scared silly to play in front of people in the first place, even with familiar equipment. So I ended up making some excuse and not playing it at all.

Regret is a tough pill to swallow even at the age of 12. I never did get to play that song for my grandfather because he passed away a few weeks after that family gathering.  I would be lying if I said hearing that song, to this day, doesn't make me feel bad. I still have all the sheet music he bought me years ago, but since my piano career fizzled, learning how to play those songs did too.

There have been a lot of tears shed during the past two months each time I've watched my children perform with the the East Allegheny Marching Band. The show takes the audience back in time to the famous Birdland jazz club in New York City where people like Count Basie, Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, and Miles Davis performed.

The music is brass and bass heavy with a show stopping drum solo. I think my grandfather would have enjoyed seeing his great-grandson slappin' the upright bass, wearing a tuxedo no less, like the great Walter Page of the Count Basie Orchestra.

I hope to one day have the time to devote to the sheet music my grandfather selected for me decades ago. I would love to learn how to play those songs just for the closure and peace it would finally provide. But until then, I'll be tapping my foot through the tears in Birdland and hoping in Heaven the music is in stereo not mono.

A couple albums I saved from Grandpap's collection.