subject: Beware The Modern-Day Music Man [print this page] Beware The Modern-Day Music Man Beware The Modern-Day Music Man
Before You Buy, Make Sure You Can Pay... And Play
by Michael D. Hume, M.S.
I'm a former actor. Some of my less charitable critics would describe me as a washed-up has-been dinner theater hack; I prefer to frame it more positively, pointing out that I made a living onstage while raising a family in a kid-friendly place not named "New York" or "Los Angeles." Sure, I played a lot of crap-chorus roles for barely enough money to keep shoes on the kids' feet... but there were always at least a couple-dozen guys who would have loved to trade places with me. I saw them at every audition.
I knew I'd "arrived" when I stopped meeting those guys at auditions, because I had gained enough of a good reputation to be cast by some directors before auditions were held. Wow. I really felt like a pro when I got THOSE calls. And, you could argue, I really was.
I did land a couple of great leading roles, and unquestionably my favorite was Harold Hill - The "Music Man." Harold was a fast-talking, smooth salesman. The actor playing him (I) was a fast-singing, smooth actor. Perfect match! I won't retell the story, but basically, "Professor" Harold Hill's scam was to ride the train from small town to small town, claiming he wanted to form a boys' band in each town but really seeking only to sell high-priced musical instruments to the boys' gullible parents. As soon as the instruments (and expensive uniforms) arrived, he was on the next train out of town. Whether anyone ever learned to play the tuba was the least of his concerns.
Ah, credit.
The story of "The Music Man" is set in middle-America in 1912 - an interesting time in The United States. During that period of our history, two forces that would slowly effect great change in the nation were still in their infancy: progressivism, and credit.
As I reflect on my experience playing the Music Man, I am reminded that I was charmed as a young adult by a real-life Music Man. The very-first thing I bought on credit was a collection of books - the complete works of Martin Luther. But the second thing, not long after, was a piano. I could probably not afford either purchase; while I did eventually pay both off (years later than I'd planned), I definitely could not afford both.
I was all of twenty-one years old when the Music Man showed up in the small town where I was working as the wet-behind-the-ears editor of the local weekly newspaper. I don't remember his name. His manner was personable, even kindly, and you liked him right away. His pitch was simple and effective. "I wonder if you could help me out, young man," he said. "See that piano out there?" He pointed to a pickup truck parked on the street outside my office, where a pretty-looking new spinet was perched in the truck's bed. "I drove a couple hundred miles to deliver that thing, but dang if they didn't give me the wrong piano. I can haul it back, but it's gonna cost me a ton to do that, and I'm just a one-man bidness." (See, small-town country folk often pronounce the word "business" as "bidness.") "So I asked around," the Music Man said, "and folks around here tell me you're the musical man in town."
I had lived in town all of four months, and yes, I had been a singer in the summer festival parade. I guess I was the only singer in the parade - parades don't lend themselves to singing, but the town fathers had talked me into it. They'd heard I'd dabbled in musical theater, I guess, and this was before my onstage career really took off (if it could be said that it ever did).
I did want the piano.
"Well, I don't think I can afford it," I said.
"We'll make sure you can. Work out a payment plan."
"I'd have to check with my wife." (I'd been married to Wife One about six months.)
"Oh, she'll love it. I've heard she sings even better'n you." (This was true.)
"I can barely play the piano."
"Not what I hear. Hear you're a song writer! Or, at least, you COULD be...."
"I can't even sight-read music."
"And you're never gonna learn, my friend, unless you practice."
"Well, OK, but my credit..."
"Dang it, Young Man, I need to get this piano out of the sun! I'm not gonna quibble with you about your credit! You've got a job, you're real well thought-of in town, heck - that's good enough for me!"
I stood there in silence for a minute.
"Everyone says you're responsible beyond your years. I mean, look, you're the newspaper editor in this town."
More silence.
"I trust you, my friend. And this piano needs a good home, and double-quick."
He had a sale. And I had a piano. We sat down in my office and "drew up the paperwork," which took all of about ten minutes. Then he drove the piano down the street to my apartment (I walked along behind him), and I helped him move it in.
You can probably guess the rest of the story. My credit wasn't bad - it was mostly non-existent at that point. I'd paid my payments (both of them) on the Luther collection on time, and back then, credit wasn't the big computerized industry it is today. But when the Music Man got back to his bank in another small town, sure enough, they did not love my credit application. They "approved" it at a much higher interest rate than normal, a practice I was naively unaware of. And for months I struggled to pay the rent, buy gas, keep food on the table, take care of my pregnant wife, and make payments on books and a piano I didn't really need.
I learned two valuable lessons from the Music Man. First, a good salesperson can sell anything at any time (that piano-in-the-truck trick really works). Second, people shouldn't buy things they can't afford.
I wish our government here in the U.S. would learn that last lesson. If it hadn't been for people buying things they can't afford - houses, mainly, pushed by the unholy alliance of the government and the mortgage industry as though they were kindly old men with shiny mortgage loans out there in their pickup trucks - the global economy would not be in the shambles it's in today. The Community Reinvestment Act, along with the nefarious activities of Congress and Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac, killed the greatest free-market economy (and best general lifestyle for millions of people) in human history.
Wake up, America. The economy is a "dead man walking," and things are going to get much worse before they get better. Are you ready? Do you have your own source of revenue to protect yourself from the day you lose your job? Do you have a plan to protect your family from hyperinflation and the collapse of our currency? Are you aware of the global conspiracy against wealth, and what you can do about it? It is still not too late. If you get smart now, you might well be one of the informed few who profits greatly from the coming financial disaster. Remember: more wealthy people were created during The Great Depression than at any previous time in history.
America, as a nation, needs to stop buying pianos off the back of some truck. We are drowning in debt. And our government needs to cut spending, get out of the market's way, and reduce that debt now. Grand collectivist schemes, like those put forth by the liberals currently ruling our nation, simply don't work... even if they are as easy to sell as the shiniest instruments offered by the most smooth-talking Music Man.
