Cross of Christ Lutheran Church

The following creative piece was written by Phyllis Knutson Beckman. Phyllis grew up in Yucatan and graduated from Houston High School.

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Music Room Quartet

If a person were standing on the sparse grass in front of the woodshed behind the farmhouse, one would wince at the halting piano music and struggling singers, loudly blaring through the open window of the Music Room, determined to get it right if it took all afternoon, as it sometimes did.

I was the pianist, not only for the family quartet in the Music Room, but for the Stone Church choir on Sunday mornings, plunking out the notes of the melodies in the faded maroon hymn book of gospel music that we country folks preferred to the holy, holy, holy of the church pews’ black Lutheran hymnal. Being country still, gospel is my preference to this day.

Back in the Music Room days, my Daddy sang bass and could not read notes, so I had to play only the lowest notes of the gospel song that we had to learn by Sunday at 9:00 am.  He’d eventually know the bass “tune” by heart and could sing it well if he stood by Ole Jore on Sundays as the choir fumbled for the page featuring Amazing Grace.  My mother couldn’t play the piano, but she prided herself on being able to “keep time” and would drum her index finger on the top of our black upright piano whispering, “one and two and three and, one and two and three and” in a strangely hoarse and unbearably irritating background of the already stressful efforts of our quartet.  My older sister, Dianne, should have been the accompanist but she was bold enough to say “No!” convincingly, while I could not.  I should brag that I’m now able to say “No!” without guilt, but now I’m 81 and no one is asking me to play for the choir.  Pity.  Dianne was required to sing soprano, however, and her slouched shoulders indicated she didn’t have her heart in it.  I, however, was expected to sing alto in addition to playing the piano.  Mom could sing either soprano or alto when she was convinced that I had the “one and two and three and” down pat.

The Music Room, formerly a tiny bedroom, contained only the black upright Cable piano, the swivel seat in front of the ivory keys, many missing the ivory, and our small corner table stacked with piano books displayed.  A frugal family, we didn’t buy sheet music as my piano teacher urged every week.  It was all we could do to pay the three-dollar fee for the half hour lessons every Saturday morning at Miss Onsgaard’s home.  We did pay for Schaum’s piano books as we marched slowly but steadily through the alphabet and colors of the covers. 

I’ve recently resurrected the maroon gospel book and as I mentally recite “one and two and three and”, I miss the Music Room quartet, the irritating whisper, the struggling Bass, and the reluctant Soprano practicing Amazing Grace.  Who knew just how amazing?