Piano Dick

Piano Dick

Noel Laflin

6-29-14

I have only known one man in my life who claimed to have personally met Billy the Kid. He was my sister's godfather - a close friend of the family. We affectionately referred to him as Piano Dick.  I suppose he got that name because he was the only man that we knew who owned a piano - and entertained us with it on a regular basis whenever we visited. 

Aside from once having helped hide Billy the Kid from a pursing posse, Dick could also cook. His specialty was chili con carne.  He must have perfected the dish while living the life of a real cowboy in the New Mexico territory back in the late 1800's and well into the turn of the new century. The chili was pretty exotic food to children of Midwestern folk. But I can still savor the aroma every time we arrived at his old Spanish bungalow in Long Beach.  I have been longing for that lost recipe for over fifty years now. 

Those visits to the home of Piano Dick were all day affairs, back in the time when Eisenhower was still president. The old man would cook and regale the family with tales from a long lost era. He might then sit down to play us a tune while we savored homemade donuts for desert. 

If the weather was fine we would all head down to the beach and go for a swim and picnic - or head over to Long Beach's notorious Pike and mingle with the sailors and riffraff.  Although too young myself to ride the ancient and very scary Cyclone Racer roller coaster out over the waves, my brother did so. I remember asking him once what it was like. 

"It scared the crap out of me," he replied nonchalantly.  But his eyes betrayed his calm demeanor as they were the size of saucers. 

I had to be content with dart throwing at balloons, a carousel ride, the barking of come-ons from carnies and a bumpy, jarring ride through an ever twisting house of horrors. 

The memory of that maiden ride has actually stayed with me all my life. The mechanical gorilla got stuck for sometime directly in front of the car in which we rode. He had swung out of nowhere and just stayed there overly long. I freaked and buried my face in the bosom of my mom.  I used to dream of the giant hairy creature with bloodshot eyes, bared fangs and hands pounding on a massive chest well into adolescence. 

Trips to Dick’s home became more infrequent over the succeeding years.  With mounting health issues, his home was sold and the old man moved in with his relations.  Several years were to pass before we all met up for one last get-together when I was seventeen.  This was the evening that Piano Dick told us about his brief encounter with the Kid back in 1881- shortly before Pat Garrett took him down and laid him in the ground.

“Now, I was just a kid,” the scary old man with neither hair nor nose began.  “I must have been five or six at the time,” he bellowed.  He had gone quite deaf and had no idea of how loudly he now spoke.

I would not have recognized Piano Dick at this gathering, as ninety years of sun had taken away his entire nose due to advanced skin cancer.  It was literally gone now.  We all found ourselves trying our best not to stare directly into his nasal cavity.  It was a tall order.

“We’re going to say grace now, Dick,” our hostess shouted at the old cowboy.  “We’ll hear the rest of your story during dinner – okay?”

Dick must have caught the gist of her request as he grew silent, closed his eyes and immediately dozed off in the wheelchair which had been pushed in close to the patio table.

“Heavenly Father,” the husband of the hostess began – “we want to take this moment to thank…”

“God!” Piano Dick roared, coming to from his short nap. 

“That boy was in a goddamn hurry racing up to our home,” he continued, totally unaware of any interruption on his part.  “He jumped off of that pony of his and pounded on the door with the butt of his pistol.  Mama and I were staring out the window in disbelief. But, there he was, Billy the Kid himself, freshly escaped from a jail break - all hot and sweaty and standing on our very porch, looking as if the devil himself was on his tail!”

Someone patted Dick’s old spotted hand and yelled into his good ear that the host was trying to say grace.

“Oh, oh, yes,” Dick nodded.  “That’s right; we were going to say a table prayer.”  He closed his eyes once more and his chin immediately dropped to his chest.  His breathing was steady and regular.

“We want to take this moment to thank you, Father,” our host continued,  “for allowing us this blessed opportunity to …”

“ ‘Hide me woman!’  the Kid said to my mother, as he burst into our tiny kitchen.  ‘Me and the horse both,’ ” Dick yelled, staring at us all, one after another.  I tried to return the stare, but the missing nose was somewhat deterring in that regard.

“’Now, I’m going to take refuge in your barn, if it’s all the same to you,’ the Kid declared.  ‘I expect that posse to be coming across your land any time soon.  If you or this child of yours let on that I was here, let alone holed up in yonder barn, you’re both dead, do you hear me!’” Dick paused for both breath and effect and was soon fast asleep once more.

“For allowing us this blessed opportunity to come together!” our determined host rapidly chimed in, taking advantage of his own break in which to finish the prayer. 

“And to give thanks not only for the bountiful food which lay before us, but for thy peace, which passes All understanding,” he concluded quickly.

I believe he had planned on saying more, but decided not to press his luck.

“And, oh,” he said as an afterthought, “Amen.”

“Amen, Amen, Amen!” Dick shouted, having roared to life once more. 

“That’s just what mother and I said when the posse turned and headed north, once we had them convinced that Billy the Kid had NOT come our way.  And we threw in a few more Amen’s  once the Kid had come out from hiding, thanked us for our hospitality and rode off due south.  It was a hell of a day!”

And with that, Piano Dick closed his eyes and smiled at the memory.

Just as I am doing so now.