I sold my accordion today. It was only the third one I ever owned. The first, being a child-size whitepearl Hohner accordion my parents bought for me when I was 8 years old. The second was a used Italian Salanti I bought at the Accordion Connection in Gilmanton, N.H. when I was in my 60’s. The third was a 96-base Hohner Tango II that I exchanged for the Salanti and got from my friend Paul,neighbor in Vermont. That is the one I sold today.
Paul lived across the street from us in Rochester, Vermont, when I discovered he had started a used accordion business . We played duets together and I often went to Paul’s house to see new accordions he was fixing or ones he had been given by people who found them in attics or houses of relatives who had died. He put ads in small town newspapers and accordions came out of the woodwork. He took them all. His enthusiasm was catching. I practised often, pleased that some of my learned memory was still alive after a 50-year respite.
I was excited to be playing an accordion again because it was a connection to my childhood in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Tango and the bandoneón and accordion music was all around me as a child. It seemed to live in the background of daily life, on radios or in open air cafes. The accordion brought me closer to Mother in her last years, because she and I had both had accordion lessons and played duets together at our annual recitals.
Moving to Asheville in 2011, the Hohner accordion came with me. I took it out to play occasionally but without a friend or a group or even a teacher to play with my enthusiasm waned. Mother died and the years have passed. This year my Hohner began to feel like the “white elephant” in the closet.
Occasionally Art would say, “Are you ever going to get out your accordion and play it again?”
“I will,” I promised but I didn’t follow through. It was hard to accept that I couldn’t play it very well anymore. It was heavy and cumbersome, and I tired easily opening and closing the bellows and wearing the straps on my shoulders.
A few weeks ago, I posted an ad on Craig’s List under Instruments for Sale. Noticing that there was not a single accordion for sale but many guitars and pianos, I thought that no one would respond to my ad. That would be alright since I wasn’t sure I could really part with it.
This morning I received a surprise text message …
Hello! Is the Hohner accordion still for sale?
I live nearby in Etowah. Thanks!
My reply…
Yes, it is still for sale. I live in Candler.
Response…
I’m interested in buying it. When works
best for you?
We exchanged a few more texts with time and address and the person texting said “Great, thanks!”
At 3pm a bright red Jeep drove up to our house and a tall young man with tattoos on his arms, got out with a little boy. Once in the house, he took one look at the Hohner and said he’d buy it. I noticed he did not know how to take the accordion out of its case and put it on to play. I showed him how to put the straps over his shoulders and where the bass buttons were.
“Do you know how to play?” I asked.
“Oh, no,” he replied. “I play the piano, but I want to learn how to play the accordion.”
“Will you take lessons?” I asked.
“No,” he replied, “I’ll learn watching You-Tube videos. I wanted a Hohner because my background is German,” he added.
We packed up the accordion and he handed over cash. Accordion in hand, he walked out to his car with his 5-year-old, who had stayed quietly watching this transaction with big eyes.
“I did it,” I said to Art as the man drove off.
I had let the Hohner go without shedding a tear. Only I knew how hard it was for me to give up something that I had once, long ago, loved doing. Another sign of old age, I thought.
Late this afternoon another text came from the man who bought my accordion. ( We had not even exchanged names it all happened so fast.) He wrote:
Thank you again. It’s a lovely instrument and is really eye opening
to have the chord progressions laid out in rows, coming from someone
who has played piano by ear. I will take good care of her. I’m sorry I
didn’t ask you to play for us before we left.
I could not resist a final text back to him…
I feel very much at peace knowing someone like you will care
for that accordion and enjoy it!
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