Every June for two weeks, 88 Sing For Hope pianos sprout out all over the five boroughs. They are new ones each year, decorated by 88 local artists, to be donated to hospitals and schools. (Sing for Hope is a micro-financed charity dreamed up by Monica Yunus, the singer whose father, Muhammed Yunus, was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for devising micro-financing.) But first, try playing one as you pass by.
You don't play piano? Play anyway, no one cares. This is not the Tchaikovsky Competition. Put your finger on any key, hit it a couple of times, then try another, or several at once. The guy in the photo is faking a ragtime piece. The woman is stumbling through an obscure college song.The pink and yellow piano, decorated by Zi Zi from Beijing, is on a terrace in Riverside Park. (I met Zi Zi at the launch: a madcap event in the old NY Times building where 88 pianists played the Bach C Major Prelude No. 1 all at once, watched by the artists and a jillion photographers. Then there was a big party with open bar and passarounds.)
People sit around the terrace, smiling. Along came a black girl with big new front teeth. 7 1/2 maybe? With young mom. She doesn't play. "OK kid, you're about to play Jingle Bells." (5 notes, many repeats.) I point to the keys, she plays. She gets it: eyes and teeth sparkle. "Again!" A couple of times! "Ok Mom," sez I, "it's your turn." We play When the Saints Go Marching In. (Same 5 notes as Jingle Bells.) Mom's giddy.
"So it's time for you to find a nice lady who teaches kids this, don't you think?" "Oh yes Mom, could I learn this, please?" We stroll off, they're still plunking happily.
You put a piano in the right place, you could change a life. One could maybe google Sing for Hope and send them some pennies, as I hastened to do.
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