Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, July 5, 1993 TAG: 9309020319
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A7 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: Monty S. Leitch
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
I have a truly spectacular piano. Massive. Rosewood. Built around 1900 with a sounding board a tuner once told me is ``bright.'' (``Florid'' might be more accurate.)
More recently I've also been told it's out of tune. But it sounds fine to me, which gives you a fair idea of the caliber of my musicianship.
This fine parlor grand was my grandmother's before it was mine. And before it was hers, it belonged to Herndon Slicer, one of Fincastle's most famous sons.
In the '30s and '40s, Herndon Slicer had a live radio program twice each weekday morning on the Shenandoah Life Station out of Roanoke. At 6 and again at 8 a.m., tucked into ``Community Almanac,'' listeners could hear 15 minutes of his fabulous flourishes and rolling stride base on anything they wrote in to request.
I have a tape of one of ``The Herndon Slicer Shows,'' which he opens with, ``How in the world are you today? I hope you're feeling fine.'' Then he goes on to play ``Sweet Georgia Brown,'' ``Peg O' My Heart,'' ``In a Shanty in Ol' Shanty Town'' and his original theme, ``The Dance of the Pajama People.''
He whistles as brilliantly as he plays; he sings in a voice that you can well imagine amplified through a 1920s-style megaphone.
``You have an inimitable style,'' his co-host Bill King says.
You can almost hear Herndon ducking his head and grinning.
At one point, co-host Bill asks, ``How are things down in Fincastle, Herndon?''
``Oh, Fincastle's a grand ol' place,'' Herndon replies (sounding for all the world like Garrison Keillor saying, ``Well, it's been a quiet week in Lake Woebegone''). Then he plays ``The Fincastle Rag,'' which dances all over the keyboard.
``You know, I've never seen you in a bad mood,'' co-host Bill banters at one point. ``How do you explain that?''
``I don't know f+ihowo to explain that,'' Herndon says. ``But you know I f+ieato well.''
``Yes, and you need to tighten that girdle up a bit, too!''
Herndon rolls into a song entitled ``Don't You Love Me Anymore?''
When I bang away on my piano, the cows move to another part of the field, a part far away from the house. As a girl, I liked to imagine that from somewhere up in heaven Beethoven and Mendelssohn beamed down at me, murmuring, ``Nobody's ever played that with such grace and feeling before!'' Now I know they're more likely rolling over in their graves.
Along with Herndon Slicer, who died in the late '40s. ``What's become of my poor piano?'' he must be moaning.
Or maybe not. On his radio show, when asked if he had any parting words, Herndon said, ``Have a nice time, 'cause we don't live long, Bill. We don't live long!''
Whenever I'm playing Herndon's piano, I'm having a wonderful time.
\ Monty S. Leitch is a Roanoke Times & World-News columnist.
by CNB