I heard the soft melodious sound as soon I entered the auction house that morning. Someone was playing a piano, and that was unusual. I followed the music, wondering who among the staff or auction-goers would be sitting on a stool in front of – based on the tone – a grand piano.
Turning a corner in a room full of furniture, I found the sound but not the body. The music was coming from a shiny black baby grand player piano, its keys dropping and lifting at the touch of imaginary fingers. It was a delightful contrast to the usual mutter of voices.
I’ve always loved the piano and the saxophone. I’ve actually taken piano lessons once or twice or three times. And I took them to heart, practicing dutifully to match my fingers to the keys to the notes, but never being able to meld the three on the JC Fischer console that sits like a gigantically oversized paperweight in my living room. It has not been played or tuned for years and I’d like to get rid of it. Anyone want a free piano?
The sound of the one at auction reminded me of why I always wanted to play, of the semester in college when I took lessons but dropped out when my friends did, of the time I took lessons while on a fellowship and played “Willow Weep for Me” with a saxophone student, of the time when I took lessons on my off-days while working full time as a newspaper journalist.
None of the lessons obviously stuck, and I finally stopped trying (fortunately, I didn’t give up on learning to swim, which I also tried to do off-and-on for years and finally conquered. Maybe there’s still hope).
The piano at auction was a shiny black enamel instrument made by a company unfamiliar to me – Kohler & Campbell. When I was looking to buy a piano those years ago, I became familiar with the names of a number of them, from the venerable Steinway and Yamaha and other digital pianos that I’d never heard of and didn’t get very good reviews on sites like Amidio. I never came across Kohler & Campbell.
Some nice baby grands have come up at auction before, including a beautiful black Yamaha that a church member had come to buy but didn’t bring enough money (it would have looked great in my living room, even though it would have taken up half the space in it). Another time, an auctioneer almost had to give away an old grand piano, finally selling it for $100. It looked as if it had not been played or tuned in decades.
The Kohler & Campbell at auction appeared to be in good shape. The New York-company was founded in 1896 by Charles Kohler and John Calvin Campbell, and became one of the country’s largest manufacturers of pianos. The men were partners for 18 years before Kohler, who had gotten into piano-making in his 20s, died unexpectedly.
The company bought up other piano manufacturers over the years, especially during the Depression and World War II. It was acquired by Samick Music Co. of South Korea in 1985.
In a 1920 catalog, Kohler & Campbell promoted its players, grands and uprights. For its player pianos, it assured buyers that the mechanical unit in the piano would not interfere with their playing by hand, or the touch, responsiveness and tone of the piano.
At auction, the staff had placed a “Do not Touch Please” handwritten sign on the music stand. They know us auction-goers too well. Someone would have sat down on the leather-topped stool to try to play along with the piano.
The piano had attracted the attention of at least one buyer: Someone had already placed a green absentee bid on it. I was not around when it sold later in the day.
I wondered what a Kohler & Campbell grand piano sounded like, and on the web, I found someone playing a semi-concert grand. The sound was beautiful. I also came across a player piano that was playing along with a recording.
