One of the best things about piano service is the fascinating people I meet along the way. Barry McGuire qualifies. I met him when a music store in Wichita sent me to tune his recently purchased piano. Little did I know that chance meeting would develop into a unique and rewarding friendship.
Barry McGuire, retired actor, puppeteer and magician, a native of my home county, and about the age of my father, settled into tiny Elk Falls—for the third time—a couple years ago. Decades earlier, his creative genius spurred an artistic revival in this dying town. Never allergic to hard work, he transformed stone foundations into tiered native flower gardens that brought busloads of tourists to this forgotten place. Through the work of a group of artists, Elk Falls became a thriving haven of creativity. Barry had a theater constructed and entertained tourists with puppet shows and magic acts.
With a restlessness that characterizes him to the present day, he left Elk Falls to return to acting. His credit list includes stages and rave reviews from New York and Florida to Indiana and California. Health issues of his advancing age brought him back to Elk Falls at the urging of his Kansas friends. That is when I met this octogenarian.
I tuned his piano and left, never expecting to see him again. As I headed down the board walk outside his home, I heard him tickle the ivories on the freshly tuned piano. Beautiful, intricate classical music followed me to my car. Actor, magician, puppeteer and accomplished pianist!
A few weeks later, I happened to meet him in the aisle of a grocery store in my hometown. Restless again, he planned a move to Winfield where he would be closer to medical service, mechanics, and stages. By the end of the year, he’d moved into a local apartment complex. The only person in town he knew was the piano tuner. Me.
More than happy to introduce him to Winfield, I gladly referred him to doctors, mechanics and senior services. I accompanied him to college and community drama and music productions, and included him in our family gatherings.
Without a nuclear family of his own, Barry began sending me daily emails. Should a day pass when I didn’t receive a message, I was to check on him. As insurance for his safety and well-being, he issued me a spare key to his apartment.
The months passed. Barry’s difficulties with mobility and hearing loss led him to spend more and more time hermitted away in his apartment. He gave up the piano because it didn’t sound right to his failing ears. But he relished afternoons surrounded by fine classical recordings with his speakers on either side of his easy chair turned to their loudest volume. He read widely, in both English and Spanish, and wished for someone with whom to hone his conversational Spanish skills.
He readily showed scrap books of his stage performances to me. Years of varied productions and rave reviews of his acting prowess filled page after page in several volumes. We updated his Facebook page with copies of his old publicity photos. He loaned me recordings from the Golden Age of television. Fifty years after they premiered on television, I enjoyed episodes of “Gunsmoke,” “Perry Mason,” and “The Real McCoys” in which he was a featured guest star.
Together, on his computer, we traveled to a place in Mexico he longed to visit. From there we headed to Ecuador, to a fancy retirement community high in the mountains.
I brought him produce from my garden and fresh eggs from the hen house. The master gardener graciously accepted my humble vegetables. He even asked for more.
When my red spider lilies sent up flower spikes in September, I brought him one in a pot. The next day, we toured a Lycoris radiata festival in Japan, a field covered with the same dainty red petals.
I lamented the loss of a favorite araucana hen during the summer. The next day he wrote, “Saturday and perhaps as well as can be expected. Sorry to hear about your pet hen. I read that some chickens can live into their teens but average seems to be 5/6 years and maybe up to 10. Longevity may correspond to breeds. Breeds that have been bred for super egg production have short life spans. Also read that those developed as fast growing fryers have really short life spans even should they escape the skillet (none do). Araucanas were developed in Chile and perhaps are more susceptible to heat…dunno. How old was she?”
In October, a cactus I inherited from my father burst into rather rank-smelling blooms. The next day, Barry wrote, “Your plant is a Stephelia also known as Starfish Flower, Toad Plant and, yes!, Carrion Flower. There is a big variety of them with blooms in many different colors. You will find lots of photos of them on internet. Do a search for Dave’s Gardens where several are shown. They are pollinated as you saw by insects (flies, etc). However, the fly, though drawn to it due to the odor, gets no reward for pollinating as there is no nectar. Should the fly lay eggs on the flower the offspring will starve to death.”
Now my restless friend has located an apartment near good friends in California. He leaves Saturday, moving west again, following his dreams into the sunset. Even if we never meet again, I shall always remember this gentle man. His inquisitive mind forever seeks new knowledge. I will never forget how he stops in his labored shuffle, draws himself up a little taller and summons his stage voice to proclaim some tidbit of wisdom, humor, philosophy or (horrors!) theology. And how we laugh.
Though physical ailments limit his ability to enjoy familiar activities, he demonstrates resourcefulness to find new paths of fulfillment. Barry McGuire is a model of perpetual youth. He shows me how to keep your heart young, even as your body wilts around it. May I be as lucky to keep my dreams alive, and be as restless to follow my heart’s bidding! Here’s one Kansan that will miss him very much.