Happy Birthday Marian McPartland

I practiced piano for hours on most days between ages twelve and sixteen. Because my parents - divorced by then - were struggling to make ends meet, there was just enough money for one piano student in the family. So my older sister was the first recipient of piano lessons from the beloved and talented piano teacher, Miss Lil. My sister displayed little talent, but she lusted over Lil's handsome blonde surfer son. It seemed as if she would never admit the obvious - that she had no patience for scales - and simply let me have my turn. In the end, she convinced Daddy to buy her a guitar and we heard her sing Cat Stevens "Moonshadow" in the key of D for a decade.

Finally, it was my turn to open those John Brimhall instruction books and put all of my adolescent angst into some mean versions of "The Bells of St. Marys" and "Lightly Row". Or so I thought.

Miss Lil was not only a great piano player - jazz standards at bars on Saturday nights, church organ on Sunday - but she was an alcoholic. I would walk into the music room and she would immediately offer me gin on the rocks. It is pretty heady stuff to be treated like an adult's cocktail companion when one is twelve and thirteen years old. But Miss Lil didn't think about corrupting youth so much as she was displaying some southern hospitality to a guest. So I would sip along with her while focusing on the keys, trying to impress her with a week's worth of intense practice. Frequently she would sit on her naugahyde recliner, cigarette in hand, and her thoughts would drift far beyond my little piano ditties...

"God, that ___ who has the lesson before you gets on my nerves... no talent at all... excuse me while I check on the chicken... I'll be damned, do you smell pot? That son of mine is smoking in his room again..."

But just when I was feeling like the entire lesson was musically pointless, Lil would stand up and sharply reprimand me for a shaky G# or for hurrying through the piece. Then she would demand that I move over while she played it correctly. And then she did the thing I loved best - forget about the silly song on page fourteen and dreamily interpret a Beatles tune or a St. Saens piece or a Johnny Mercer classic. She would begin simply, then take over the keyboard and hit most of the eighty eight keys. I would frequently have to slide down the bench until I was hanging by an inch in order to give Miss Lil room.

I would leave her house every week, frequently buzzed on alcohol but even more buzzed on the piano. And I would practice for hours and hours every week with the hope of pleasing Miss Lil which was usually the same thing as pleasing myself.

I hoped to develop the technique and skill to teach and play as she did. Two of my aunts still teach piano as senior citizens, so I believed that the talent was in my blood. But age twelve is pretty old to begin, and Lil was not as stringent on technique as the harsher teachers that most accomplished pianists had survived. In my mid-teens I was suffering from hormonal moodswings and the usual issues that kept me from pushing forward in the classical tradition. I did, however, continue to improvise and play for church and kindergarten and can still play without embarrassing myself when asked. The piano has been my friend.

Miss Lil died years ago of cancer. I still think of her often and wonder whether she ever realized how much her attention meant to me and so many others. Her unconventional methods somehow lit a musical fire in me that still flares up during times of great stress and also on other days when I am overcome with happiness. I still love to play piano while most of my friends who took lessons back when they were kids only feel stiffness and plead amnesia when asked to tap out a tune.

Also, gin is still my drink of choice.

I read that Marian McPartland celebrated her ninetieth birthday this week. She played piano at Lincoln Center on Wednesday although suffering from arthritis and a fractured pelvis. More than anyone in my adult life, I have frequently listened to the amazing Ms. McPartland on public radio for continuous inspiration to keep playing and trying to improve my limited technique. She always reminded me of Miss Lil by her love of the keyboard and her willingness to improvise with all kinds of musicians. She is probably my favorite pianist of all time.

Happy birthday, Ms. McPartland. I'll play a a few tunes in honor of both you and Miss Lil today.

NTD