My First Ill-Advised Love Affair

I started piano when I was about 8, I believe. I did reasonably well at it and could have done much, much better if I'd really applied myself. I was good enough to accompany for the vocal music programs when I got to junior high and high school, and still I accompany for my flute students today.

What I really wanted to do, though, was play the flute in the high school band.

Band started in seventh grade where I went to school. I don't ever remember having the conversation where I was told that I absolutely couldn't be in the band, but I was well aware that my mother thought that band took up too much time, and there was something veiled about money for the flute in there, too. In those days, I didn't really express myself or push my wishes too much, so I quietly acquiesed and enrolled in vocal music instead.

One of my grandmothers felt sorry for me and brought me an accordion from her basement. I taught myself to play and she paid for lessons with Mrs. Yeck for the next few years.

Mrs. Yeck was a wonderful, kind, happy person. I worked hard for her and quickly became the best student she had ever had. She had an accordion band for her students and we traveled all over the place, playing for all sorts of events. Later, she formed a full polka band which played for dances on Saturday nights at Czech Hall. I played piano in the band, occasionally accordion, and several of my school friends were drafted to play trumpet and clarinet amd trombone. It was wonderful fun and we actually got paid $20 a night apiece, which was a princely sum in those days. And, after all of my mother's worries about high school band taking up too much time, she now had to deal with me crawling in from dances at 2 in the morning!

The dance music was fun but what I really loved was classical accordion. In those days, I thought that classical accordion was all about trying to make the accordion sound like an organ or a harpsicord; it was many years later when I finally learned that the accordion is a classical instrument in its own right. Mrs. Yeck fully supported me in this pursuit and even encouraged me to go to the University of Denver to study with Robert Davine the summer after I graduted from high school.

During my high school years, accordion was a passion. I practiced for hours and hours. I loved it more than anything else in the world. That summer in Denver was an incredible adventure; Mr. Davine was also a wonderful person and an inspirational teacher. I will cherish that summer for the rest of my life. It was an awakening on so many levels.

When I got back from Denver, I settled in at the University of Oklahoma, wishing that I could be a music major (and taking theory courses) but resigned to the fact that I would be going into the sciences. I still practiced hard, though, generally in the ladies' restroom in the basement of my dorm (which is a whole 'nother set of stories!).

And then, Mrs. Yeck died. Suddenly, quite unexpectedly. A blood clot after surgery. I was devasted. I loved her. She had totally believed in me. It's still not totally clear to me if I played accordion for myself or for Mrs. Yeck.

I went back to Denver the next summer and once again, had a wonderful time. But it was never the same. I was growing tired of the fact that no one took me seriously -- not even most other accordionists. There was no place to play and no one to play with. Little by little, that next year, I played less and less; my major, chemistry, began to take over my life instead. I was falling in love with research.

I still have my accordion. I get it out once and a while and noodle around. It's hard to believe that I was once so good, and so passionate. I have a couple of Mr. Davine's CDs. They are wonderful and through them, I understand the instrument much more than I did when I was playing.

Mr. Davine died, too, in 2001. I found out one day when I was Googling. I remember the moment of discovery quite well, because it was more than just the blow that once feels at the loss of a good friend. It was an even bigger loss -- the last link to a special, beloved part of my past. My first love, my first great passion. There were so many reasons why the relationship was doomed to fail. But I still feel the loss, and more than a little guilt every time I pass that instrument case in the den.