Electric Bard

The Steinway piano is to pianos what Rolls Royce is to cars. It may not be everyone’s favourite, but its’ name is synonymous with the best that money can buy. And so it was with great anticipation that we music students awaited the arrival of a Steinway grand at our college. We already had a Yamaha grand piano, but this—a Steinway—this was something else altogether.

The big day came, and the piano, still in its’ crate, was carted into the music building. There were several of us hanging around that day, and we were keen to help the college facility guys un-crate the piano. The piano teacher would have none of it, insisting that we must wait until a local piano technician is available to oversee the whole procedure. We assured her there was nothing to worry about. We were just going to help these guys get it out of the crate and mount it on its’ legs, and since there were so many of us here today, it was a good time to do it. Maybe when the technician arrived, there wouldn’t be so many people around to help him. She fluttered around like a bird whose nest is under attack, a picture of nervous anxiety. We men got on with the job, and she left the room, no doubt to track down the piano technician at once.

If you’ve ever seen a grand piano delivered in a crate you’ll know that they’re delivered with the legs and pedals detached. The piano is stood on edge in the crate, and that’s how they’re able to fit them through doorways.

The facility guys got a crowbar and started pulling off one side of the crate, revealing the dull black lid-side of the piano. When the side of the crate was completely removed, they walked around to the other side. All of the students walked around to the other side too, to watch the work in progress. Except for me. Something told me it just wasn’t a good idea, with the piano on its’ side like that, for everyone to be standing on one side of it. So I stood there, hands in pockets, while the un-crating continued on the other side. Suddenly after one vigorous jerk with the crowbar, the piano did a little bounce and flopped—if you can imagine a Steinway grand “flopping”—my way. I was about to be crushed by a flopping great Steinway.

In an instant, my hands came out of my pockets and came up between me and the Steinway. Time stood still, more or less. I stood pretty still, too, palms pressed against the lid, knees bent, back swayed. Everyone stood there motionless, silent, like they were expecting me to just push it back upright. Finally I gave out a little grunt that meant “hey, could use a hand over here” and a bunch of guys rushed around to my side and we got the piano back. What happened next was a real guy moment. We all stood looking at each other, and it was understood that we had just had a real close call, and a silent pact was being made that we would absolutely not mention this to the piano teacher or any of the faculty.

Finally someone said to me, “I have never seen someone move so fast in their lives”. Having to catch a piano will do that to you. You will move faster, be stronger, than you ever thought you could. But like any hero, I just did what I had to do.