The Clarinet Story

 

The Clarinet Story

It must have been around 1955. I was a kind of overweight, awkward kid who in spite of my frame, loved sports, loved people, loved life and wanted to have it all. I was nine and we lived at 114 Bayview Avenue, just two doors down from my childhood crush, Janie Fitzpatrick who was about my age. In my mind, she was a clarinet virtuoso. Low and behold, at the house between us, lived Joe Mullen who had given up the clarinet, so I thought maybe I could borrow Joe's and learn to play like Janie. My mother, an accomplished homemade bread maker, approached Mrs. Mullen and they struck a deal that I could borrow Joe's clarinet in exchange for a loaf of that "world famous", scrumptious bread for each week that I held the clarinet. Now, I would be the next Benny Goodman (Elvis hadn't quite yet hit the scene). It was only a matter of a few lessons..........or so, I thought. I had a way diminishing the learning curve of things like that. 

Anyway, I managed to con Mom & Dad into springing for the lessons which were being given at a place very near the corner of Scudder Avenue and Woodbine Avenue. It was a small wood frame building that later became "Ernie's Hobby Shop and later, part of Snug harbor Hardware & Marine. On an early summer evening, I carried the instrument down Bayview Ave, across Main St., down Woodbine Ave. and to Scudder Ave. There I was, in the public eye, carrying a musical instrument! What the heck, no one had to know that I didn't know how to play it. I was important stuff now and about to become more important! I had an agenda! My first lesson included a little about the scales and how to clean the clarinet. An accessory called a chamois cloth was the key to cleaning this instrument. Unfortunately, Joe's instrument did not include this accessory, but not to worry. I am an inventive guy! After the lesson was over, I carried the instrument home with the same sense of self-importance that I had experienced going to the lesson. Now, it was time to clean it! Every accomplished musician knows that a good performance starts with a clean instrument! I looked though my mom 's rag bag and found a discarded bed sheet. I thought, I'll just cut a piece out of that.........say about 4 feet by 4 feet. 

As I cut the cloth on the kitchen countertop, my dad came into the kitchen and said "oh, you're back from your lesson, what cha' makin', a kite?" I said, "very funny, Dad". He went back to reading his book in the living room and I continued with my clarinet cleaning mission. I got the cloth cut to my satisfaction and punched a hole in the middle of it for a "drawstring" and attached it with a couple of granny knots. On the other end of the string, I used a No. 2 wood pencil for a weight to allow the string to fall completely through the clarinet bore. Voila, now all I had to do was pull on the pencil and draw the "kite" through the clarinet for cleaning and it would be ready for my first concert. Well, almost ready. As I drew on the pencil, the "kite" offered increasing resistance against the interior walls of the instrument until it was squarely in the middle of the clarinet. At that point, the string broke! My first reaction was "this is not good". But not to worry, I will get a dowel rod or some such thing and push the cloth back out. 

I did just that, but upon pushing from either end of the instrument, I just found increasing resistance as the cloth bunched up in the bore and became solidly lodged. I knew that there would be some crow to be eaten and it would have my name on it. With some reluctance, I told my parents about the debacle and weathered their admonishment. They also tried to remove the "kite" to no avail. I had really done it right and upheld my family moniker as "Mr. Break-it". I could only imagine the look on Mrs. Mullen's face when we returned the clarinet with a permanently installed "kite" hanging out of it. What would she think? What would Joe think? He was 16, for God's sake....he might kill me! 

It was time for me to clock in with the sleepless and the worry warts. My mother, however had a less emotional response. She suggested taking the instrument to Milt Jacobs and see what he could do with it. Now in small towns like Northport, "everybody knew your name" and Milt Jacobs' name was most commonly associated with Northport Hardware Store. Milt may not have known at the time that my very future was hanging on his ability to right this atrocity. My Mom and I took the ailing instrument and laid it before him. We had come to the dali-lama of fixit men, a veritable inspirational pattern for Bob Vila to follow. I had to acknowledge the error of my ways and admit to my character flaws for having been the architect of this mess. It was the closest I have ever come to a confessional. Milt said that they had never before been asked to make such a repair, but if we would leave the instrument, they would see what they could do. I would spend the next 7 days in worry and despair. 

Alas, the phone rang, and Northport Hardware had been successful in making the removal. We were all amazed that such a thing could actually be done! They said that they left the clarinet by the cash register and for a week, whenever they had a few moments, whoever had the time, picked away at the "kite" with tweezers, drawing lint sized bits through the holes in the side of the bore. The charge for this service? One US Dollar! I promptly returned the clarinet to the Mullens and that was the end of my Benny Goodman aspirations. Besides, Elvis and Buddy Holly were about to hit the scene. Who wanted to play the clarinet anyway?