The music of the afternoon
October 31, 2005
By Cam Tait
The dignified gentleman looked up from the piano he was playing, the music sending a rare level of warmth through the cool mountain air. The brunch buffet line was slowing down. The music - soft and elegant - filtered through the restaurant, a wonderful accompaniment to the early afternoon sunlight. Without missing a note, the man in the beige sports jacket mouthed the word "hello" and nodded his head slightly. The song was ending just as my wife and I were shown to our table, right by the piano.
"If you have any requests, I'd be happy to play them," the man said with a genuine smile. I asked for something from The Phantom of the Opera. My wife asked for "Memories" from Cats. The first note of my wife's request was heard just as we were taking our first sips of coffee. It could have been a variety of things: the music, the fact that we were sharing a family holiday together with our son and daughter-in-law and our grandson; or the thoughts of others who weren't able to enjoy the weekend with us. Whatever the case, my wife was truly moved by the music and started to cry. The man behind the piano looked over at our table and saw my wife's tears. He played another 20 seconds or so of the song and then gracefully ended it.
He reached slowly for the glass of ice water on the piano and took a long sip. Then he stood up and slowly walked over to our table, with a sincere look on his face. "I am so sorry," he said, reaching for my wife's hand. "I would have never played that song if I knew it would upset you."
"That's okay," my wife said. "I was just thinking of my father."
We chatted for a few minutes. He wanted to make sure - darn sure - that my wife was fine before he went back to his craft. "I'll play something fun," he said, with a twinkle in his eye. "How about something from The Sting or Alley Cats?"
My wife thanked him and he made his way back to the piano. His gesture showed great compassion; how we can stop whatever we're doing - business or pleasure -to comfort someone else. It would have been easier for the gentleman to keep playing and not interrupt the song, rather than to share the time with someone and even offer an apology, though it wasn't necessary.
The fact is, taking the easy way out doesn't usually address the core of a problem. Taking the easy way out seldom, if ever, touches one's heart. Taking the easy way out often skirts two words: I'm sorry.
We later found out that the man in the beige sports jacket, with the warm smile and the gentle touch of the piano keys, is named Truman. Three days a week he plays at the Delta Kananaskis Lodge. And he's done so for the past 17 years, ever since the hotel opened for the 1988 Calgary Olympics. Amid the pure beauty of the area, with the rugged mountains, the tall trees and the cool rivers and lakes, music is a bridge that takes us over any terrain. It's the universal language that touches our emotions. And on this particular day, it served as a reminder that sometimes saying "I'm sorry" is the most compassionate thing we can do.
Cam Tait is a sports reporter and columnist for the Edmonton Journal. He covered community investments and volunteers for 19 years. E-mail Cam at cam@charityvillage.com with thoughts, suggestions or ideas.
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