June 14, 2005 at 8:50 AM

I have missed THREE lessons now, and have not practiced at all for almost three weeks. The good news is my time is now my own again, and I'm going to practice, practice, practice.

Helping our friends move a very large house packed to the absolute brim with things many people would consider junk, violins have disappeared from my life, outside of the radio. Except they were playing metal, punk, and grunge. Oh, and Neil Diamond. Since the 2nd of June, I have yearned for my violin, but it would never survive intact through the move.

A drought of violins. None to play, no lessons, no one to talk to about them, no opportunity to listen to them, no time for more than a very occasional quick scan of violinist.com....

And then, Sunday night, magic happens. My nephew, who kindly volunteered to help, has been cleaning out the garage, which is a fate worse than death and a testimony to his affection for me. About 6 PM, when we are sitting in the upstairs of the house, packing, exhausted, grimy, and sneezing from dust, he walks up the stairs carrying something in his hands as though it is very precious and frail. Just like he used to carry butterflies, baseball cards, and flowers, a very long time ago.

I recognize it immediately. An old violin case! How could that be? No one in the family was remotely musical. No one had ever mentioned violins.

But there the case is in his hands, riddled with dry rot, obviously broken beyond repair. Could there be a violin in there? If so, would it be intact?

My friend Laura, seeing the damage and almost in tears, says over and over, "That must be Grandpa's lost violin."

My nephew brings it to me, and I gently open the case. No need to unlatch it or worry about rusted hinges. It has split completely around about an inch from the top. So I just lift the top, parts of which crumble in my hands.

The velvet lining has long ago rotted away, leaving red tatters hanging here and there. The inside is littered with debris. I turn the top over in my hands. Lo and behold, the bow is still attached and in one piece! Taking it out of the case, I see it was put away with the horsehair still taut. It looks in excellent condition, with only a single hair detached.

"Look, the bow is intact. This part, the frog, is made of ebony with mother-of-pearl inlays. Isn't it pretty?" I show it to Laura, and she smiles a little. The first smile I have seen on her haunted, weary face in many days.

Carefully, I loosen the hair and put the bow aside. I say nothing to her, but wonder if being stored taut has ruined the bow for performance.

"Laura, there is a lot of dry rot in the case. The violin may not be in very good condition." I try to keep her from getting her hopes up too high, and she nods, unable to speak.

Beneath the debris is a piece of green velvet, shaped roughly like a violin. The bits of rotted wood and sawdust lie so thick that I fear they are all that remains of her grandfather's violin. Using both hands, I lift the cloth out with trepidation. Crumbs of wood shake off onto the floor.

But underneath, still in the case, the violin is whole. The strings are older than Eden, all squiggly and loose. The bridge has fallen over. But the violin is whole.

Using two hands, I raise it slowly from the case. Laura leans forward and touches it with infinite tenderness, the same tenderness I saw her use when first touching her newborn son in the delivery room, almost 5 years ago. Finally, tears fall from her eyes, she laughs softly, her shoulders heave - from joy, stress, grief old or new... I don't know, I don't know. But the tension in her shoulders eases; her hands relax and stop shaking for the first time since she picked us up at the airport.

Other than one long crack that I think can be repaired, and lots of grime, scratches and nicks, the violin is in good condition. The fingerboard, pegs, and chin rest are ebony, and the tailpiece seems to be rosewood with a mother of pearl inlay. It's certainly old, and reminds me of the descriptions I've read online of violins produced in Germany in the late 1800s. Not that I know enough to tell, one way or the other.

"It's in pretty good shape, I think. Here's a crack, but I think it can be repaired. I'm going to my luthier next week for a new chin rest and I can take it to them for an assessment, if you'd like me to." Other than to my husband, I haven't mentioned my violin to a single soul, but desperate times require desperate measures, and I want her to have confidence in me. She deserves some joy, some emotional gain out of all the wreck that surrounds her.

"Would you? Do you think it can be played again? I must call Aunt Bonnie now."

Come to find out, it was during Aunt Bonnie's move to the West Coast that the violin was lost. And her brother, Laura's father, had been asking for it. Not to play, none of them could, but for sentiments' sake.

While Laura talks to her aunt, I loosen the E string, the only one tight at all, and stand the bridge upright. Tightening them all a bit, I go back to the A string, and try to tune it. Believe it or not, I had been carrying my electronic tuner around with me in my purse, and sneaking in a few seconds of listening to A, here and there, for pitch-training.

Well, grandpa's violin won't tune for me the way my own lovely does, and I'm afraid to hurt it, so I loosen the strings again, and examine the body closely. I can't see a label inside, but on the back, scratched into the varnish right below the nose is a faint name. O. Raettig, looks like to me.

Meanwhile, Laura is trying to convince her aunt to come back and see it. Her aunt is exhausted from moving herself the previous weekend, and then helping Laura pack for the last two days. She is excited, but doesn't want to get back up. When I mention the signature to Laura and she passes it on, Aunt Bonnie says she'll be there shortly.

While we are waiting, I look in the box again. There is an unused (I think) bridge, an old cellophane envelope for a D string, and three music books. The D string envelope is for "The Perfection Violin String". "Made of the very best Material".

Two of the books are promotional items. And, I kid you not, one is for snake oil. Yes, it really is from a company that sells patent medicines, the star of which is Hamlins Wizard Oil!

Hamlins has a cure for all ills. If Wizard Oil won't do you, then you can try Wizard Stomach & Blood Regulator, Wizard Cold Tablets, Wizard Liver Whips, Wizard Cough Cordial, or, if you have "ailments peculiar to women", you might want to try Old Virginia Herb Tea.

I could write an entire blog entry on this book. The cover is red and black. In the middle is an elephant dressed up as a doctor with top hat, sitting on an old wooden office chair, holding a bottle of Wizard Oil in its trunk. On the back is a bottle of Wizard Oil, with the phrase "Directions in " in English, German, Swedish, Norwegian, Danish, Italian, Polish, Czech (I think), Spanish, and French. The book contains "Songs as sung by the Wizard Oil Concert Companies giving free concerts from wagons drawn by four or six horses."

I must scan Hamlin in, make a PDF of it, and put it online. It is a work of art. And it has given me a time frame, of sorts, as it contains testimonials dated 1912 and 1913.

The other book has no cover, but also no patter, and many more songs, courtesy of the Sharples Cream Separator Co., West Chester, PA. Both books contain old favorites, like "Old Kentucky Home" and "Suwanee River". Sharples seems to be fond of Gaelic folk songs like "Annie Laurie", "Robin Adair", and "Flow Softly, Sweet Afton". On the other hand, Hamlin's offers "Bridal Chorus from Lohegrin".

By the time we look through both of them, Aunt Bonnie arrives. We turn to the third. I'm too ignorant to know the correct name for the kind of book it is, but I'll describe it as an old music composition notebook with a stiff blue cover. Later I see it is a "No. 10 - 12 lines", "Monarch Brand" sold by the Carl Fischer Company. We open it up and Aunt Bonnie (a very excitable lady) screams, "That's my grandmother's writing! I'd know it anywhere!"

Evidently Laura's great-grandmother was a pianist and played in concerts, although what that really means I don't know, and don't think they do, either. Could she have been a member of a "Wizard Oil Concert Company"?

What has great-grandma put in her book? "I Praise Him for Morning" and other old-fashioned hymns. A march from Wagner. "Roman Races - H. Lincoln" gives us a date, as I found the original sheet music for sale online with a copyright of 1914. "Mardi Gras" by Opler gives us another date, as it is really "While We Danced At The Mardi Gras" by John Mercer and Alfred Opler and was published in 1931. "Springtime in the Rockies" - yet another date, this was written for the Carmen Miranda movie, "Springtime in the Rockies", released in 1942. "Yankee Doodle Dandy" and "Jingle Bells".

At this point, Laura and Aunt Bonnie are both jumping up and down like excited school girls. They look at the signature. Could it be N. Raettig? That would be great-grandma. No, it is definitely O. Raettig.

Can the crack really be repaired? Do we need a new case? Is there some way to hang it up for display? Can we find out how old it is, who made it? Can it be fixed by Christmas, so we can give it to Laura's dad as his Christmas gift?

"We'll have to see," I say, "I'll do my best."

"This is one of the best days of my life," Aunt Bonnie says.

"It's almost worth all of this," says Laura, and I know she is talking about a lot more than just the packing.

From Pauline Lerner
Posted on June 15, 2005 at 3:13 AM

What a wonderful story! You and your friend are very fortunate. I inherited a mandolin from my grandmother. She had brought it with her when she came from the old country (Russia), and I played it on and off for a few years. One day I opened up the case and found, not a mandolin, but many small pieces of wood. It was was fragmented beyond repair. (I still don't understand why or how.) I cried so much. I was maried at the time, and my ex-husband's flaming temper was often triggered by my crying, so I went into the bathroom and ran the water loud to cover up the sound of my crying. Such a loss! Your friend was indeed very lucky.

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June 14, 2005 at 8:50 AM

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