Do you remember your elementary school music teacher’s name? What was it? I’ll never forget mine.
Mrs. Watkins was near the end of her career when I had her as a music teacher in first grade. She could sing, play the piano, and, of course, play the recorder. She was what we music teachers call “on a cart.” In other words, she didn’t have her own classroom. She was relegated to carrying her teaching supplies from room to room on top of a big old M4 Sherman tank of a school piano.
Although scratched and gouged, that piano had the quiet authority of an army general. It knew things. It was stationed at our school long before we arrived and would remain there long after we left.
Mrs. Watkins had a similar quiet authority. While her foot worked the pedal to the right – the only pedal in commission – her fingers marched confidently across the keys, all while singing and keeping a room full of six-year-olds not only under control, but engaged and at attention.
It didn’t matter that the piano was out of tune or that two of its three pedals were broken. None of this was about flawlessness or perfection. It was about sharing and connecting. Music was a catalyst for that. When we were sharing music, we were connecting. Mrs. Watkins knew this. So did the piano.
I played a piece by Franz Schubert recently on my old school piano and recorded it on my phone. Schubert didn’t write these little pieces for the concert hall. He wrote them for small gatherings in people’s homes and taverns – intimate places with small pianos. Schubert would have liked this piece played on this piano.
And I don’t care what anyone says, a big old M4 Sherman tank of a school piano speaks with a quiet authority in ways a pampered grand piano can’t. Most grands have no concept of what it’s like to be sat upon, spilled in, and pounded on.
School pianos have character. It comes from being on the front lines. They know things that only they know – and you can hear it in the music. That clunky B-flat? That’s a pencil. Willie What’s-his-name dropped it down there in 1997, and no one has ever been able to get it out. You can still see it if you shine a flashlight down there. Every school piano has a Willie story.
So, this is my salute to all the big old M4 Sherman tank school pianos out there and the music teachers who play them. Yes, pampered grand pianos have a place in our society. They belong in concert halls and recording studios. But school pianos have a place in our hearts. They were there when we first learned “On Top of Spaghetti” and when we didn’t quite make it to the lavatory.
Did your music teacher play a big old M4 Sherman tank of a school piano? Do you remember what it looked like? Sounded like? What songs can you remember? Reminisce with me in the comments below or send me an email. mwimmer@btpm.org.
