← Columns

In A Real Squeeze

The Source

My addiction began in a late-night parking lot in Rochester, Illinois. Or maybe it was Riverton…like Wisconsin and Michigan, God knows I can’t keep them straight. The disheveled little bag lady approached me as I was walking to my car. Her question was simple. “Wanna buy an accordion? I need the money.” It was obvious that she did need the money, and the only thing that made me hesitate was the fact that I didn’t need an accordion. Cut to the end of the story: I bought it. She seemed sincere in her need and after squeezing the thing and touching a few keys, I found it seemed to work. I just wished I knew how to play one. That was fourteen accordions ago. Last week I bought my fifteenth accordion at Marnico Village’s quaint little Bargain Barn. My friend Chuck called me the day before and said, “Ken! They’ve got a full-sized accordion out here and the price seems reasonable!” I asked him if it actually worked. He said, “I don’t know. I don’t play the accordion.” Chuck found himself in the same position fate had plunked me on the dark night in Riverton…or Rochester. I said, “Well, pick it up and squeeze it. See if it has any leaks.” So this guitar player picked up this unfamiliar instrument and played a few notes. In case you ever need to know, no accordion sounds good played by a guitar picker through a cell phone. Cut to end of story: I went in the next day and bought it. Number fifteen. Accordions. Why? I still don’t know. I guess I’d always envied the felicity with which a guitar player could pick up his instrument and go strolling around the party…or the campfire…or the town. Every pianist in the world would suffer a hernia if we tried such a trick. But the accordion…yeah…it gives you the ability to walk while you play. You’re not stuck in the corner of some church basement or recording studio. You can roam, man. You’ll note that so far I’ve avoided the subject of accordion lessons. That’s because I’ve never had one. I’m sure there’s a prescribed method of playing the instrument but Lawrence Welk was dead before I had to chance to quiz him. I figured…heck, it’s just a sideways piano, and as for those 200 buttons on the left side…well, they must do something. They did, and after a night’s worth of button poking I figured out a pattern reasonable enough to get me through a few tunes. Some are chords and some are notes and once you train your left pointing finger where to begin, you simply tell them to get busy. Jacksonville has some very accomplished accordion players like David Zink, but I’m not one of them. However, I’ve found that when he and I play together I have a louder accordion. My mistakes can always drown out his virtuosity. I think that’s been my life’s mantra. Of course accordion jokes abound. What’s the definition of a perfect pitch? When you throw a banjo into a dumpster and it lands on top of an accordion. (I always have a few banjos. Combine that with my bagpipes and I’m the proud owner of the three most hated instruments in the Western Hemisphere.) There’s something innately funny about a grown man walking the decks of a riverboat or an elementary school or a retirement home, playing a vertical piano. But, like having three left ears, it’s always a conversation starter and the conversation always begins with, “Oh! My grandmother used to play one of those!” There have been days on my riverboat gig when I felt as if deceased grandmothers and myself were the sole accordionists in captivity. I prefer what’s sexist-ly called “the ladies’ model.” These are the smaller accordions and much more easier on an aging back. “Deluxe Ladies’ Models” come with a pad between you and the squeezing bellows so you don’t crunch your…well, it’s called a ladies’ model for a reason. But don’t think that my little house is chock-a-block with accordions. Of my fifteen I still own only two..maybe three. There’s one bad Ebay buy that I don’t actually call an accordion. I put it in my shed and we aren’t speaking. The other 12..or maybe 13… I’ve given away to various students of mine. The kids were delighted. Their parents haven’t spoken to me since. But a mystery remains. That dark night in Riverton…or Rochester. I was coming out of a Methodist church and heading home. How did the bag lady know that I played the keyboard? Did she even know? The cased accordion was in a shopping bag and perhaps she’d been walking all around wherever, asking people to buy her deceased grandmother’s accordion. Or perhaps that’s what grandmother do just before they die…sell their accordions.