If she feels like it, about 6:30 tonight Grace Peterson will arrive (in heels) at Meling’s Restaurant in Monmouth, Ill., sit down at the piano and play “My Wild Irish Rose.”
But please, call her Gracie. She likes that, sort of a kiddish touch to her age.
She’s cracked the age barrier. At 100, let’s bet she is America’s oldest performer. She’s slowed a bit, but still plays Wednesday nights at Meling’s when she feels like it. “Feeling like it” is just an excuse. She always shows up. She plays every Sunday afternoon, too.
Rosy-cheeked, grandly dressed, she is having a glorious old age. A week or so ago, folks at Meling’s had a birthday party for their most durable entertainer, with cake and a restaurant of admirers.
Yesterday, we talked about that party over the phone. “So I’m 100, what difference does it make? I feel good, I look good, and I still play good.”
Amazing Grace. “They named a song after me,” she says. She’s played at Meling’s for 30 years, and has married (she plays weddings) and buried (funerals, too) about half the city of Monmouth. So long as there has been a Rotary Club (80 years) Gracie has played for the Monday noon-day meetings. “If needed, I’ll fill in for Kiwanis, too.”
Always, Gracie is in heels. She scolds: “You expect a lady to wear anything else? I won’t be seen in public without heels.”
Her mind is witty, sharp. As if it made any matter, she asked me yesterday, “Are you a Republican or a Democrat.” When I answered Democrat, she said, “Oh, I feel so sorry for you.”
Around Monmouth, the mere mention of Grace is the sound of music. She was a prodigy at 5; at 16, she was in the dark with a screen in front of her, pounding a piano for silent movies at the old Rivoli theater. As a young woman she earned her degree, a music major at Monmouth College. Only the muse Euterpe, the Greek goddess of music, could guess how many students she has taught piano. “Thousands,” she seriously guesstimates.
Our paths have crossed regularly. Always, she is absolutely amazing Grace. She plays without music, drifting from “Oh, Them Golden Slippers” to “Fairest Lord Jesus” to “Home on the Range.” Once, I tossed a request for a tough one, the sentimental “Lilli Marlene,” a rather obscure World War II song for both American and German troops in North Africa. Without pause she played it, whispering the words.
She loves to tell tales of childhood, all the while playing the Kimball spinet piano, not missing a note. Her fingers are thin as pencils, the nails manicured in pink polish.
“I grew in a family of 12. My maiden name was Gawthrop, and the school kids would tease me, Go throw up.’ ”
She married a grocer, a handsome fellow named Pete who made more money as a professional wrestler — taking on all comers at weekend fairs and festivals — than he did bagging potatoes and carrots.
“But I made him quit. He was such a good-looking guy I didn’t want him to get cauliflower ears.”
Pete is dead, and Gracie lives in a big old brick Monmouth home. Once, when she was well up into her 90s, she invited me inside to sit alongside while she played her Steinway concert grand piano. On a table was a book, an autobiography of George Gershwin. She remarked, “It’s autographed to me.” Without a hint of vanity, she casually said, “Oh, I knew George.”
I remember bidding her farewell with a kiss on the cheek.
She scolded: “Don’t get fresh with me.”
Bill Wundram can be contacted at (563) 383-2249 or bwundram@qctimes.com.
Source: QC Times