Pirates of Penzance

What do sticking piano keys have in common with International Women’s Day? The President’s daughter, no less.

By Beth Holtam (pictured at the piano)

Humidity was a problem for pianos in Liberia. At Blowgun, for example, my piano was up against the only solid wall of the living room, which was just a screened-in porch. Keeping the keys dry by putting a light bulb inside the piano is only effective when a generator supplies more electricity than four hours per night. When I needed to practice for an upcoming event at Cuttington College, Jordan bought two tiny kerosene lamps, like nightlights, at the market across the creek. He put them at the base of the piano and “Voila”, I was able to play.

The upcoming event was Cuttington College’s production of PIRATES OF PENZANCE, the delightful Gilbert and Sullivan operetta, recently seen on Broadway with Linda Ronstadt singing the role of Mabel. We did one performance on campus, and the troupe of singers and staff made a weekend trip to perform it in Monrovia. It was to be held at City Hall, and I was to play the Steinway Grand that resided there.

Unfortunately, there was no air conditioning at City Hall, whose windows were wide open to the salt-laden breezes from the ocean just across the road. Sure enough, when the dress rehearsal was ready to begin, the piano’s keys were swollen with moisture, and would not spring back up. STUCK is what they were! One of the faculty thought quickly: moving a bank of stage lights to the open piano, he baked it for a few hours and when it was done, mercifully, the piano keys worked!

That was 1964. Fast forward to 2019. Jordan and I drive to Warren Wilson College, not far from our home in Weaverville NC, to attend an evening seminar for International Women’s Day, March 8. One panelist is Esther Mannheimer, Mayor of Asheville NC; one is Jasmine Beach-Ferrara, who is serving on the Buncombe County Council; and one is Christine Tolbert Norman, Mayor of Bentol City, Liberia and, incidentally, one of former President Tolbert’s daughters.

Jordan and I arrive early, and as we head for the seminar room in Gladfelter, we pass a restroom just as a lady beautifully dressed in lappa, buba, and head tie emerges. I greet her.

“Hello, Christine. Welcome to North Carolina.” She doesn’t recognize me until I add: “Do you remember when you sang in PIRATES OF PENZANCE when you were a sophomore at Cuttington? I played the piano for those performances.”

Her breath catches in surprise and amazement, and we fall all over each other getting reacquainted until time for the seminar to begin.

Afterwards, she makes a point of introducing Jordan and me to the audience. It is indeed a notable International Women’s Day in our lives, thanks to memories of sticking piano keys.