We stumbled into Mr. Gates. Not literally, but nearly. We crossed the tracks in Clarksdale, Mississippi and started exploring the old African-American portion of town. Once thriving, these streets now contain only burned-out shells of once-stately buildings and homes. Outside of one of these, we heard music and decided to enter.

We found ourselves in a piano shop. Rows and rows of old upright pianos stretched before us. An elderly man sat at the piano nearest the front. The squeak of the door signaled to him our entrance.

Gates sat reworking a spiritual for a wedding a local couple asked him to play at.

We asked him how he started playing the piano. He remarked that he learned to play by ear. He later learned how to read music, but he felt that the notes on the page usually just restrict a performer.

Mr. Gates learned how to repair and reconstruct pianos after one fell off of the back of a truck he was driving. He collected all of the pieces and put the instrument back together with nails and glue. This became the beginning of an occupation.

For many years, the school district employed Mr. Gates as a piano repairman and tuner. He also repaired and tuned pianos for families and churches within a fifty mile radius of Clarksdale. Aside from running his shop, he is now retired.

We asked him about the neighborhood. He commented that years ago, in his teenage days, this area used to be the center of Clarksdale nightlife. The farmers would come in from out of town. The stores stayed open until one in the morning. A person couldn’t drive through the street. You had to get out and walk because people literally jammed the street. The area ceased to draw people in when many of the farming families left their rural homes for places closer to the city.