In 1957, we were living in California.  I told Ken I wanted a real marimba.  Concert sized.  A new concert marimba cost thousands of dollars--which then was a huge hunk of money we didn't have.  Ken told me to look for one.  So I started watching for used musical instrument sales in the Los Angeles paper.

A marimba was advertised, so we went to look at it--having no idea how much it would cost.  The lady who owned it invited us in.  I told her I was interested in buying it and she said, "I don't know if I want to sell it to you!  Where are you planning on playing it?"  I told her I played for church and civic groups regularly.

She said, "Play for me."  So I did.  I played for a long, long time. Everything I knew. (I was a lot better back then than I am now--age stiffens your wrists.) 

When I finished playing, I asked her if she would sell it to me .  And if she did, how much it cost--expecting a price well over eight hundred dollars.

She asked me, "How much money do you have?"  I told her.  "Seventy-five dollars." But I told her I would pay it out if she would let me buy it.  She replied, "The price is seventy-five dollars."  I was shocked to say the least.  "Why are you selling it to me for such a low price!" I asked her.

"I played for many many years with the Los Angeles symphony orchestra," she said.  But I have arthritis and my doctor said I have to sell it. Because I can't pass by my marimba without stopping to play it, and I'm destroying my hands. I've been waiting for someone to come along that had the ability to play. Someone who will use it to play for people for the rest of their life."

I've been playing ever since.  Yesterday, I played two arrangements for an assisted living residence when our senior choir sang. I bought my marimba sixty three years ago.  I've been playing ever since. I'll play as long as my hands last.