CHAPTER 1: SEPARATION

I remember when I was born.  Or, rather, I should say, "I remember when I was made."  You see, I am a piano.  The year was 1920; the place, the Barton Piano Factory in Cincinnati.  I was the most beautiful piano in the factory. 

Oh, yes, there were fancy grand pianos, and baby grand pianos, and I am only a little spinet.  But my wood case was rubbed and polished by the craftsmen until it could be used for a mirror.  I felt like a diamond in a setting of gold. 

It seems as if the workers took special care of me.  They made certain that every part was the very best quality and in its perfect place.  And, Oh!, when the man with all of the complicated equipment tuned me up for the very first time, I was so proud I thought I would pop my strings!

It was then, when I first heard the beautiful notes coming from my very own depths, that a feeling of destiny came over me.  I knew I was made for a glorious purpose.  I seemed to sense at that time that I would have a special place in someone's life, although I scarcely could have known the course my life would take. 

A piano isn't made just to sit around in a factory.   So, soon I was taken to a large music store and placed near a great window.  It was kind of scary at first, being surrounded by all those other instruments and people.  And the people!  You wouldn't believe the kind of people who would come in and pound on my keys. 

 

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