Finding A Long-Lost Old Friend

Way back in the early '60s when I had far more money than was good for me (all my life I've had no understanding of or respect for money personally, and thought — and still think — it good for one purpose only: to spend), I took it into my head that I wanted — nay, absolutely needed — to own a harpsichord even though I had no formal training on keyboard instruments of any sort, my instruments being the fiddle and, when needed, the viola. Consequently, I embarked on an investigation of contemporary makers of this ancient instrument, part of which investigation involved enlisting the help of a close friend — a non-musician but a knowledgeable and devoted classical music aficionado — whose business interests took him to many cities both at home and abroad.

One day, I got a call from Boston from said friend who had stopped into the shop of harpsichord maker William Dowd, and had been mightily impressed by what he'd seen. My research had already revealed to me that Dowd was considered by those in the know to be one of the world's very best contemporary makers of harpsichords, and was considered by some, no less than Ralph Kirkpatrick among them, to be the best contemporary maker extant.

After listening to my friend's glowing report, I instructed him to immediately place an order with Dowd for a pedal-operated, double-keyboard instrument complete with a 16' register in addition to the standard two 8s and one 4 (and a buff stop), and to inform Dowd that I would be in touch with him later to select the veneers for the casework. An hour later, I received a call from Dowd himself explaining that he could not honor my request for the additional 16' register as his experiments over the years (including a couple instruments built for Kirkpatrick) had convinced him that the added 16' register compromised the voicing of the 8' registers, and he no longer offered that additional register as an option. After hearing his detailed explanation, I, with some reluctance, agreed to have the instrument built sans the 16' register, and so the making of what was officially to become known as Dowd #48 began.

A little over a year later, and after a trip to Boston by me to select the book-matched walnut-burl panels for the casework, #48 was delivered by Dowd himself, and a truly gorgeous creation — sonically and aesthetically — it was, too. I'd spent the past fourteen months practicing on a beat-up old upright piano teaching my fingers how to work the keys, and had progressed so far as to be able to play a not entirely loathsome rendition of the Toccata from Bach's Partita No. 6, and I shall never forget the thrill of sitting at that beautiful instrument for the first time, and hearing that music come from the lustrous throat of #48 under the urgings of my own fingers.

Alas, as the old saying goes, all good things must come to an end, and due to circumstances beyond my control, I was forced to sell #48 a couple years later, and Dowd himself was the buyer, after which transaction (which actually netted me a cash profit) I lost track of #48.

A few days ago, I received an eMail that read simply:

Met up with an old friend of yours. You might want to stop by and say hello.

I clicked on the URL provided, and was greeted by the sight of these images. Fuzzy and amateurish though they are, their subject is unmistakable. There she was, #48, looking just as gorgeous as when I last saw her, and now up for sale through the aegis of Australian harpsichord maker and dealer Carey Beebe for a mere $20,000 AUD ($17,630 USD).

Oh!, that I now had available the money and the room!