Squeezebox
shrine dedicated
to happy music
Couple preserves accordion
history
By John Petkovic
[ A reprint from An Associated Press article on Sunday
1/10/99 ]
When Jack and Kathy White went looking
for their dream home, they had only two requirements: a large
basement and a long driveway.
Their dream was simple: to find
a home that could double as the area's first and only accordion museum.
"We were living in a house in Lakewood,
trying to display our accordions. But we couldn't even walk around.
There were just too many lying all over the floor. So we had to move,"
said Kathy.
After finding a brick ranch in Rocky
River that had ample space and parking in December 1997, the couple spent
five months renovating the basement until...they rolled out the Cleveland
Accordion Museum.
The meticulously ordered basement
shrine features more than 200 accordions on four thick, custom-built wooden
shelves; 10,000 pieces of accordion sheet music; hundreds of old accordion-music
78s; and "tribute" walls dedicated to Frankie Yankovic and "Cleveland's
Best" polka performers and bands.
But, unlike most museums, this homespun
institution doesn't charge an admission and is always open. And the
Whites will even share a meal with their visitors - for free.
"Whenever we're home - every day,
every evening - we're open," said Jack. "Just call first."
"When people come down to the basement
their jaws drop. They think I'm crazy. 'What's the purpose?' " he
said.
The Whites are devotional in their
purpose: "to keep the
accordion alive." But the devotion came about
as much by chance as their love for the sounds of the instrument.
"About five years ago, we went to
a flea market and we saw this accordion. It was $40. We just
had to have it," said Kathy White.
For Jack, 59, the accordion rekindled
the past, when he was 11 years old taking accordion lessons; for Kathy,
48, it revived the sounds and music of growing up in an Italian family
and inspired her to start playing the buttonbox. It also made the
Whites realize that the instrument of their childhoods may be on the verge
of extinction, marginalized by synthesizers and electric guitars.
Then came obsession.
"In the first phase, we were just
(collecting accordions) for ourselves - seeing how many we could find.
People were happy to get rid of them - no one wanted them," said
Kathy. "But to us, they were handmade and no two were the same."
For an entire summer the Whites
scoured flea markets and music stores, even taking two-hour trips
in search of dusty, musty squeezeboxes. They found button-boxes from
the 1930s; Chicago-made
accordions from the '40s; handcrafted models made
in 'the accordion hub of the world, the Italian town of Castelfidardo;
even a Chinese model from the 18th century.
Some played, but most were in need
of repair. Jack, a retired high school automotive teacher, cleaned
the bellows and bells. But each of the accordions presented a unique
mystery - How did it get here? Who played it? -and pricked an interest
in the history of the instrument.
The accordion has roots that date
back to the cheng, an instrument from China, 3000 B.C., that combined bamboo
pipes, a small gourd and a wind chamber to create a birdlike sound.
In the 1820s, Viennese inventor Cyril Demian is said to have crafted the
first European version of the instrument.
In the 20th century, European immigrants
popularized the
accordion in America; in Cleveland, for a generation weaned
on Frankie Yankovic, Lawrence Welk and the popular TV show, "Polka Varieties,"
the squeezebox was as much a beer-hall staple as beer itself.
And then the bull market in polka
crashed. Rock music replaced it on TV and the organ and guitar took
over, relegating the accordion to an instrument kids played only if their
parents forced them to.
That history transformed the Whites'
obsession into a mission.
"We realized we wanted to share
our accordions with people," said Kathy.
"And keep young people interested,"
added Jack.
Since opening last April, the museum
has attracted 400 visitors from as far away as Arizona, Minnesota and even
Germany, as well as some curious looks from neighbors, who have watched
the Whites cart in case after case filled accordions into their house.
"They think we collect luggage,"
said Jack.
He walked into the accordion showroom
and headed for a small, portable record player that looked like it was
from the 1940s. He turned the lever on, lifted the arm and lowered
the needle on a 78 record of Frankie Yankovic's "Bye, Bye Baby Polka,"
the scratchy static of the 78 as loud as the song.
"Listen to this, listen to that
accordion. This will take you back," said Jack. "This is happy music."
