Presto

F>RESTO
March 18, 1920.
paper news. And when the fine old Chickering appears in a page
reminder of its splendors, that, too, is the best of trade news.
All of these very special news features appear in this week's
Presto. And we believe that they lend substantial backing to the
almost numberless lesser items of splendid news stories which are
scattered through the paper, from beginning to end.
It may be interesting, in connection with this discussion, to refer
to a peculiar illustration of the accuracy with which we place adver-
tising among the best of news stories. There is a popular monthly
magazine, now appearing in which the literary matter occupies less
than 30 of the 96 pages of the publication. And subscribers to the
magazine read the "letter press" almost solely because it diverts at-
tention to the advertising pages. No one will longer deny that the
same principle applies to other popular publications, from the Satur-
day Evening Post, up or down. We believe that in all the features of
this week's issue of the story paper just named, piano dealers, and all
others interested in player-pianos, there is nothing so good as the page
of the Q R S Company, which Presto also contained a week ago.
The best news in a trade paper, at all events, is the news that
helps the business, does nobody anything but good, and puts on perma-
nent record the facts that outlive the swiftly passing hour in building
the history of today into the progress of tomorrow.
AT WHAT AGE?
The very bad habit of discussing the age of a man's passing from
usefulness to not-wanted-ness in business subsided several years ago.
It is no longer the rule for employers to judge a man's capacity in
inverse ratio to his experience, nor to measure his abilities by the
changing of his hair from black or brown to grey. The narrow-
minded methods for approximating a worker's value by the wrinkles
in his brow, or by the condition of his teeth, are fortunately now dis-
regarded. And the vicious signs that used to give warning to appli-
cants that "men over 40 are not wanted," no longer insult brain and
brawn in the shops and stores. Things have grown better, and busi-
ness is getting proportionately bigger.
And this suggests a somewhat remarkable specimen of the kind
of men by whose courage and capacity the cruel and unreasoning
age limitations have been removed. The newspapers and public
speakers have helped, of course, but more than all has been the ex-
ample of the elderly men themselves in pulling down the barriers of
age.
In the piano business the rule that helped along the hair dye
industry also became effective, but not in the same degree as else-
where. And in the piano industry we have had some of the finest
examples of the way man's capacity and vigor and resourcefulness
may persist long after the period set, a few years back, by the unwise
employers who set the age limitation upon the usefulness of the
workers.
There are instances in the piano industry where factory workers
have remained in their places to the age of 70, and even 80. A few
days ago a Boston piano industry lost a worker who had been in its
employ more than seventy years. And, more to the point, perhaps,
is the case of a traveling representative of a western piano industry
who, nearing the scriptural measurement, is credited with doing more
business, and better, than any other in the same interests and doing
it along lines all his own. And the traveler has in his time been him-
self the employer of thousands of men.
It would help not at all to mention names. It might be offensive
to someone. But the man chosen to illustrate the point here dis-
cussed—the right age for man's best work—will soon start on a six
months' solid trip during which he will visit more than one country.
And he will accomplish better results than any other man in the
business, half his age.
And so, now, you piano men who have your own troubles and,
perhaps, feel that you work too hard yourself, how old are you?
THE PIANO'S NAME
When England's erotic genius, Oscar Wilde, returned home in
1883, from his second visit to the United States, he delivered a lecture
in which he gave emphasis to the homely names he had encountered
in this country. He also told the original story of the piano-player
of Leadville over whose instrument hung the sign "Don't shoot the
pianist; he's doing his best." The story has been appearing ever
since, credited to almost every writer, from Bret Harte to Jack
London. But Oscar Wilde told it first and, being himself a good
pianist, he had appreciated the wit of it.
Of course the English poet's ridicule of American names had
nothing to do with pianos, but referred to towns in the West. And
the special point of interest is in the difference between his mental
picture and that of a famous American poet who happened to select
a very similarly plain name with which to work the wizardry of his
genius. Wilde said this: "One place had such an ugly name that I
refused to lecture there. It was called Griggsville. Suppose I had
founded a school of art there—fancy 'Early Griggsville.' " And now
see how the American poet, in his homely way, made beautiful an
equally "ugly" and even very similar name—you remember "Griggs-
by's Station"—
What's in all this grand life and high situation,
And nary a pink nor hollyhock bloomin' at the door?
Le's go back to Griggsby's Station—
Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore!
The two quotations only serve to show the difference between
the mental characteristics of the two poets. And the point, so far as
concerns this paper and its readers, has to do with names common or
otherwise, as they may be applied to pianos. For it is often said that
a piano's name is its greatest asset, and if that is true, what kind of a
name should a fine piano have?
Perhaps if all piano buyers were poets it might be essential to
choose the instrument's name with special reference to symphony of
sight and sound. But inasmuch as pianos are made and sold by men
of substance, and bought by people of practical common sense, the
name doesn't seem to matter much until it has attained to distinction
because of its quality sustained by the enterprise of its manufacturer.
That is why we have some of the most famous pianos bearing names
which if considered aside from the fall-board itself, may seem plain
enough.
As a matter of fact, while some of the great pianos bear names
also unique by reason of their exclusiveness, we have others of equal
fame that have given distinction to trademarks, which but for their
musical association might have no special significance. The piano
makes the name—plus a well invested proportion of printer's ink,
It is the poetry of the piano that, as with the poet, Riley, glorifies
the "ugly" name and lifts it above anything commonplace. With
pianos, as with poets and ordinary people, it is what the name stands
for, and not merely how it is spelled, that counts.
And if there is any useful thought in what has been said here it
is that too much consideration of a name for the new piano may
easily mean waste of time and grey matter. Any good name is good
enough for any good piano. Whether it ever becomes a great piano
name will depend upon the piano itself and the degree of energy and
courage that are put into it.
The prospects for selling pianos in Yap, an island in the South
Pacific, seem remote, and the cash would be hard to lug away if a
sale could be made. Smooth, flat stones, with holes drilled in the
center, constitute the form of money the Yaps use. A Yap dollar
weighs two pounds. When the natives get on top of a mountain and
pitch pennies, it reminds one of a landslide. And, by the way, we
have heard of Yaps selling pianos to other Yaps in our own country
—not?
The establishment of a complete system of good roads all over
the country would help the piano business immeasurably. Good roads
would enable the farmer to market more cheaply, would greatly in-
crease the attractiveness of farm life and would help to keep at home
hundreds of thousands of farm boys who now migrate to the cities.
The gain in farm funds would put millions of dollars into musical
instruments to be used on these modern farms.
* * *
There is still a goodly grand total of piano prospects in the
United States. To get at their number, consider the number of fami-
lies in this great country of ours. It is estimated that there are about
27,000,000 families in the United States, with an average of four and
a fraction of persons in each family. No totalizer can guess how
many families have no piano at all, but the number is somewhere in
the millions.
* * *
Is the cheap stencil piano ever to come back? Will it get a new
lease of life as soon as the lower cost of living sets in? One never
can tell about that sort of thing. It may come back, very much as
the farmer's cat, unsuccessfully drowned, used to do in the good old
days—rather subdued and reticent, but not much changed.
Piano keys are expensive owing to the high cost of ivory. Luke
McLuke asks, "Why is ivory so expensive?" And he answers his
own question as follows: "After coming into contact with a few
thousands of your fellow men, you will discover that ivory is the most
plentiful thing in the world."
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