Enclosed is the letter that Mr. Kenneth Scherer of Embarrass, Minnesota
sent me after I purchased his Cable Carola Inner Player in 1989. I spoke
with him last week and received his permission to offer it to you for
publication.

I missed this piano at his estate auction in 1985 as I had to leave to pick
up my wife from work. Then in '89 I spotted it in the local "shopper" and
called him. A senior citizen's group was already on their way to look at
it, and I thought I missed it again. Late afternoon that Sunday he called
to tell me it was mine if I still wanted it, as the seniors never showed
up.

There's another MMD-er who recently bought a Cable and in fact advertised
in MMD for other Cable owners to talk to him.  I did so; he thinks mine is
"Solo Inner Player", but I can't see "Solo" anywhere.  One of these days
I'll take it apart (when I get done with everybody else's).

Regards,

Roy F. Ulrich

 - - -

The summer of 1933 was hot and dry, during the heart of the great depres-
sion.  My parents, William and Elizabeth Scherer, had decided to buy a
player piano, having come into a modest inheritance from my grandparents
estate.

I was with them when they made the trip from Oak Park MN to the Twin Cities
in the blue 1927 Pontiac, after threshing in August 1933.

It was the first time that I could remember of being in Minneapolis. I was
only ten years at the time and the world I lived in was quite small. The
Foshay Tower was just being built, and that was the first time I'd ever
seen a skyscraper or rode an escalator, which was in the Donaldson store
downtown on Nicolette Ave. The Cable Piano Company was close by. I also
remember what I had for dinner that day: roast beef, mashed potatoes, gravy
and peas. The root beer and pie cost extra; the whole dinner cost 30 cents.

After dinner we went over to the piano store and my folks picked out the
piano that was suppose to be only ten years old, which we now find out that
it was three years older; salesman have been known to lie. Anyway the price
seemed right, either 150 or 160 dollars, which I thought was one hell of a
lot of money.

My parents made arrangements with our local cattle hauler to bring the
piano to our farm for five dollars. Five dollars bought about fifty gallons
of gas at that time. My parents and I were in Casselton ND the next week
when the piano was delivered; that was the first time I was ever out of the
state. Anyway, the trucker (a Frenchman by the name of Alpha Vallincourt,
better known as Curly being he was bald as a cue ball) and two of our
neighbors -- a Swede by the name of Frank Enge and a little wiry Norwegian
by the name of Theodore Kjormoe -- got the job of unloading it. They were
to bring it into the "Sunparlor", which was the Sunday-only living room in
our house. During the unloading process, the piano slipped off the plank
they were using and the pedals got broken. After quite a cussing out in
three languages, the piano was brought into the Sunparlor where it was to
remain until September of 1960.

When we got home the next day, my father took the broken pedals into the
blacksmith, by the name of "Mierdirk", who was somewhat of a character.
Outside of being a good welder and a jack of all trades, he was also a
gifted musician who traveled around the countryside as a one man band. He
would play the banjo, mouth-organ and bass drum. Then sometimes he would
switch off and play the cornet, and with his left hand play the 'bones' or
a snare drum. He could also play the piano, drums and mouth organ if he was
playing in a dance hall.

He was sometimes moody whenever the notion struck him, as his wife had run
off with a traveling salesman prior to coming to Oak Park. He always
referred to the amorous salesman as that "rotten red-headed Jew son-ah-ma-
bitch that can't be trusted across the street."

During the years that followed, the piano was used for many of the family
affairs; it seemed that there was always someone in the crowd that could
play. We used the rolls ourselves as there was no one in our family that
could play. The piano was never used very much during the winter months as
that part of the house was never heated except whenever it was my folks
turn to host the local card club.

January 1949 was the last time the piano was used for one of these family
affairs. It was for my parents farewell party, as they were moving to St.
Cloud MN, and it was also our welcome home party after being gone for the
past six years in the US Navy. One of the songs sung that night was 'Galway
Bay' sang by a German 'Irish Tenor', and it was played by the wife of the
local Methodist minister, who had been a lawyer at one time and was now
trying to be a farmer.

He must of figured that he wouldn't stand a snowball chance in hell of
getting through the pearly gates in the legal profession so he chose the
ministry and tried farming one of the poorest farms in the township. He was
one of the first income tax consultants around the country, as no one ever
had to pay income tax before the war.

I can still see him sitting at his kitchen table with his bib overalls that
had been splattered all around the legs with cow manure, pounding away with
the old Underwood typewriter, all the time keeping company with a half
dozen or so newly inducted taxpayers. He would charge one dollar for the
short form and two dollars for a long form. He must of done quite well at
it, as he had the first new car around the neighborhood after the war, a
green (like money) 1947 Studebaker.

We used the piano once in a while during the early 1950's.  Our oldest
daughter Sandra was taking lessons at the time, from the sisters in Foley,
until we moved to Babbitt in 1956. Up to this time the piano never had a
scratch on it. It was after we rented the farm house to some people who had
a couple of little monsters, that's how all those chipped keys came into
being.

The player was never used very much after 1952, when we bought our first
TV, a 17-inch Muntz which was called a gutless wonder as it only had 17
tubes, as most TV's had over 30. I think this is about the time that a lot
of pianos and those old pump organs fell into neglect.

The player still worked until 1960; it was after the 200 mile ride up here
in the back of a cattle truck, it seems to have developed a lot of leaks
after that.

Another of our daughters, Paulette, who is now a R.N., took lessons in the
1960s but quit when she got to high school. Sandra gave it up and played a
pretty mean saxophone, which my mother-in-law called a "Foofah".

So the last 25 years it has just been a place to put family pictures on and
it is now time to give it a new life. We are not getting any younger, and I
don't see any young George Gershwins coming up in the next generation, so
it is now time to bid a found farewell to an old friend that has been with
me for most of my life.

I know the best is yet to come for you.

Kenneth W. Scherer Sr.
Embarrass, Minnesota