Griffith was so impressed that she suggested we enter the state music festival. We did a flawless job at the spring recital, resulting in accolades from both our parents and the audience. My duet partner Carl and I diligently practiced and practiced until our teacher was confident we had it down. She chose an advanced version of the classic “Tea for Two,” which she was confident we could master. Griffith asked me and my parents if she could team me up with one of her other students to practice and perform a duet. Little did she know.ĭespite these obstacles, I progressed as a young pianist and always performed well at annual spring recitals. When I complained repeatedly to my mother about these distractions, she dismissed my concerns as petty. In an effort to combat this, she purchased a device that looked like a small electric shaver, which she also used as she continually hovered over me. She had also developed a double chin and was working on a triple. After some time, I learned to breathe totally through my mouth in order to endure the smell. Summers in Southern Idaho were extremely hot with no air conditioning, and she had this most annoying habit of hovering over me while I was practicing. Griffith perspired freely and was either not cognizant of deodorant, or whatever use she made of it was ineffective. Over the next few years, my lessons went well but for the summer months. When I was at home on the spinet, my dad encouraged me to play freely, buying some Gershwin and swing music that I really enjoyed in defiance of Mrs. “Practice makes perfect” was her motto and she demanded a style of playing that relied on repetition of finger movements with no improvisation allowed. Griffith was kind but also somewhat of a martinet. Griffith’s pupils, as she was in great demand. My mother was thrilled that I would be one of Mrs. Griffith was not just your regular piano teacher, but rather the mother of an extraordinary pianist, Patricia, who performed with symphony orchestras across the country.
Once I reached the ripe old age of 8, my parents enrolled me in piano classes with our neighborhood piano teacher.
My mother was a flutist in high school and my dad was an accomplished saxophone player who, in his youth, played with a jazz and swing band group that toured the Northwest. Although neither of them was a pianist, it was clear that I was destined to play the piano. When I was a young boy, my parents bought a lovely spinet piano.
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