So there’s this piano… it belonged to Cole Porter.
He wrote many of his finest songs and shows on this piano, including ‘Kiss Me Kate,’ when he lived at the Waldorf-Astoria in the 40’s, 50’s and 60’s. I wanted to propose to Kate, and I really really wanted it to be on this piano. A few weeks ago I sent out an e-mail to the Waldorf explaining that I’m a professional pianist in the Albany area and I would like to play and sing a song on Cole Porter’s piano to propose to my soon-to-be fiancee. After a few days without a reply I became anxious – so I called them. I was transferred to someone high up in the chain of command and left a lengthy message re-explaining everything in the e-mail. The next day he called me back and left a message. It went a something like this:

“Unfortunately NO ONE is allowed to play that piano. Sorry, I understand the circumstances, but nobody is allowed to play that piano. You can call me if you want, but we never give anyone permission to utilize that piano.”

Well…. crap

There must have been someone else at the hotel who could help me. So I called back and ended up talking to someone who was much more helpful. He talked to a few people while I was on hold, all the while being taunted by the romantic piano music. Eventually he came back on the line to apologize and explain that nobody is allowed to play the piano anymore. He said he’d been working at the hotel for about 3 years, and that nobody has played it in that time. They tune the piano and keep it locked up, he told me, but since it’s so old (1907) they’re preserving it. He generously offered the use of a grand piano on the 31st floor ballroom, but that just wouldn’t the same.

Dejected and frustrated I said a prayer and then went to one of the best places I could think to go in my time of deepest need: Google. I checked out the history of the piano and found the two most recent artists to play the piano before it was retired. I wrote both of them an e-mail explaining my hopes for proposing to Kate, but also how much resistance I had gotten from the hotel. If anyone knew who to talk to or how to make this happen, it would be one of them. One of the women, Karen Egert, wrote back later that day. “That is a very endearing thing you would like to do,” she wrote, “unfortunately, I myself would probably have no better luck than you.” She went on to advise that I appeal to the sentimental side of the hotel, tell them I want to make the Waldorf a part of this special moment, and butter them up as much as possible. I liked the sentimental approach more than the butter, so I started to form a plan to call the hotel again.

I know I should have had a Plan B – I really do – but nothing else seemed right. I wanted to play “So In Love” from Kiss Me Kate on the piano Cole Porter wrote the song on. Once you have a plan like that, nothing else seems right. The setbacks up to this point had been pretty staggering, and I honestly didn’t know what I would say when I called the hotel back. You can’t really plan something from the heart, I guess, so I kept praying and waited a day to let everything sink in before calling.
Two days passed… and then I received the most important e-mail of my life:

Good Afternoon Mr. Meredith,

Thank you for your email. Typically we require a certificate of insurance for anyone to play the Cole Porter Piano as it is an incredibly important historical piece. However, we were able to get approval from our Hotel Manager, Diarmuid Dwyer for you to play the piano for this special occasion. Please let our beverage managers know when you will be coming as they will need to unlock the piano.

Thank You and Best of Luck,

Carmen Garzona

Hospitality Sales Manager – Waldorf-Astoria

Amazing… I’ll never know why they eventually said yes. Maybe the right person was in the right mood at the right time, or maybe there was a little divine intervention. Either way, I read that e-mail about five times before I believed it. Once it sunk in that my dream proposal was going to happen, I became overwhelmed with anxious excitement. This was really happening. I e-mailed my family to tell them the good news and then wrote back to the Waldorf. “I cannot express how joyful and ecstatic your approval has made me,” I wrote. “Your generosity will forever be a part of this incredible moment for me and my fiancee-to-be.” And that’s true. That one simple ‘yes’ after a series of ‘no’s is almost my favorite part of the story. Almost.

On June 13th we rode a bus down to New York, along with my mom, Kate’s sister Sarah, and Aaron and Sarah Clermont. We got off at Bryant park and walked over to the hotel. The excuse for going to the hotel was to see Cole Porter’s piano. Now, Kate has spent hours -literally hours – in museums waiting for me to stop staring at old instruments, so this was a completely rational reason to go to the Waldorf-Astoria. Apparently June 13th 2010 was Puerto Rico Day in Manhattan, complete with a loud parade, cars with shiny rims and very unsafe suspensions, interesting pedestrians, and a strong police presence. The six of us made our way through the teeming flag-waving crowds to the peaceful and extravagant Park St. entrance of the Waldorf. I had called the hotel on Saturday to verify that they were prepared for me to come and that everything would go according to plan. They assured me the piano would be unlocked and ready to go. We looked around and spotted the piano on a terrace right above the entrance. Everyone did a great job of concealing their excitement as we climbed up the stairs to the piano. Kate and I went over and looked at it. After the fact Kate told me when she saw the piano she thought, “Great. An old piano. Let’s go.” The engraved sign on the music holder read, “We kindly ask that you refrain from playing this piano and we thank you for helping us preserve this unique piece of the Cole Porter Legacy.”

When I sat down at the piano my heart began pounding. I asked Sarah to take a picture of me and Kate by the piano. As she started filming, I went to open the lid. Kate had noticed the sign and her hand shot out to stop me. “Don’t…no don’t play it.” Then I played it. She started looking around to see if anyone was coming to arrest or taser us. She reached over again and and asked me to stop playing. “It’s OK,” I told her as she looked to our family and friends that were with us. Her sister mouthed “it’s OK” and started to get choked up, and then she knew. I asked Kate if I could play her a song, but she couldn’t say anything.

As I write this I’m trying to remember every detail of the actual song. At first my main objective was to sing and play without breaking down, but when my emotions started building I lost the ability to think clearly. My most distinct memories are of looking over at Kate when I felt like crying through that ethereal tunnel vision of such life-altering moments. I had been waiting 26 years to sing that song.

I was snapped out of the love-soaked haze by applause from people who had been watching. It became rapidly apparent that I did not actually have the ring in my possession. The box for the ring was so big that I couldn’t hide it in my pocket, so I’d asked my mom to carry it in her purse. I gave Kate a quick kiss and said “I’ll be right back,” as I went over to get the ring from my teary mother. I had the whole proposal worked out in my head including what I’d say and even what knee I’d go down on. But in the rush of the moment it all left my mind, and probably for the best. You can’t really plan something from the heart, I guess. So there I was: down on one knee, diamond ring in a box, chandelier hanging in the background, Cole Porter’s piano right by my shoulder. “Please… will you marry me?” I opened the box, and when she saw the ring she took a step back and hid her face. She was going through her own crying ethereal tunnel vision, and seeing the ring brought on another wave of emotions. She managed to whisper “yes” and threw her arms around me. People started clapping and after a long moment Kate repeated her “yes” so the audience could hear. We kissed.

Apparently I missed the memo about what you do after you open the box and show the ring to the girl. I was waiting for her to take the ring and she was waiting for me to put it on her finger. I realized my mistake after a quick awkward moment and then put the ring on her finger. Fortunately, it fit perfectly. We both just stared at the ring as the magnitude of the moment started to hit us. We looked at each other, and in that one moment next to the piano with the chandelier behind us, my life changed forever.