A Girl from Vienna who Played Beethoven

A short story about a grand piano and my mom, who died 10 years ago this month

She grew up in tumultuous times. Born 1929. Her mother and father an odd match — he was a musician, who played at local taverns, the piano, and his accordion. Heurige ~or local taverns, in Vienna and around Vienna, where local winemakers serve their new wine. Where people go to socialize. It’s a big thing in these parts. Gemütlichkeit — enjoying simple things like wine, food, and the latest gossip — the setting unpretentious with wooden tables and benches. The music sometimes took center stage, singing about a love that ends tragically or blending into the background noise with a jaunty tune — these were the essentials, this institution of Viennese tradition.

My grandmother came from farm stock — miles outside of Vienna, a family of ten children. With so many mouths to feed, my grandmother, Rosa, was sent away to the big city at the age of ten, to work as a maid. Hard-working and working her way up as far as she could go — purchasing a shop, a small general store. How she and my artistically inclined grandfather met, I have no idea.

My mother came along and was nurtured from a young age by her father, to follow her passions. Or his, maybe. One day, a delivery truck pulled up and stopped in front of their store (they lived in three small rooms at the back of the store, as was common at that time) and began unloading a piano. Not just any piano. It was a concert piano, ebony black, shiny, and huge. A Steinway & Sons concert piano. The kind of piano famous concert pianists perform on, practice on, and own.

My mother, 6 years old, the year 1935, was just arriving home from school as the piano was being unloaded. Both my grandmother and grandfather were standing in front of the shop — watching — arms crossed, a rather stern look on her face and a wondrous look on his.

Without consulting with his (very frugal) wife, my grandfather had bought this piano for his daughter so that she could practice on the best. Whimsy. And love for music. We don’t know exactly where or from whom he bought this piano. Or how he could afford to pay for a grand piano. A used Steinway costs upwards of $100,000.00 these days.

My hope is he bought it from someone who had to flee the country before the Anschluss — when Nazis took over, and that my grandfather didn’t rip anyone off. I do know he was one of very few openly critical voices against Hitler and his ‘policies’, which often got him into trouble. It’s taking a bit of research but I’m trying to find out how and from whom he bought the Steinway. When I find out, I will let you know.

So, my mother began with her piano lessons. She practiced every day. Beethoven was her favorite. She played until the day she had to sell the piano to pay for the fare on a ship, taking her and my little sister to the United States, to start a new life.

I don’t know if she had been talented enough to have become a concert pianist. I have the feeling she was. I heard her play a few times on the crappy upright piano we had in our living room in our house in Southern California when she was giving me lessons. What I do know is that when she played, it sounded magical to me. My father would sit and listen. We all would. She gave up her passion for her love, my father, and ultimately, for us, her three children. And I also know she passed on the whimsy and conviction to follow my passions. I miss her every single day. And I always will.