A BEAUTIFUL TRUE STORY

 At the prodding of my friends, I am writing this story. My

name is Mildred Hondorf. I am a former elementary school music

teacher from Des Moines, Iowa. I've always supplemented my

income by teaching piano lessons-something I've done for over

30 years. Over the years I found that children have many levels

of musical ability. I've never had the pleasure of having a

prodigy though I have taught some talented students.

 However I've also had my share of what I call "musically

challenged" pupils. One such student was Robby. Robby was 11

years old when his mother (a single Mom) dropped him off for

his first piano lesson. I prefer that students (especially

boys!) begin at an earlier age, which I explained to Robby.

 But Robby said that it had always been his mother's dream to

hear him play the piano. So I took him as a student. Well,

Robby began with his piano lessons and from the beginning I

thought it was a hopeless endeavour.

  As much as Robby tried, he lacked the sense of tone and

basic rhythm needed to excel. But he dutifully reviewed his

scales and some elementary pieces that I require all my

students to learn.

 Over the months he tried and tried while I listened and

cringed and tried to encourage him. At the end of each weekly

lesson he'd always say, "My mom's going to hear me play

someday." But it seemed hopeless. He just did not have any

inborn ability. I only knew his mother from a distance as she

dropped Robby off or waited in her aged car to pick him up. She

always waved and smiled but never stopped in. Then one day

Robby stopped coming to our lessons.

 I thought about calling him but assumed because of his lack

of ability, that he had decided to pursue something else. I

also was glad that he stopped coming. He was a bad

advertisement for my teaching!

 Several weeks later I mailed to the student's homes a flyer

on the upcoming recital. To my surprise Robby (who received a

flyer) asked me if he could be in the recital. I told him that

the recital was for current pupils and because he had dropped

out he really did not qualify. He said that his mother had been

sick and unable to take him to piano lessons but he was still

practicing. "Miss Hondorf . . . I've just got to play!" he

insisted.

 I don't know what led me to allow him to play in the

recital. Maybe it was his persistence or maybe it was something

inside of me saying that it would be all right. The night for

the recital came. The high school gymnasium was packed with

parents, friends and relatives. I put Robby up last in the

program before I was to come up and thank all the students and

play a finishing piece. I thought that any damage he would do

would come at the end of the program and I could always salvage

his poor performance through my "curtain closer."

 Well, the recital went off without a hitch. The students had

been practicing and it showed. Then Robby came up on stage. His

clothes were wrinkled and his hair looked like he'd run an

eggbeater through it. "Why didn't he dress up like the other

students?" I thought. "Why didn't his mother at least make him

comb his hair for this special night?"

 Robby pulled out the piano bench and he began. I was

surprised when he announced that he had chosen Mozart's

Concerto #21 in C Major. I was not prepared for what I heard

next. His fingers were light on the keys, they even danced

nimbly on the ivories. He went from pianissimo to fortissimo.

From allegro to virtuoso. His suspended chords that Mozart

demands were, Magnificent! Never had I heard Mozart played so

well by people his age. After six and a half minutes he ended

in a grand crescendo and everyone was on their feet in wild

applause.

 Overcome and in tears I ran up on stage and put my arms

around Robby in joy. "I've never heard you play like that

Robby! How'd you do it? " Through the microphone Robby

explained: "Well Miss Hondorf . . . remember I told you my Mom

was sick? Well, actually she had cancer and passed away this

morning. And well . . . she was born deaf so tonight was the

first time she ever heard me play. I wanted to make it

special."

 There wasn't a dry eye in the house that evening. As the

people from Social Services led Robby from the stage to be

placed into foster care, noticed that even their eyes were red

and puffy and I thought to myself how much richer my life had

been for taking Robby as my pupil.

 No, I've never had a prodigy but that night I became a

prodigy. . . of Robby's. He was the teacher and I was the pupil

For it is he that taught me the meaning of perseverance and

love and believing in yourself and maybe even taking a chance

in someone and you don't know why.

 Robby was killed in the senseless bombing of the Alfred P.

Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City in April of 1995.