Listening Long and Late

in 1937

53 in 1937 In 1937 a small wind up Victrola sat in Granda Pinota’s parlor . Kneeling at its oaken portals, I discovered the mystery of song. The house, and everyone who lived in it, is gone now, but the Victrola still exists. I wind the handle, place the heavy platter on the felt mat, drop the steel beak into a groove, and it plays. Sunlight falls through the parlor’s yellow shades, brown roses climb the wallpaper, from the kitchen comes the clatter of dishes, someone is singing. You can’t hear it, but I can . . . Hey, where do you work-a John? I work-a the Lackawan Lackawan Lackawan Lackawan Lackawan ...