In my mind, there are three reasons for collecting mechanical music:
the wonderful music, the wonderful machines and the wonderful people.
Don Rand provides a great example of the latter; my life feels richer
for having known him.

Don was really one of a kind.  He is the only person that I consider to
be a close friend, even though I never met him.  My first conversation
with Don took place 20 years ago.  I had acquired my first orchestrion,
a Link, but I had zero rolls to play on it.  Wolfgang Schweppe
suggested that I contact Don.  I rather timidly wrote Don and asked
if he might have any Link A rolls for sale.

A few days later, the phone rang -- at 11:30 P.M.!  It was Don.
I knew that he was a titan in the automatic music world, so I was quite
surprised that he was so willing to talk to me, a relative nobody with
one unrestored orchestrion, for over an hour.  I loved every minute
of it.

He told me I was fortunate indeed, as he had one last subscription
available for his Link orchestrion roll recutting project.  As it turns
out, this would be the first of many of my good fortunes, as it seems
that I was allegedly the last one in on many of his recutting projects
(and I suspect that several of you out there reading this were too).

But in fact I do consider myself very fortunate to have had the
opportunity to purchase many of his fine quality rolls.  He paid
meticulous attention to the details, down to stamping the book cloth
end tabs with the proper graphics.

I was delighted when "Uncle Don" started calling on a regular basis,
and was surprised that he was willing to spend so much of his time
talking with me.  In fact, the calls were often multi-hour marathons.
In the early days, he would call late at night, but he was careful to
never do that once he learned that I had to get up early for my job.

I told Don several times that I felt that he missed his true calling:
he should have been a radio personality.  He was riotously funny and
able to effortlessly improvise on any topic you could throw at him.
He had as many voices as Mel Blanc (whom he once met in a supermarket)
and he knew how to use them.  He had developed several characters, some
favorites being the feeble old man and the bratty fat kid, and he would
shift seamlessly from one to the other.  He was a true entertainer,
and I was privy to many outstanding performances (as I know that
several of you out there reading this were too).

And, oh, the stories!  He had dozens of stories, all true, of amazing
finds of rare and valuable instruments (with his long-time partner,
Ed Openshaw) from the Seeburg "Xylophonian" through the Wurlitzer Style
33 PianOrchestra and his collection of original roll perforators and
the three -- count them, _three!_ -- Style 165 band organs.  Not to
mention his visits with Stan Laurel.  Oh, how I wish I had recorded all
of those wonderful stories for posterity.

As an engineer, socializing is not my strong point.  Yet somehow
I always enjoyed talking on and on with Don about everything, from food
to world affairs.  My wife and I still make "Uncle Don's Chicken" (all
you need is some "Mrs. Dash's Table Mix").  He loved movies, both
vintage and modern, and we swapped quite a few.

Don had a knack for finding treasures.  Along with nearly every
imaginable coin-operated American automatic musical instrument, he
accumulated an enormous collection of stained glass from coin pianos
and orchestrions.  While automatic music was his first love, he also
had large collections of vintage movies, records, etc.  He primarily
focused on the 1920s and 1930s.  However, for unbeknownst reasons, he
decided about twenty years ago to buy boxes and boxes of tennis shoes
that tickled his fancy -- which, it turns out, are highly collectible
today.

But most of all, Don was a kind, generous, and caring man.  Once he
knew I really loved automatic music, "care packages" started showing up
at my door of tapes of wonderful machines, and photographs, and buttons,
then CDs, and I so enjoyed them.

I started receiving beautiful hand-crafted Christmas cards with
a message on the back assuring us that "No aardvarks were harmed in
the manufacture of this card".  (Don was, in fact, an artist by
training.  For his capstone project at the Chouinard Art Institute he
put together a sculpture featuring working pipes borrowed from his
Seeburg "G" orchestrion.)

When I was unable to fully participate in his next roll cutting project
(and there were many), he would always find a way to work me in for
what I could afford.  He put me in contact with people who could help
with hard-to-find parts for my machines.

Several years ago, Don decided to move out of his captain's house in
Thomaston, Maine.  He told me that he wanted a house with a long
driveway that had a big iron gate at the end of it with a bell button
on which he could hang a sign that said "Out of Order".  Well, he found
very close his dream house in Waldoboro, Maine.  He largely dropped out
of sight after that.  While I continued to talk with him, I started to
get concerned when the frequency of his calls decreased, but even more
worrisome was that his calls became relatively short in duration.  But
then again, it seemed that his interests were changing, as he sold most
of his collection and his prized Acme perforator, so I didn't quite
know what to make of it.

I had it on my list of things to do to call him for the last several
months, as I had not heard from him.  And I always dreamed of
journeying up to Maine to meet The Man in person.  Clearly, I waited
too long, and I sincerely regret that I will never again have those
opportunities.

God bless you, Don.  You were a wonderful friend who I will dearly miss
(even though I never met you).  May your heaven be filled with Herman
Avery Wade music.

Tom Chase