How does someone look at a complicated piece of music they’ve never seen and be able to play it beautifully? And what about a person who hears a song once and then plays it by ear, without ever having a lesson? It’s a gift for sure. I’m in awe when I see a pianist’s fingers move gracefully up and down the keyboard and have always regretted giving up piano lessons when I was young.

Shortly after my Dad passed away in 1981, we received his baby grand piano. Sarah and Jake took lessons, but I had little time to play in Mechanicsburg, raising kids, working, and campaigning with Rocky. After moving to Bexley in 1987, Rocky joined the Bexley library board and later learned they were looking for a baby grand piano for the lobby; it made perfect sense to loan them ours, where it would be cared for and played.

Our hearts melted the first time we entered the library on Mozart’s birthday. Visitors and library staff were gathered around the piano, eating cake and listening to the pianist play classical masterpieces. I could feel my Dad looking down on us, smiling that his piano had become a jewel in the community. He was probably thinking, “Why not Sinatra instead of Mozart?” Before we left the library that afternoon, I knew for sure I would learn how to play the piano. All I needed was a piano and a teacher.

We bought a used Baldwin, and I committed to selling it in a year if I wasn’t satisfied with my progress. After five months and three different teachers, I became concerned. The first instructor was good, but after four lessons moved back to Taiwan. I gave up on the next two teachers, whose principal requirements were to practice one or two pieces a week, page by page.

I called Capital University’s music school looking for another instructor and was connected to Joanne Hall. Joanne had time to meet, so I grabbed my music books and headed to the school, just blocks away; within twenty minutes, I was getting a lesson. Joanne was a classical pianist. She was old school, prim and proper, conservative, hair pulled back tightly, ironed shirts, tailored slacks, and skin of silk. She was also soft-spoken, patient with me, and in charge. My intuition told me this relationship would work, so my lessons began. Joanne focused on music theory and introduced me to scales, chord progressions, intervals, rhythm, harmony, and melody. I never missed a lesson or a day of practice, and by the end of the year, I was ready for my first piano recital.

I began by playing Bach’s “Prelude in C Major” and glided through the first few measures before noticing my pounding heart and shaking hands. I froze in my seat, unable to play another note. I even tried starting over but to no avail. Joanne quietly walked over, placed her hand on my shoulder, asked me to take in a deep breath, and proceeded to invite the other eight students to join me at the piano. To my astonishment, she had them circle the piano and wave their arms high in the air until I made it through the entire piece. I can’t say I did a good job, but everyone cheered when I finished. Joanne’s lesson on focus and distraction worked and has helped me to this day from getting so nervous playing in front of other people. By the end of the year, I had kept my promise, and there was no reason to sell the piano. I was committed.

I continued walking to Capital University for another six years until my MS symptoms progressed. Joanne graciously offered to come to my house, and soon our lessons lasted over two hours, giving us extra time to write music, improvise, and play duets. Joanne introduced me to some of the greatest composers of all time: Chopin, Bach, Beethoven, Hayden, and Tchaikovsky, and made sure my repertoire included their music.

Our teacher/student relationship evolved into a beautiful friendship, considering we grew up on different planets. Unlike Joanne, I was liberal, extroverted, and far from being prim and proper. We were intrigued by how opposite our lives were growing up and even laughed about it, but there was much to learn from each other’s differences.

For over seventeen years, Joanne was my teacher, mentor, and dear friend. After she was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease and her symptoms progressed, we continued our lessons. During our last months together, when it became difficult for her to teach, we limited our lessons to scales and duets but eventually had to reverse roles; Joanne became the student. Even though our hearts were breaking, it never kept us from loving every minute we spent together at the piano.

The last time I saw Joanne was at her care facility, and she didn’t recognize me until I mentioned her favorite composers, Mozart and Chopin. She turned her head towards me, squeezed my hand, and proceeded to give me a history lesson on Mozart as her husband Dan stood by my side.

A year after Joanne passed away, there was a knock on my door, and it was her daughter, Sarah, with some of Joanne’s most treasured music. I cherish the penciled notes and fingering notations the most and think about the day Joanne had her students circle the piano trying to distract me from playing Bach’s Prelude in C Major - What an incredible teaching moment!

Dad’s Wurlitzer was returned to us after ten years when the Bexley library renovated its lobby. It’s central to our living space, and when I sit down to play, I pull out the music Joanne and I worked on, and Bach’s Prelude is always the first piece I play.