Bill Dye


The big night had arrived. My eight; year-old brother was to perform on the "eighty-eight" in his first recital. Tonight was the climax of a month of madness. Four long weeks had seen the rise and fall of the neighbors' patience. Day and night, night and day, all they heard was piano, piano, piano! They, as well as we, almost went mad. It would not have been too bad if Al could have played the piano without making it an instrument of torture .. But his brand of music involved no more than two fingers, one on each hand.



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