As long as most of us can remember, music has been an important part of our lives. Love it or hate it, we can’t help but hear it. Newer music often has been the focal point of prior generations’ criticism and even ridicule. In the 1950s, rock ‘n’ roll was seen as eroding family values and making a mockery of finer artists of the past.
While most of us don’t remember the first time we heard music, chances are it was within a day or so of our births. Quieting ballads probably came from our mothers as they tried to sooth our discontent. Lyrics and melodies such as “Tooralooraloora” or “Frères Jacques” could be both restful and soothing.
Radio Days
Music continued to be an integral part of our lives as we grew up, but radio wasn’t much of a source of melodies on 12th St. The role of radio was for a different kind of entertainment. Sporting events such as Pirates baseball, the Friday night fights from Madison Square Garden, or Saturday afternoon football from Beaver Field were as good a reason as any to own a radio. During the week, there were afternoon shows like the Lone Ranger, Tom Mix, or Sky King. In the evening, we’d gather around to hear The Shadow, Jack Benny, Red Skelton, Beulah, and others. A few shows had some music. Programs like Arthur Godfrey, Don McNeil’s Breakfast Club, and the one-and-only Grand Ole Opry on Saturday nights brought some music into our house.
Music in the Neighborhood
Still, I recollect music coming from the real people I knew in my neighborhood. I remember my mother warbling like a bird as she whistled through her daily chores. Mrs. (Flo) Walk could be heard singing as she did the laundry or ironed Paul’s work clothes. Since she ironed everything including socks and underwear, she had a vast repertoire of song lyrics. Mrs. McKinney was a “hummer” as was Mrs. (Veta) Harshbarger. Susie Miller seemed to dance with her broom as she swept the front porch while singing her favorites. When Mrs. Hambright didn’t have a piano student taking lessons, her daughter, Muriel, was busy practicing. Oscar Dayton could be heard on his piano most evenings.
Even though no one in our family played an instrument, we did have an upright or “studio” piano in our living room on 12th St. My oldest brother, Deb, took a few lessons from my Aunt Gert (Ritz) in the hope of moving him along his journey to learn a little boogie-woogie by ear. Fortunately, for all of us, Deb fell in love with a girl from Coalport, Betty Andrews. Betty had played the church organ in Coalport, so our studio piano was a natural for her. She played all the popular songs, jazz, and even boogie-woogie. After supper, she often would entertain us with many of our favorite songs, leaving little time for Deb to practice. As Dad would say, “Thank God, she fixed the piano.”
Aunt Gert and Aunt Ag
A few others in the family were musically inclined. Aunt Gert, who lived at 1352 Bald Eagle Ave., played by ear quite well. Although she never took a music lesson, she had a knack of being able to sit at a keyboard and hammer out just about any song people knew. When I was very young, I remember holiday parties at her house, where she played for sing-alongs. Bill Hiller always was trying to stump my aunt by throwing out the name of a song for her to play that she never had heard. “Hum a little, William, and I’ll wing it,” she’d say. And wing it she did, with that honky-tonk style of hers.
Aunt Ag (Agnes Long) was the real musician in the family. She could read music, adapt musical scores, arrange, and teach. Before she married Louie Hill and moved to Bellefonte, she lived in an upstairs apartment on Pennsylvania Ave., near Black’s car dealership (near the present Wine & Spirits Store). She used to walk from there to her job at the Wilson Theater, where she played for the silent movies. Her ability to adapt music to the action on the screen made her a hit. She also played before and after the show. In addition to playing at the Wilson six days a week, Aunt Ag was one of many piano teachers in town. She had one student who she really liked, even though he struggled with the scales and his “touch” was rather heavy. Tom Waring, Fred Waring’s brother, trekked down the alley from Lincoln Ave. twice a week for his lesson.
Uncle Paul’s Victrola
Strangely, classical music became familiar to me at a young age. My Uncle Paul (Long) lived in an apartment on 14th St., across from the old Logan School. He owned a “crank” Victrola and about ten or twelve recordings — mostly classical. Uncle Paul worked for the Graham and Getz Funeral Home, and I would stop to see him when he got off work so I could use the Victrola. He showed me how to coax Enrico Caruso, the New York Philharmonic, Scott Joplin, Al Jolsen and a couple others to perform in his living room. The few recordings he owned were black, thick, and large with only one song per disc. After cranking the handle and positioning the stylus (needle) in the starting groove, I was fascinated to hear the scratchy, hissing performance of the artist. I could increase the volume merely by opening the inner doors to the front of the cabinet.
Even though I never had the desire to learn how to play an instrument, I did envy a few friends who made the effort. I remember Danny Morningred trying to show me how to get sounds from his clarinet, but I never could master the reed thing. Gib Minemier became good enough on the trumpet to play in the high school band and later in the Gardner Guards. Ray Trenary went through the accordion phase and showed me a couple of chords. In addition to Mrs. Hambright, I remember hearing the strained sounds of a distressed keyboard coming from St. Matthew’s Convent and from the homes of Pearl Cowher, Oscar Dayton, and a few others.
The 45-rpm Revolution
Things were changing. The life of the party was now a collection of 45-rpm records. All the latest hits were on 45s, and they cost only 89 cents at (Joe) Fresh’s music store at 12th and Pennsy. Since there was no hissing or scratching sounds, they sounded much superior than Uncle Paul’s thick discs. And, even better, there was no need to crank the record player.
Share your memories