Mandolin Lessons With Mr. Lipani
I was born Vincent Gambella,
into an Italian family, as the second of five boys. Our family
mandate was, that you must start mandolin lessons
at 4 years old (if you wanted to live.) or
else!
My mandolin teacher was a barber - Mr.Lipani, who
lived across the street. A month of lessons cost
25 cents. When I was about 6 years old, my father would come
home from work, and would ask Mr.Lipani, " Howsa
my boy issa doona?" Well, you could
have been a genius, but Mr. Lipani
would always reply, "Ehhhh, E'ssa Putty Goulda
".... My father would say "WELLA,
DENA YOUSA GATTA HID IM "! In the mean-time, this
guy was killing me!
When Mr. Lipani gave a lesson, he held
a small tree branch in his hand while he gazed out
the kitchen window. If I'd make a mistake, he would
swat me with the branch, while still looking out the
window. Then he'd say ,(in an Italian prophetic tone)"
I'mma maka you cry, so yousa willa LAFFA somaday" !!!
The branch struck the mandolin, my head
and various parts of my body like he was swatting
flies! Now, if I had gone home and have told my mother what this
guy was doing to me, she probably would've ALSO
given me a beating, thinking, "Why else would Mr.Lipani
hit him if he didn't deserve it?"
I once came close to killing my teacher.
I decided I would stab him with my mother's scissors, as
he looked out the window. I actually hid the scissors in
the mandolin-case. (Needless to say, I'm glad I didn't go
through with it.)
Many times I have recalled that period of my
life, and I end up smiling with the realization that
Mr. Lipani really wasn't a mean person. It was just the only
way he knew: the old Italian way!
I made my mandolin debut at age 7, in Mr.
Lipani's Brooklyn barber shop, and I'm still playing mandolin
(professionally) today.
I guess the lessons took.
