Lifelong Alaskan finds calling in tuning pianos

At first glance, Ben Johnston's yard off Soapstone Road looks like that of the typical Alaskan -- there's a four-wheeler, a small bulldozer, a horse trailer, a stack of rough-cut lumber. But step inside his shop and you will find the unexpected.

Instead of caribou antlers, bicycles, skis or a jumble of fishing poles, there are pianos in various states of dismantlement.

Within the cramped, 16-foot-by-20-foot workspace are three of the huge instruments, their wood dark brown and worn and their various parts stacked against the wall. The inner workings of one are carefully set up on a workbench that is equally crowded with tools and small parts.

Ben Johnston is a piano tuner and repairman, and while it may seem an odd occupation for a man who spent most of his life in the construction and fishing industries, it is one he said he has been attracted to his entire life. The 54-year-old recalls being a college student, studying music and watching the piano tuners come and go.

"I thought, 'Now that's something I could do,'" Johnston said. His interests in metalsmithing and woodworking, along with his love of music, would eventually all come together in this career.

The lifelong Alaskan took a long, roundabout route to becoming a piano tuner, however. Like many of his peers, he spent his share of time doing work in construction and commercial fishing. But when he had a close-call accident on the job, he decided it was time to pursue his dream.

"Life is short," he said he realized. So he went back to school, attending a piano-tuning program in Vancouver, Wash., for two years to learn the trade, and in the summer of 1990 he opened his business back in his home state. For the first six years, piano tuning wasn't enough to pay the bills and support him, his wife and their daughter, so he also worked as an engineer on a fish tender, hauling commercial catches from the boats to the processing plant.

There are no long days on the ocean, today, however. Johnston and his wife, Tang, have been able to make Ben's Piano Service self-sufficient. Tang keeps the books, answers the phone and schedules appointments. Ben splits his time between his shop and "field work" -- taking his small, black toolbox and suitcase full of extra parts and going to the pianos themselves.

Occasionally he is called out to tune or repair a grand piano, but for the large part, Johnston said, "This is upright country."

Much of his work comes from young families who have a piano for their children to take lessons on. The next biggest market is churches. But from one day to the next, Johnston is never sure exactly where he'll find himself.

"It's everything from big fancy houses … to sleazy bars," Johnston said. "You see a lot of things."

He has also seen a lot of things once he opens up the pianos themselves. Unlike some instruments that the players get to know intimately, pianos are more like furniture in some houses. In some cases, the owner isn't even aware that it can be opened up. Some of the instruments haven't been tuned or cared for in five, 10, even 20 years.

Inside these old pianos, Johnston finds dust bunnies, "dead whatevers," black plastic tarantulas, bobby pins -- you name it.

"The lady of the house is usually horrified," he said.

Johnston usually spends around two hours, taking apart the piano to expose the tuning pins and carefully raising the pitch and fine-tuning each of the 88 strings.

Some of the pianos are old beaters that look like they've "been through the war a few times," Johnston said. Others gleam with the pride of their owners but still manage to keep their rich history a secret.

"When you see a piano that is 75 or 100 years old, a real Cadillac that is still in good condition … you'd really like to know what the history is, but you'll probably never find out," Johnston said. He said he has encouraged some of his clients to document as much as they know and can find out about their instruments.

With other clients, he talks music. While he denies being much of a pianist himself, he says he enjoys visiting with professional musicians who appreciate his work on another level.

"I'm the guy who can fix that note that has been driving them crazy," Johnston said.

When the phone stops ringing and Johnston doesn't have any field work to do, he returns to his small shop, where he repairs pianos he picks up at garage sales, Salvation Army stores, or have been given to him. As long as the pin block is in good shape, Johnston can restore the instrument and resell it as a "starter" piano for someone just learning. It is a good market, and Johnston said he sells the $1,000 to $1,500 instruments as quickly as he finishes them.

But piano repair isn't a get-rich-quick scheme. The repetitive motion is hard on the joints and, as he gets older, Johnston said he has to watch that he doesn't overdo it.

At the height of his biggest season -- autumn, when he is going from one piano-tuning job to the next -- he admits he can tire of his work.

"You can kind of OD on it -- that's true of any job," Johnston said. "But this is something I can always come back to."