Family stories have a way of living on, both poetically and practically. Such is the story of Grandpa’s violin.
When he was a young boy, Stephen Butler from Battle Ground, Washington, first remembers seeing his grandfather DeForest Bliss’ violin near Ashland, Oregon, in November 1956 when the family gathered for Grandma Cora Belle Davis Bliss' funeral service. Butler was 5 at the time.
After Grandpa’s death in December 1957, one of the two violins Bliss owned was inherited by grandson, Orville Butler, who managed to play it some. The second violin was inherited by a cousin.
The violins were special to the family because of their generational connections and memories, and they wondered if one of the violins with a Klotz brand had extra value.
“There is a sticker inside that implied the violin was made by the Klotz family,” Butler said. “There is an engraving on the back that says 'Klotz.' I vaguely remember the folks taking the violin somewhere and them coming home rather disappointed.”
The violin eventually came into Butler’s possession from his brother, Orville. He decided to search the Internet to find out more about the violin’s history.
“There were a lot of imitation Klotz violins around and it was rare to get a real Klotz,” Butler recounted. “My search led to an expert in the Portland area by the name of Paul Schuback who owns Schuback Violin Shop in Newburg, Oregon. I sent him pictures for his initial reaction — obviously an imitation.”
Butler went ahead and made an appointment for an in-person review. The evaluation revealed that the neck is too thick, the paneling pattern on the back is painted on and that a real Klotz never had a brand on the back.
This was a “Sears Catalog” variety, Butler learned. Several thousand of these were made each year.
Recently, Butler reached out to his family network to see who would like to next inherit Grandpa’s violin. Within a short amount of time, the violin had a new owner: great-grandson, Alex and his children.
Along with the violin and its associated family heritage over five generations is a meaningful poetic expression written by the daughter of DeForest Bliss and the mother of Stephen Butler. This undated poem provides the family, and now NW Adventist readers, with a sacred reminder to be prepared for heaven’s grand chorus.
Dad’s Old Violin
by Blanche Bliss Butler (1922–2016)
Long ago this violin belonged to my dad;
It is one of the two I remember he had.
It's old and it's worn and it stays in its case,
But, to me, it brings memories time can't erase.
There were days, I remember, when I was small,
Perhaps in the springtime, or summer, or fall,
We would live in our tent in a big campground
Where people from all over were gathered ‘round.
As I walked 'round that camp on a Sabbath day,
I could hear the violin from far, far away;
And I knew that my dad was playing the tune,
That implored the Saviour to come very soon.
"He's coming, coming," is what the hymn said,
Coming to get us, and raise up the dead.
And the violin sang of that wondrous day
When Jesus will come to take us away.
As I walked on I noticed the folk of that camp
Were listening as Dad played, and some eyes were damp
But some people sang with notes loud and clear,
The hymns as Dad played of his Jesus so dear.
"The Old Rugged Cross" was one that he played,
And the people knew from it they had strayed.
"On a hill far away," but he brought it so near,
As he played in that camp where the people could hear.
I'd join folks who gathered to sit on the grass.
Each with his own thoughts as the hours would pass.
And my daddy would play all the hymns that he knew —
And they'd sit quiet and listen, or sing along, too.
Sometimes they would ask him to play something more,
And he'd play the same tune that he'd just played before,
About a place called "The Sweet By and By,"
Where no one will ever get sick and die.
Or perhaps the song would be "Face to Face,"
As someone's guitar would pick up the pace,
Or maybe a mouth harp would then join in
As my daddy played on this old violin.
As I hold it today his memory is dear;
I wish he could play it again so I'd hear
All those hymns he played when I was a child,
That turned people's thoughts to Jesus so mild.
For some of those people were hard rugged men,
With thoughts of nothing but evil and sin —
And then they would hear my daddy play,
As he cherished the hours of God's Sabbath day.
And I know hearts were softened, at least for a time,
As my daddy played that music sublime.
It happened over and over wherever we stayed —
Glory given to God by the music Dad played.
As the Sabbath day's sun set in the west,
He'd play a hymn I have always loved best;
About the day being over and night drawing nigh,
As the shadows of evening stole 'cross the sky.
And now as I hold this old violin.
I know my Dad will never play it again'
But the memories it brings are to me very sweet,
And I'll keep on remembering 'til this life's complete.
Someday in Heaven's great golden land,
Beside my dear daddy again I will stand —
At that time, I, too, will be able to play
The harp the Lord gives me on that blissful day.
In heaven's grand chorus we both then will sing
And praise our dear Saviour, the eternal King.
That's why I show you this old violin —
For it helps me determine to see my dad again!
