By Vic Faesser
A well-done lesson with my piano teacher would earn me a gold star. I probably started lessons when I was six or seven, a year or two after we had arrived at Ogallala, Nebraska, from Bremerhaven, Germany.
Juan Huss, a handsome Hispanic man, was my first instructor. Dark complexion, bright smile, thick black hair, impeccably combed. He was a good friend, perhaps a boyfriend, of one of …