by Jonathan Ferrini<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere\u2019s Momma?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPassed out cold from her morning fix.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy gang members are lookin\u2019 for a score and think there\u2019s money inside a storefront full of old pianos.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow\u2019s your gang going to steel a store full of pianos?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThose are Steinway pianos and handmade from the finest woods, metal, and copper.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019ll bust \u2018em apart and sell the salvaged metal and wood.<\/p>\n
\u201cGet your ass over there and scope out the inside of the store for me.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have until the end of the week or I\u2019m throwin\u2019 you out on the street.\u201d<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
I never expected to find friendship in the most unlikely place, a dusty old piano store on Whittier Boulevard in an East Los Angeles barrio.<\/p>\n
I stepped inside, greeted by the musty scent of wood and rusting metal. The store was quiet, almost sacred, and I was drawn to a black grand piano in the corner. As I pressed the keys, their voices rang out clear, strong, and unexpectedly comforting.<\/p>\n
Suddenly, a head popped up from behind the piano.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u201cWhat are you doing here?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI just came into look around, Sir.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m Saul Bernstein, the store\u2019s owner and a piano tuner by trade.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m Lupe Jimenez.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you play the piano?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, but I\u2019m curious about all these pianos.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you sell them?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI run an orphanage for Steinways.<\/p>\n
\u201cThese orphans are used, broken, abused, and seldom sell.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey have souls and require a home just like people.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere do they come from?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201c<\/strong>Some were rescued from burnt out homes, piano teachers with arthritic fingers who could no longer teach, and some from great performers who passed away.<\/p>\n \u201cI gave them all a name.<\/p>\n \u201cThe gold grand Madame is \u2018Goldie\u2019.<\/p>\n \u201c\u2019Red\u2019 was owned by a famous singer songwriter who used it in his longstanding Las Vegas act.<\/p>\n \u201cThe others are called \u2018Blackie\u2019, \u2018Ginger\u2019, \u2018Mira\u2019 and \u2018Rose\u2019.<\/p>\n Saul showed me the intricate insides of the Steinway, explaining how each string and key were crafted from beautiful wood and metals.<\/p>\n The Steinways, he said, had personalities and stories including joy and tragedy just like lives. I watched as Saul spoke to them, dusted their keys, and shared memories of their former owners. In those moments, the store felt less like a place of business and more like a House of Worship.<\/p>\n Saul beckoned me over to \u201cGoldie\u201d, his hands steady as he opened the lid to reveal the intricate strings and hammers inside.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u201cTuning a piano isn\u2019t just about tightening strings.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s about listening to what each note wants to say.\u201d<\/p>\n He pressed the key, and a slightly sour note rang out.<\/p>\n \u201cHear that?<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s off.<\/p>\n \u201cNow, watch.\u201d<\/p>\n He placed the tuning hammer on the pin and gently adjusted it, his ear close to the strings.<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t force it.<\/p>\n \u201cYou coax it, like you\u2019re persuading an old friend to sing again.\u201d<\/p>\n He invited me to try. My hands trembled as I fitted the hammer onto the pin. Saul guided my fingers, showing me how to turn just enough, then play the note again.<\/p>\n \u201cNow, listen for the waves resemble a beating sound.<\/p>\n \u201cWhen the waves slow down and disappear, you\u2019re in tune.\u201d<\/p>\n I listened, adjusted, and played the note. The sound grew clearer, steadier. Saul smiled.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s it\u2026<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re tuning not just the piano, but learning patience, care, and respect for the instrument.\u201d<\/p>\n Saul became my mentor and friend. He taught me how to tune pianos, how to listen to the subtle differences in sound, and how to care for each instrument as if it were alive.<\/p>\n His passion was contagious, and I found myself returning day after day, eager to learn more.<\/p>\n *<\/p>\n My uncle pressed me for information, convinced the Steinways were worth a fortune if stripped for their materials. Torn between loyalty to my family and my growing affection for Saul and his Steinways, I invented stories to delay any plans for theft. Each day, the risk grew, but so did my resolve to protect the store and the friendship I\u2019d found there.<\/p>\n The bell rang above the doorway one day and an ominous looking man with arms of steel, full of tattoos, wearing a red cap embroidered with \u201cAce\u201d approached the counter. I witnessed that look of desperation in a man\u2019s face many times before and feared for Saul\u2019s safety.<\/p>\n \u201cWhere\u2019s Saul?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSaul is over here tuning \u2018Blackie\u2019.<\/p>\n \u201cHow may I help you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m Ace Menendez.<\/p>\n \u201cYou sold me a piano on an installment plan for my little girl.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI seem to remember you and a friend came in a big truck and picked up the piano.<\/p>\n \u201cIs the instrument out of tune?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, Sir.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ve come to apologize for being three payments behind and ask for more time to bring the account current.<\/p>\n \u201cMy trucking business hauling shipping containers is suffering due to the strike at the port, and all the truckers in the neighborhood are struggling financially.<\/p>\n \u201cIt would break my daughter\u2019s heart if you came to repossess the piano.<\/p>\n \u201cMy wife and I fear that without the discipline and love for the piano; she\u2019ll fall victim to the crime elements in our poor neighborhood.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhen you\u2019re ready to settle your account, just stop by.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThank you, Mister Berstein.<\/p>\n \u201cYou have a big heart.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTell that to my family wanting me to sell this joint.<\/p>\n \u201cVaya con Dio\u2019s, Ace.\u201d<\/p>\n I came to learn, Saul, ever generous, offered installment plans and low interest rates, caring more about the music and joy the Steinways brought than about profit.<\/p>\n He lived a sparse existence upstairs with only a cot, hotplate, while surviving on canned food, crackers, fruit, and his love for the Steinways sustained him.<\/p>\n Saul shared stories of the Steinways he tuned over the years, each with its own history and quirks.<\/p>\n \u201cEvery piano has a soul.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd every tuner leaves a little piece of themselves behind.\u201d<\/p>\n With each lesson, I grew more confident not just in tuning, but in myself. The shop became a place of transformation, where the music we coaxed from the old Steinways echoed the changes happening within me.<\/p>\n Saul watched as I gripped the tuning hammer, my knuckles white with concentration. I turned the pin, but the note wavered, stubbornly out of tune. Frustrated, I pressed the key again, harder this time, as if force would tune it into harmony.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re fighting the piano.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s not about strength.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s about finesse.\u201d<\/p>\n He took the hammer from me and demonstrated his movements slowly and deliberately.<\/p>\n \u201cHear those waves?<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s the sound of disagreement between the strings.<\/p>\n \u201cYour job isn\u2019t to overpower them, but to guide them into agreement.\u201d<\/p>\n He handed the hammer back.<\/p>\n \u201cTry again, but this time, breathe.<\/p>\n \u201cTurn the pin just a hair, then listen.<\/p>\n \u201cLet the sound tell you what it needs.\u201d<\/p>\n I followed his instructions, turning the pin more carefully, my ear tuned to the subtle changes. The waves slowed, then faded. The note rang true.<\/p>\n \u201cRemember, tuning a piano is a conversation, not a battle.<\/p>\n \u201cIf you listen, the piano will tell you when it\u2019s ready.\u201d<\/p>\n Saul wasn\u2019t just teaching me about Steinways. He was teaching me patience, respect, and how to listen, not just to music, but to the world around me.<\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s tune \u2018Mira\u2019 who I rescued from a closed piano bar.<\/p>\n \u201cShe was soaked in decades of spilled booze and witness to trashy cocktail bar conversations.\u201d<\/p>\n Saul watched as I struggled with the tuning hammer, frustration tightening my grip. The note wavered, refusing to settle. He gently placed his hand over mine, stopping me.<\/p>\n He took the hammer and demonstrated, his movements calm and precise.<\/p>\n \u201cTuning a piano is like tending a garden.<\/p>\n \u201cYou can\u2019t yank the weeds or drown the flowers.<\/p>\n \u201cYou have to be patient, gentle always giving each note what it needs to grow strong and true.\u201d<\/p>\n He struck a key, letting the sound linger.<\/p>\n \u201cIf you rush, you\u2019ll miss the moment when the music is ready to bloom.<\/p>\n \u201cBut if you listen, really listen, you\u2019ll hear when everything comes into harmony.\u201d<\/p>\n He handed the hammer back to me.<\/p>\n \u201cThis time, treat each string like a seed you\u2019re coaxing to life.\u201d<\/p>\n I breathed, relaxed my grip, and turned the pin with care. The waves in the sound slowed, then faded. The note rang clear and bright.<\/p>\n Saul smiled.<\/p>\n \u201cWith patience and respect, you help the piano find its voice and your own along the way.<\/p>\n \u201cLife is much the same.<\/p>\n \u201cSometimes, you can\u2019t force things to happen.<\/p>\n \u201cYou have to listen to what life is telling you, make small adjustments, and trust that, with time, things will come into tune.\u201d<\/p>\n I realized Saul wasn\u2019t just teaching me about tuning a piano. Saul taught me how to live a life of harmony.<\/p>\n *<\/p>\n The next time my uncle pressed me for information about the store, I remembered Saul\u2019s advice.<\/p>\n \u201cYou have to listen to what life is telling you, make small adjustments, and trust that, with time, things will come into tune.\u201d<\/p>\n I paused and listened to my conscience. I could make small, careful choices to protect what mattered. I lied telling my uncle that the store was under CCTV surveillance including a silent alarm system, a warning that steered him away without confrontation.<\/p>\n *<\/p>\n When I struggled at public school, frustrated by lessons that never seemed to stick, I recalled Saul\u2019s metaphor. I stopped blaming myself for not learning as quickly as others. Instead, I adjusted my approach, asking for help, taking breaks, and celebrating small victories. Gradually, things began to make sense, and my confidence grew.\u00a0 I was told I could earn a scholarship to college to study music. I wanted to share the good news with Saul.<\/p>\n After school, I ran to the store and found Saul on his knees gripping his chest. I phoned for help. The paramedics told me Saul suffered a heart attack and invited me to ride to the emergency room with them. Saul gripped my hand and smiled.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m as tough as piano strings.<\/p>\n \u201cI keep a card inside my wallet with my family emergency contacts for the hospital.<\/p>\n \u201cRemember what I told you,<\/p>\n \u2018\u2026every tuner leaves a little piece of themselves behind.\u2019<\/p>\n \u201cI hope a little piece of me is left behind inside you, Lupe.\u201d<\/p>\n The doctor informed me Saul passed away, and the family was on its way. He handed me the keys to the store saying Saul had instructed him to place them in my possession.<\/p>\n Saul took a big piece of me with him to the beyond and the fate of the Steinways hung in the balance. I faced a chorus of doubts and obstacles, remembering,<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t force, listen.\u201d<\/p>\n *<\/p>\n I reached out to the community, listened to their ideas, and coordinated efforts with patience and care. I was told to visit the neighborhood parish and speak with the priest who took me to a school for developmentally disabled children.<\/p>\n It was a room of beaten up, out-of-tune, upright pianos with eager students stridently following the teacher\u2019s instructions. Others simply tried their best, pounding on the keys.<\/p>\n \u201cPiano music is a miracle and enables these learning-disabled children to find joy and a sense of accomplishment in playing the piano.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll make inquiries with fellow priests, and we\u2019ll pray for a home for Saul\u2019s Steinways.<\/p>\n \u201cThe logistics of moving those heavy Steinways may be insurmountable.\u201d<\/p>\n I learned to trust the process, and to believe that, with time and care, even the most troublesome moments could come into harmony like Saul\u2019s garden metaphor.<\/p>\n *<\/p>\n Night had fallen over Whittier Boulevard, the streetlights flickering outside the dusty windows of the piano store. I stood inside the store, surrounded by the silent witnesses of my transformation, Saul\u2019s beloved Steinways.<\/p>\n My uncle\u2019s voice echoed in my mind, his demand clear:<\/p>\n \u201cTonight is the night!\u201d<\/p>\n The gang was waiting. All I had to do was unlock the door and let them in.<\/p>\n I gripped the tuning hammer Saul had given me, its weight familiar and comforting. Memories flooded back about Saul\u2019s gentle guidance, his stories, the metaphor he\u2019d shared:<\/p>\n \u201cTuning a piano is like tuning your life.<\/p>\n \u201cYou can\u2019t force harmony; you have to listen, make small adjustments, and trust that, with patience, things will come into tune.\u201d<\/p>\n My heart pounded. I could betray Saul\u2019s legacy, give in to fear and loyalty to my uncle, or I could honor the music, the lessons, and the hope these Steinways represented.<\/p>\n I closed my eyes and listened to the notes from each piano signaling my decision. I imagined more children, their faces alight with joy as they played the rescued Steinways. I remembered Saul\u2019s faith in me, his belief that I could choose a different path.<\/p>\n With trembling hands, I locked the door from the inside and dialed the police. As sirens approached, I stood by the Steinways, ready to face the consequences of my choice.<\/p>\n The gang sped away, but I remained, surrounded by the instruments that had given me a second chance. In that moment, I understood Saul\u2019s lesson fully,<\/p>\n \u201cSometimes, the hardest notes to tune are the ones inside us.<\/p>\n \u201cBut with patience, courage, and a willingness to listen, even the most discordant life can find its harmony.\u201d<\/p>\n *<\/p>\n Without Saul, the piano store no longer felt like a happy orphanage for rescued Steinways but a dark, soulless, graveyard. His family, overwhelmed by grief and unable to afford to move the Steinways, decided to dismantle them for scrap. The thought of those beautiful instruments, each with its own story, each witness to Saul\u2019s kindness being destroyed was unbearable.<\/p>\n Desperate, I remembered Saul\u2019s lesson:<\/p>\n \u201cYou can\u2019t force harmony; you have to listen, make small adjustments, and trust that, with patience, things will come into tune.\u201d<\/p>\n I reached out again to the community and anyone who might care. The parish priest had found a network of schools inside Mexico in need of pianos. Word spread, and soon a group of neighborhood truckers led by Ace volunteered their time and their trucks. The plan was bold: we would transport the Steinways to poor schools in Mexico, where children with learning disabilities and limited resources could discover the joy of the Steinways.<\/p>\n *<\/p>\n On moving day, a procession of battered trucks lined up outside the store. Men and women from the neighborhood, some who had never set foot in the shop before, worked together to carefully load each piano. The journey was long and uncertain, but the spirit of Saul\u2019s generosity guided us.<\/p>\n The Steinways found new homes in schools where children\u2019s laughter and music filled the halls. I watched as students, many barely able to speak, some communicating only in sign language, sat at the old Steinways and played with wonder and delight. The instruments, once gathering dust, now sang again.<\/p>\n After betraying my uncle and the gang, I couldn\u2019t return home. The priest arranged for me to move into a parochial school with boarding facilities run by a nunnery.<\/p>\n *<\/p>\n Years passed. I grew up carrying Saul\u2019s lessons with me. Eventually, I returned to one of those schools, this time as a teacher. On my first day, I walked into a classroom filled with the very Steinways we had rescued. Their familiar shapes and worn keys greeted me like old friends.<\/p>\n \u201cHello, class.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m Ms. Jimenez, your piano teacher.<\/p>\n \u201cI was once a young person like you sitting in front of a grand piano called a Steinway.<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t fear it\u2019s size or complexity.<\/p>\n \u201cMake it your friend, trust it, and it will take you on a journey into happiness you can\u2019t yet realize.\u201d<\/p>\n I realized that Saul\u2019s legacy lived on inside me, not just in the music, but in every child who found their voice through these instruments. The harmony I had sought for so long was engrained inside my soul and spilled into the lives of those who needed it most.<\/p>\n And in the quiet moments, when the sun set over the schoolyard and the last notes faded, I would whisper a thank you to Saul, knowing that, together, we had tuned not just Steinways, but futures.<\/p>\n \u201cWith patience and respect, you help not just a piano, but your own life, find its voice.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" by Jonathan Ferrini \u201cWhere\u2019s Momma?\u201d \u201cPassed out cold from her morning fix. \u201cMy gang members are lookin\u2019 for a score and think there\u2019s money inside a storefront full of old pianos.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1822,77],"tags":[1821,1123,1758],"class_list":["post-16050","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-egophobia-87","category-english","tag-egophobia-87","tag-english","tag-jonathan-ferrini"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6DakB-4aS","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16050","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=16050"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16050\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":16051,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16050\/revisions\/16051"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=16050"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=16050"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=16050"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}