From the Relief Society Magazine, May 1952 –

It Happened One Day

By Edna Rae Madsen

Spring in Arizona is cool and pleasant. Bright cardinals flash everywhere; yellow grosbeaks fill the shrubs and bushes; mockingbirds sing all night long. The children go to school with no coats on. They skip and sing, play jacks and marbles, and hopscotch, long before their northern cousins.

However, I felt a bit lonely and dispirited in spite of the lovely weather; but that day something unexpected was to happen to change all my feelings.

Frank, my husband, taught music at the junior college, which was just down two houses and across the street from our place. As a special event there, Mr. Paul Bliss, the well-known pianist, was scheduled to play a concert. He was expected to arrive about noon on the bus from El Paso, and play at eight o’clock in the evening.

The concert was well advertised, and all the students were anticipating the event with a degree of excitement, but, for me, it seemed to have a special significance from the first time I had heard of it. One of my piano teachers years ago had given me “Twilight Dance,” a piece by Mr. Bliss. The piece had always been a delight to me, and the name of Paul Bliss was so closely associated with it that it was a very real part of my impression of it. In fact, whenever I played it, it lifted me out of a despondency I often felt over the fact that I was not a great pianist myself, instead of just a housewife and mother. I had painted, too, majoring in art, and this also added to my discontent.

The possibility of actually hearing Mr. Bliss in person, after all these years of playing this piece, had given me a new lease on life, as it were, and I could hardly wait for the concert.

As Frank went over to school that morning at nine o’clock, he noticed a strange man, with graying hair, wearing a plain brown coat and gray trousers, walking about the campus. Some classes had begun, so the grounds were empty of students. The man was wandering aimlessly about, enjoying the warm sunshine.

He was near the tennis courts when Frank went to him and spoke a cheerful good morning, instinctively realizing that this man was the renowned pianist. He had come on the early bus! Shamefully embarrassed that their famous guest had been neglected, Frank hurried him over to our place.

I had just finished the breakfast dishes and the bedmaking, for which I was definitely thankful. The three older children had gone to school, and little John was playing about, carrying the kitten backwards, as usual, under his arm.

By a nod of his head, Frank made it known to me that Mr. Bliss had not had breakfast. Suddenly realizing who was actually in the house, I went into action.

My emotions began getting the better of me, and my trembling hands kept nearly dropping things, but the smile just wouldn’t leave my face.

Mr. Bliss seemed high-strung, too! He kept coming into the kitchen nervously to see what I was doing. In the excitement, we kept bumping into each other. It was the most delightful confusion! I poured boiling water in the cup of Postum, but, before I could pick it up, Mr. Bliss was right there and carried it into the dining room himself.

Once we were seated and eating, things quieted down. Frank talked about the climate while I made fresh toast and Postum. He ate a little with Mr. Bliss to ease the tension he knew I felt, but Frank looked a little nervous, too.

When we were finished, Mr. Bliss jumped up from his place and began clearing the table. I tried at first to protest, but gave up and just let nature take its course.

Fearing that I hadn’t done too well with breakfast, and he might leave, and so put an end to such a remarkable adventure, I stood in the kitchen tensely, listening.

To my great relief, Frank said, “You stay right here and practice on our piano – just make yourself right at home.”

Mr. Bliss graciously accepted. A silence followed — and then Mr. Bliss noticed the paintings on the walls. (They were the ones I had done in my student days.) Frank and Mr. Bliss went from one painting to another, making comments. I tiptoed along behind to listen. The picture hanging over little John’s bed seemed to interest Mr. Bliss. He looked at it very intently.

“Your wife has a lovely talent,” he said.

I floated back into the kitchen and was almost consumed with pure joy.

“I’ll make a cake,” I decided, and started sifting flour, to work off my feelings. it would be a delicate pink and white cake, with white fair frosting. We would have a royal dinner! I proceeded to make plans for it. My painting was good! Mr. Bliss had liked it!

Instinctively checking on little John first, I went to the front door. There he was, riding pickaback on Mr. Bliss’s shoulders all around the front lawn. His arms tight about our visitor’s neck, laughing joyously, he hung on as Mr. Bliss trotted and bounced about on his hands and knees. Frank had a big smile on his face. Mr. Bliss was smiling, too. What fun there was.

I stood watching, and thought sadly, no son of his own! All of my selfishness about music and painting swept over me. I went remorsefully back to the kitchen and bowed my head in thankfulness for all of my children – and especially this last one, our beautiful baby.

Frank brought little John in to me, and the two men walked together back to the college. They later went to lunch together with some of the faculty members at the cafeteria. About one-thirty they returned, bringing a large suitcase with them. The case had been made especially to hold Mr. Bliss’s formal suit to wear at the concert.

Since I did not know this, I asked him, “May I press your suit for you?”

He looked at me strangely and answered, “No.”

Thoughts of his appearing in a wrinkled suit flitted through my mind intermittently during the remainder of the afternoon.

I had straightened our front bedroom, smoothed the spread, drawn the blinds, closed the door, and made it as quiet, inviting, and restful as possible. There was a large Indian rug on the floor, and white curtains, with wide, soft ruffles, at the windows. Altogether, it would do, I felt, and Mr. Bliss could rest and perhaps sleep, if he wished. In this room we put his suitcase. He seemed quite at home, and I prepared to enjoy the rest of the day, after putting John to bed in the back room.

While I finished the cake and prepared the dinner, Mr. Bliss settled himself at the piano.

After a time I became aware of the music coming from the living room. At first there had been scales and arpeggios over and over. And the satisfaction of knowing that he was playing our piano had been quite enough. Now I realized I was hearing a melody which completely captivated me. It disappeared, returned, in a most teasing, haunting manner.

Fascinated, I went near the piano. “What a lovely melody keeps running through that …”

This comment pleased Mr. Bliss greatly, and he explained, “It is the Warsaw Concerto. It was written by a very young man, they say, a soldier. It is his first composition. I am memorizing it, and it is rather difficult, because I am memorizing it from the orchestral score rather than from the piano score. Some of it I am having to compose or fill in myself. It is a beautiful composition.”

I stood watching him in silence for some time, thinking about the young soldier. Then, noticing how dark it was, I asked, “Do you want the light on?”

“No,” he answered, “I always practice with my eyes closed, and better in a dark room. Much of it I do at night with the lights off.”

I was silent again, enchanted with all of this.

Finally, I returned to the kitchen, listening intently as the practicing continued, but occasionally was drawn back irresistibly to watch his long fingers race each other up and down the keys.

Once, he began telling me about his mother, “who,” he explained, “taught me for many years while I was young. We played my lessons over every day together. She sat right by my side until we finished the lesson, an hour or so every day. She was a wonderful person. A wonderful inspiration to me. Her devotion to me as a child and her teaching are the real reasons I have been able to accomplish what I have.”

He was very eloquent in praise of his mother, but extremely modest concerning himself. Obviously he had loved her dearly.

The practicing continued, as over and over he played parts of the concerto – memorizing it. And the melody that threaded its way through it was dyed into my own mind until to this day I need but to hear it to relive my memorable experience with that great pianist.

Fearful of missing a moment, I stayed close to the house. about three-thirty Mr. Bliss decided to walk over to the church to familiarize himself with the piano there. He had just settled himself to rehearsing his evening program when he was surprised by the arrival of a great many children and their teachers with books and lessons. In a matter of minutes they had completely taken over the church and there was nothing for him to do but leave. From the front door I saw him making his way down the long front steps of the building, completely surrounded by a horde of noisy, disheveled youngsters. He escaped and returned to our house as fast as possible, disappointed, but glad to find a quiet refuge.

“What was it over there?” he asked me, puzzled.

I laughed a little. “It’s Primary,” I answered, feeling unable to explain.

He looked at me, still puzzled. I made a few remarks about children’s religion classes, and let it go.

Several times during the afternoon Mr. Bliss disappeared into the bedroom, softly closing the door behind him. he is lying down to rest for a while, I thought to myself. He would come out each time looking very much refreshed, as if he had slept. This, and the concerto, continued all afternoon.

Later, when he went over to the church again, leaving the door to his room open, I glanced in and noticed that the bed had not been touched. Puzzled, I looked about. The bed had not been slept on, I was positive. Yet Mr. Bliss had evidently slept. What had happened? What a strange person! And how had he refreshed himself?

When Frank came home Mr. Bliss began chatting about music, their common interest, but soon Mr. Bliss was telling him all about his wife whom he had recently married.

“She is a lovely wife,” he said dreamily. “She stopped in Albuquerque to rest while I came on here. If I had known how it was here I should have brought her with me.”

The children and I wrapped up a small box of pecan nuts from our tree and tied it with a ribbon.

“Take these with you. They are for her,” I offered.

He accepted them eagerly. “She will like them very much.” His eyes, as he thought of her, filled with a loving light.

I kept worrying about his evening suit, still locked in the case. My husband was anxious, too.

“Do you want to get ready for the concert before we eat or …?” Frank asked.

Mr. Bliss just looked at us in that strange way again, and said, “No.”

The table, with the green salad, salmon loaf, homemade bread and butter, and the delicate white cake, cut in squares on little plates, and red raspberries from Utah in our tall sherbet glasses, made a very pleasant looking table. We sat down proudly, with the children all around beaming and smiling. We asked the blessing, and then we began our royal meal.

But, to our surprise, Mr. Bliss declined the food we offered, but said apologetically, “If I could just have this good bread and milk, that is all.”

He insisted upon that simple fare, but, to please me, he ate a generous piece of my cake and the berries. Seeing him there, the light on his face, surrounded by my beaming children, I felt that my own father was fed.

Having finished, Mr. Bliss jumped up from the table and started carrying his plate into the kitchen, and he kept on until the whole table was cleared, try as I would to make him feel he didn’t need to help at all. It was really exciting, though, having such a famous man carrying the dishes. It has given my housework a glamorous touch forever after.

It would soon be eight o’clock, time for the concert.

Finally Mr. Bliss went into the bedroom, and in a very few minutes out he came in a perfectly pressed black suit, with tails – white, stiff shirt, and all!

The church was filled to the brim, and there were flowers near the grand piano.

At first Mr. Bliss was very quiet and formal, but the friendliness of the audience soon affected him, and he became more relaxed. The applause he received was genuine, and I know he felt it.

To describe the scene is impossible for me, but I will say that none of us had ever heard anything like it before. His music was marvelous. It was perfect! And what do you think, for one of the encores he played my “Twilight Dance”! I wonder if Frank had anything to do with that? I hoped not. I would want that to have just happened.

As soon as it was over, we walked over to the dormitory where a reception was to be held. Everything was ready, the faculty women having seen to that, and the table was a picture. The place was crowded, and there was much talking and visiting and gaiety.

After a while I noticed that Mr. Bliss was missing. But where could he be? No one seemed to know. He had just gone.

I clutched Frank’s arm and suggested anxiously that we had better find out what had happened. We slipped out and hurried home as soon as possible. No one was in sight. Horror-stricken, we looked about us. Frank opened the bedroom door. There he was, our guest, on the floor! Asleep! But at the opening of the door, he awakened, and we both stood staring at him.

The question was in our faces.

“It’s the way I relax,” he said. “I lie down perfectly flat and straight, and go to sleep immediately.”

“So that’s where you slept this afternoon!” I exclaimed.

“Yes,” he said, “I have to do it to endure the strenuous work of my career.”

It was nearly time for the bus, so we had to collect our thoughts, as well as Mr. Bliss’s things. The suitcase, the music, and all, were soon ready. After such an exciting day and evening, I was very tired. it was nearly midnight.

“Don’t forget the nuts,” I reminded him.

Mr. Bliss looked at me with great compassion. “You are tired, aren’t you?” he remarked.

I smiled weakly but happily. “This has been a wonderful, wonderful day,” I said sincerely. “A wonderful day.”

We said goodbye, and Frank walked ahead of him out to our old car, carrying the suitcase. Mr. Bliss’s shoulders drooped noticeably. He looked old. If we could just keep him here with us – just us and the children in quiet, peaceful Arizona! They drove to meet the bus that would take Mr. Bliss to another city, another audience, another adventure.

We were left to go on as usual at home, but with something new added. Something that had lifted us up and up and up. Life would never seem dull to me again. being a mother was wonderful, and marriage – real and beautiful – was what I wanted after all. How blessed I was with Frank and the children.

And dear Mr. Bliss. God go with him and bless him all of his life.