Apprenticing with Herman Schlicker

John Bishop

John Bishop is executive director of the Organ Clearing House.

 

A matter of manners

In the first days of the twentieth century my great-grandfather and his seven brothers ran a large and successful silk business, importing thread from China and weaving fabric. There was a sprawling mill complex in Manchester, Connecticut bearing the family name that included a company assembly hall, which is still home to a lovely organ by E. & G. G. Hook. Glad to know my forebears had good taste in pipe organs. Eight grand houses shared an expanse of lawn, one of which was still my great-grandmother’s home when I was growing up. Each year at Columbus Day we drove to Manchester for a visit, and I remember exploring that huge house with its endless corridors, seemingly dozens of bedrooms, and a third-floor playroom complete with a swing hung from the ceiling.

Hanging in our guest bathroom we have reproductions of flowery advertisements from the company, touting showrooms in Manhattan, and depicting tidy maids helping their mistresses with their frocks. My great-grandmother would have hated Downton Abbey.

Lunch at that house was a formal affair with fancy china, and plenty of forks, knives, and spoons, and we were coached in their proper use. After my great-grandmother died, the immense brass candlesticks from her table were converted into lamps, one of which lights my desk as I write today.  

My grandfather and father were both Episcopal priests, which had the trickle-down effect that my siblings and I were brought up accustomed to a succession of fancy and formal dinners, endless stacks of elegant china, stemware, and utensils having found their way through the generations to our adolescent dinner table. Now that my parents are living in a retirement community and their household has been downsized a couple times, we have realized that our children and the subsequent generations will have little to do with all that finery. Beautiful as it is, the stuff is a nuisance because the gold bands on the plates mean they can’t go in the dishwasher.

These remaining traces of formality in family life combined with the community’s expectation of the rector’s family (ever wonder how Preachers’ Kids got such a reputation?) mean that we were brought up to know good manners. We knew which fork to use for salad, and how to set the table with the dessert forks and spoons in the proper place, and yes, there were always dessert forks and spoons. My father carved the meat at the head of the table, passing plates to my mother at the foot, ensuring that the food was cold before anyone could take a bite. The most senior female guest was seated to Dad’s right, male to Mom’s right. It was usually obvious who those people were, but I bet there was more than one feather ruffled when someone who considered herself to be senior was seated in the middle of the table. When we ate at my grandparents’ table, the carving went a little better. Poppy had been a surgeon before entering the priesthood and the turkey seemed to fall apart into appropriate serving sizes the moment he lifted his oft-honed scalpel of a carving knife!

Today when we entertain, Wendy sets a beautiful table, but sometimes I can’t help speaking up to protect the memory of that grand succession of mothers who brought me up to know which way the dessert fork should face. What is it they say, choose your battles?

I’ve read many novels about life in the British Navy during the Napoleonic Wars, and chuckle because so many of the dinner-table rituals I grew up with are present at the tables of the Captain while at sea, battles or no battles. And British officers serving in distant outposts of the empire were never without their silver and table finery, their sherry and port wine, a custom exquisitely lampooned by the British comedy troupe Monty Python. We can deduce that the formalization of dining rituals set the stage for freer exchange of ideas in conversation.

When you get right down to it, good manners in just about any situation are a statement of respect for the occasion and the people participating in it.

§

A couple months ago, I wrote of my fascination with the fast-growing world of cell-phone Apps. Those snazzy little bits of software that are being created to simplify our lives at ninety-nine cents a pop seem like gifts from God because they drop from heaven with no effort at all, with the potential of enlightening us like mega-bytes of holy grail. But in fact, when used without consideration, our cell phones and all they contain are playing a large role in the decay of social order. How’s that for sounding like an old, um, codger?

But I don’t think I’m being sanctimonious. How many of us have stood tapping our feet in a long line at the bank while the guy at the teller window can’t finish his transaction because he’s on the phone? How many of us have traveled to attend a meeting that was continually interrupted by its leader answering his phone or e-mails while we wait? (“Sorry, I’ve been waiting for this call.”) And how many of us have tried to pass someone on a city sidewalk who’s weaving from side to side and walking at a snail’s pace with a phone glued to her ear, making herself into a double-wide with her gesticulations?

You’re sitting in a coffee shop enjoying your non-fat-triple-shot-soy-praline-half-caff beverage. Nice, but there are two people in the shop with their ties loosened and sleeves rolled halfway up their cubits, laptops open, talking in full voices on the phone. One is fighting with his wife; the other is clearly the most brilliant and insightful businessperson in town. So much for reading the paper—on my iPad.

 

Under the pews

Last week I got together with a friend in New York. We had lunch in a nice little French café, then walked to his church to see the organ. It’s a large old church with a fascinating nineteenth-century organ, but what really caught my eye was on the literature table in the narthex—a stack of photocopied sheets with the title “Church Etiquette Page.” It starts out defining Christ’s presence in the Tabernacle, suggesting that it’s appropriate to bow or genuflect when walking past, and continues with a statement: Please observe the following courtesies when you are visiting the church.

• Silence is the norm while in church. Conversation is to be confined to the narthex or the courtyard. Since the acoustics in the church are very fine, any necessary talking needs to be at a whisper.

• Proper attire is expected. Since this is relative to taste and fashion, you are expected to use your good judgment.

• Food and beverages have no place in a church. However it is permitted in the narthex and courtyard. The use of alcohol and tobacco is prohibited on church premises. This is not the O.K. Corral.

• Gum is not to be chewed in church.*

• Running is inappropriate. Parents or caretakers need to stay close to their children. Adults mustn’t run either, unless they’re chasing after a child.

• Reading newspapers, using cell phones, applying cosmetics, changing clothes (yes, it’s happened) and other similar activities do not have a place in church.

• Refuse should not be left in the pews or the floor around you.

• Dogs are allowed to enter the church as long as they observe silence and know the difference between a holy water font and a fire hydrant. After all, they can be better behaved than some humans.

• Smoking is simply not to occur anywhere on church property.

*Please use this paper to discard your gum rather than the underside of a pew.

How did that priest know I’ve been sticking gum under the pew? I thought I was getting away with it. But how refreshing to see this simple expression expecting respect. By setting out a code of decorum with a twinkle in his eye, he has taken the pressure off anyone who didn’t know how to behave in church, while giving a nudge to those who know perfectly well but seem to have forgotten. I’ve heard many stories from colleagues who, sitting in princely splendor at their console in the chancel, look out across a congregation full of Tetris, Words-With-Friends, e-mails, and texting. One told me how a man answered a phone call during worship, then walked around behind a pillar, thinking that would keep his fellow worshippers from hearing him. (“Hey Mister, churches have acoustics!”)  

One of my Words-With-Friends friends is organist of a church in Hawaii. Last week she shared a YouTube video on the subject of cell phones in church, saying that she used to play for the church in the video. Here’s the link—it’s worth a look: www.youtube.com/watch?v=D2_c81Nnsc0.

But organists, don’t think you’re exempt from this rant. At 10:45 on a Sunday morning I receive a text from an organist, “cn u fx ded note tmrw?” Hey, you’re still sitting on the organ bench, sermon probably halfway through. Put your phone away. From the pews fifty feet away congregants can see that pale glow reflected on your face. We know it’s not the console indicator lights, and it’s certainly no halo. Let’s not txt our friends from the organ bench during worship. I know it happens a lot.

 

Who is it?

On January 10, 2012, music director Alan Gilbert was leading the New York Philharmonic Orchestra in a performance of Mahler’s Ninth Symphony in Lincoln Center’s Avery Fisher Hall. According to an indignant blogger:

 

It was in the fourth movement. (Funny how these disturbances never happen in fortissimo passages.) After the last climax, as the movement begins to wind down, toward that sublime last page of the score where music and silence are almost indistinguishable. In other words, just about the worst possible moment. (After a quick check of my Dover score, I think it was about 13 bars before the last Adagissimo.)

 

You guessed it. A cell phone rang. The iPhone Marimba. In the front row. In Avery Fisher Hall. It kept ringing. It rang and rang.  

Someone in the audience yelled, “Thousand dollar fine.”

The first sentence of reviewer Daniel Wakin’s article in the January 12 edition of the New York Times read, “They were baying for blood in the usually polite precincts of Avery Fisher Hall.”
Maestro Gilbert stopped the performance, turned to face the audience, located the offender and stood staring at him. An article in the January 11th issue of (the online version of the famous British newspaper) added, “During a pause of several minutes, the music director asked ‘Are you finished?’ When the culprit didn’t reply he said: ‘Fine, we’ll wait.’” Holy cow! The incident was covered and commented on by newspapers around the world. Google “Alan Gilbert cell phone” and you’ll get a flood of newspaper stories.

But wait, there’s more. On January 7, the Dayton (Ohio) Philharmonic Orchestra was starting its Saturday evening concert with Debussy’s Prelude to “The Afternoon of a Faun” when a baby started to cry. It cried and cried. The Dayton Daily News reported:

 

The youngster had been wailing for quite some time when [conductor] Gittleman stopped the music, turned to the audience, and asked that the child be removed. Some audience members applauded . . . . Gittleman said he’s had to stop concerts due to cell phones in the past, but this was the first time a child had caused enough commotion to require him to stop and begin a piece again. “The very first noise that the baby made was just as the flute was beginning her solo,” he says. “The piece begins with a big, long, famous, hard, flute solo and my job at the beginning of that piece is to make the flute as comfortable as possible.”

The story continued:

 

Many who attended the concert as well as those who heard about the incident felt that it was handled in the best possible way.

Jim and Ellen Ratti of Middletown are season DPO subscribers who witnessed ‘the whole affair.’ “The baby cried several times, not just once, and due to the outstanding acoustics in the Schuster, the sound carried throughout the concert hall,” Jim says, adding the cries were very loud, disruptive and distracting.

“I’m sure that some will say that Maestro Gittleman was inconsiderate and rude for calling attention to the offending parent(s),” he adds. “My reply to those criticisms would be that it’s inconsiderate and rude to bring a child of that age to an event which holds no interest for him or her. It is also inconsiderate and rude to disrupt the listening pleasure of everyone else in the concert hall, or to expect that such disruption would be excused.”

My grandmother would have agreed. But had she been the conductor in either of these situations, she wouldn’t have had to say a word. Just one look. Violet, the Dowager Countess of Grantham, had nothing on her. You might as well be using the wrong fork.

§

Anyone who knows me might call me a hypocrite for ranting about cell phones. To borrow a phrase from a colleague-friend, I hold the thing “like a crack pipe,” checking e-mails constantly, texting friends with quick thoughts and observations, keeping up with phone messages. I use it to check the weather, keep my calendar and contacts, look up maps and directions, choose restaurants, make travel reservations, and even sometimes, to the horror of our daughter, Google to find the answers that end dinner-time arguments. (Yes, Roger Maris did hit his 61st home run in the 161st game of the 1961 season. Nice symmetry.)

I think the cell phone has made possible great flexibility for people during the working day. And well used, it’s a vehicle for good manners. There’s no excuse for not calling to say you’re on your way, but you’ll be a few minutes late. But we need to create a new social order to deal with them. Here are a few general rules I propose to the social court:

• Don’t put a phone ahead of a personal, face-to-face conversation.

• Don’t let your phone call impede or delay someone else.

• Don’t let your phone diminish anyone else’s enjoyment of anything.

• Don’t assume that it’s okay with everyone around you to be forced to listen to your conversation.

Does anyone out there in Diapason land want to add to my list?

A few weeks ago a bad thing happened to my iPhone while crossing Broadway in lower Manhattan. Luckily, there was an AT&T store right there and twenty minutes later I was upgraded to the iPhone 4S. For those not familiar with the jargon, this is the new model which includes Siri, a voice-recognition program that allows you to speak to your phone, asking it to place a call, send a text message, or pretty much anything else, except to play an audio book. I asked the polite female computer-generated voice to play one of the books in my audio library. She replied, “I’m not able to do that.” I said, “You can’t play an audio book?” “I’m not able to do that.” “What good are you?” “Now, now…” “I’m sorry.” “That’s OK.”  

Next, I have no idea what got into me: “You’re cute.” Her reply: “You say that to all the virtual assistants.”

Gavin Black

Gavin Black is director of the Princeton Early Keyboard Center

 

Hard pieces and 

recalcitrant passages

This month I am writing about the phenomenon of pieces being difficult and the related phenomenon of specific passages being hard to learn: either difficult by any standard or surprisingly difficult—for reasons that may seem elusive—for a particular student. This is not a very systematic or methodological discussion: just a few ideas—almost just random thoughts—that I think are interesting or that may help some students or teachers. 

We all believe that some pieces are harder to learn or to perform than other pieces. This—just as a basic fact—is probably as close to uncontroversial as anything gets in the field of music and music teaching in general, or of organ-playing and organ teaching in particular. We don’t necessarily all agree as to which pieces are more difficult and which less so. Most of us, from our own experiences as players and from what we have seen with our own students or other performers, know that different pieces or sorts of pieces are more or less difficult for different players, and at different times in one player’s career.

 

Repertoire in order of difficulty

When I first acquired copies of one or two volumes of the Peters edition of the Bach organ music—in about 1971, at the age of about fourteen—I noticed that the separately bound Preface included a listing of all of the (non-chorale based) pieces arranged according to difficulty. I was excited about this, since it seemed both useful and authoritative. I allowed it to influence what pieces I chose to work on—though not in a logical or consistent way. Sometimes I would choose a piece because I thought it was easy enough to be within my grasp, sometimes I would spurn and reject pieces that were described as being “easy,” because I thought that working on them would be sort of embarrassing, classifying me as “not very good.” Needless to say, this was all rather silly. 

I did continue for a long time—after my studying had become at least a bit more systematic and effective—to cast sneaky glances at the list out of the corner of my eye. I would pat myself on the back just a little a bit whenever I put in some work on a piece in the top half or so of the difficulty scale. I pretty much stopped doing this when Eugene Roan, with whom I had by then started taking lessons, mentioned casually to me one day that an eminent recitalist he know thought that piece x was much more difficult than piece y—the opposite order from the Peters list. This introduced me to the idea that this whole difficulty thing could be relative, though at that point in my career I couldn’t have said how or why this might be so. 

 

Reger and Straube

Another way that the concept of difficulty as a kind of independent variable in pieces of music came to my attention when I was first getting interested in organ was through hearing the story of Max Reger and Karl Straube. The idea was that Reger had made his organ pieces more and more difficult in the hope of writing something that Straube, his good friend who was also the leading German organ virtuoso of the time, would be unable to play. It was also said that he never succeeded: that Straube “won.” There are a couple of interesting things about this. One is that, of course, it is trivially easy to write a piece that is unplayable, if that is really all that you want to do. All that you need to do is to write notes that are too far apart in compass to reach.  The music does not have to be particularly complex or intricate or fast. However, a piece that is really unplayable will, in fact, not be played. That is never in any composer’s interest. Not surprisingly, composers—whether they are writing for Karl Straube or not—tend to approach daringly close to that “unplayable” line, and then to decide not to cross it. This is as true of a composer like Beethoven, who stated bluntly that he didn’t care what performers could or couldn’t do, as it is of composers like Bach or Franck, whose keyboard compositions arose out of their own work as performers and improvisers. 

It is also interesting that Straube—as a student, before he had met Reger in person—was in fact drawn to Reger’s music in part because it was first presented to him as being too difficult to play. Straube’s teacher Heinrich Reimann showed him Reger’s then very recently published Suite in E Minor, op. 16, telling him that it was unplayable. This seems to have motivated Straube to learn it, which may or may not have been Reimann’s intention all along. I myself, when I was still more-or-less a student, occasionally started to work on a piece because someone had said to me that I could not learn it. (This was never, in my case, one of my own teachers.) I always learned something valuable from the attempt, although it did not necessarily result in my mastering the piece in question at that time.

 

Aspects of difficulty 

When we talk about a piece’s being very difficult, we are almost always talking about the learning and reliable playing of the notes: the right notes, in the right order, at a suitable tempo. That is not to say that anyone denies that other aspects of playing a piece can be difficult. In fact, performing even a simple piece in such a way that it is extraordinarily compelling, beautiful, interesting, thought-provoking, disturbing, whatever we want it to be, is probably as hard and (at least) as rarely achieved as playing a difficult piece competently. However, that is indeed a different thing. When students ask whether the Goldberg Variations or the Dupré Prelude and Fugue in G Minor is too hard for them, they are rarely inquiring about whether the teacher thinks that they can project the deepest meaning of the piece effectively. Of course, there is always this relationship between what might for the sake of simplicity be called the two types of difficulty: that the better-learned the notes of a piece can become for a given player—the closer the piece can come to feeling easy once it has been learned—the more of a chance there is that a performance can also be musically effective.

The piece that I happen to have been practicing the most in the week or so before I sat down to write this column is the “In Nomine” by John Bull that is found in volume 1 of The Fitzwilliam Virginal Book. The makers of a list like the Peters Bach organ repertoire list would probably put this piece at the easy end of “moderate” or the somewhat high end of “easy.” It is in three voices throughout, but none of the voices is very busy or intricate. For much of the piece the middle voice lies in such a way that it could be taken by either hand, so there is a fair amount of fingering flexibility. It is (though this is obviously subjective) not a piece that many people would think should go very fast: certainly not fast enough to make playing it into an athletic challenge—which some of Bull’s pieces are. This is a piece that I used to play a lot and, as best I can remember, I did indeed initially choose it because it was not too athletic. Bull’s Walsingham or King’s Hunt would have seemed beyond me many years ago. However, it occurs to me that this piece is a good illustration of the relationship between note-learning difficulty and tempo. There is—literally—a set of tempos at which this short Bull piece would be harder to play than the Reger Opus 16: that is, a mind-bendingly fast tempo for the Bull and a glacial tempo for the Reger. In order to achieve my inverting of the difficulty of these two pieces, the tempos would have to be so extreme that they would both be well outside what anyone would ever do. However, within a more realistic range of performance tempos, the Bull can become a virtuoso challenge of its own, and the Reger can move from the “impossible” all the way down to the “very hard.”

 

Difficult passages

Many pieces that have a reputation for being very hard are as difficult as their reputations suggest only in spots. For example, the Bach F-major Toccata is considered one of his hardest organ pieces. It earned a very high place on “the list”—maybe at the very top, certainly close. However, long stretches of the piece are really not hard at all. The opening has nothing going on in the pedal, and the two manual lines are somewhat intricate, but not remotely beyond the bounds of the “intermediate” for anyone. Then there is a pedal solo, which is also quite learnable. The following two pages are essentially a recap of this opening: carefully designed by the always pedagogically aware composer to be a bit longer and a bit trickier than the opening itself, but similar in nature. Then, beginning at about the fifth page, the hands and feet start moving together, and things get more complex. Still, however, the notes fall into place quite naturally. Most players I know who have worked on this piece report that this section yields nicely to practicing and is not more difficult than other Bach prelude-type pieces. It is the three brief passages that involve the return of the opening motif of the piece, this time in manuals and pedal together, that seem really hair-raising to many of those who work on the piece. This is not everyone’s experience, but it is a common one. Other very difficult pieces can be analyzed this way as well: perhaps most of them. In the Goldberg Variations, for another example, probably about eighty percent of the writing is no more difficult than the average for The Well-tempered Clavier or Handel harpsichord suites. That is not, by any standards, “easy.” But it is the remaining fifth or so of the work that gives it its reputation as “only for advanced players.”

One source of difficulty in working on pieces of music is unfamiliarity with a particular style or the technical tendencies of a particular type of music. Ralph Kirkpatrick, in his preface to his edition of sixty Scarlatti sonatas, first outlines a set of rigorous ideas about how to work on the sonatas, both as to analysis and as to practicing. Then he says that if a student approaches six sonatas this thoroughly he or she will not have to do the same with the next sonata or later ones. The particular shapes of a given kind of music become ingrained. I myself, as a player who has worked more on Baroque music than on anything else, find it much easier both to sight-read and to learn Baroque pieces—even complex and difficult ones—than music from a later era. To me this suggests patience. If a student is working on his or her first piece from a particular genre or style or time period, then that piece is going to be harder than the next one will be. That should not be surprising.

 

Practice strategies

If a student is interested in working on a piece that seems too hard, I am extremely committed to letting him or her do so and to making it work. The first step for me is to try to figure out whether the difficulty is found in a few spots or more or less throughout. This affects learning strategy. In the first instance, I will suggest to the student that we break the piece up and completely abandon any thought that it is one unified piece—just for the time being of course, but with a lack of impatience as to how long that time will be. Then the easier—more “normal”—parts can be practiced and learned in a “normal” way, systematically and carefully, along the lines that I have written about before. The extremely hard passages can be treated as intensive exercises: analyzed, taken apart, put back together and practiced to within an inch of their lives. 

A piece that is quite difficult—perhaps too difficult for the student—and of much the same difficulty throughout simply needs to be taken apart and practiced well. The key here is to make sure that the student understands what the process will feel like. Anyone can practice anything effectively if it is kept slow enough. In this context, the meaning of a piece’s being “too hard” is simply that working on it correctly will take a long time. Would the student rather work on this piece for a very long time, or postpone it, work on other pieces in the meantime, and wait to work on the proposed piece later? This is simply a matter of what the student prefers: either approach is fine for helping him or her to become a more accomplished player. 

In fact, it can be perfectly useful and helpful for a student to work on a challenging piece even if he or she never really learns it—assuming that the failure to learn it is of the right sort. If the goal is to perform a piece then, by definition, that piece must be practiced until it is learned and secure and ready to go. However, if the goal is to use the process of working on a piece to become a better player in the long run, then it doesn’t matter whether the time put in practicing that piece is followed by more time with that same piece (eventually leading to its being learned) or by practicing a new piece. The choice to practice a hard piece up to a certain point and then let it go is perfectly acceptable, assuming that the student is happy with it, and understands that it is a process, not a failure. And of course, that same piece will be there for the student to come back to later. In fact, the first round of work on the piece will leave that piece in very good shape to be picked up again later: it will probably even get better during any time that the student takes off from it. It will be sinking into the subconscious mind. The only technical requirement for this approach to be fruitful is that the work done on the piece—or any section of it—be accurate and technically sound, but below tempo. If the piece is put aside in this way, it should be put aside at a slow tempo but otherwise exactly as it should be.

 

Gavin Black is director of the Princeton Early Keyboard Center. He can be reached by e-mail at [email protected]. A selection of Gavin Black’s organ performances can now be heard on YouTube by searching on his name at the YouTube website.

Oswald Ragatz

Oswald G. Ragatz served as professor of organ and chairman of the organ department at the School of Music at Indiana University from 1942–1983. Sadly, Mrs. Ragatz passed away after a long illness in 1998. When the Positive division was added to the organ at First Christian Church, where Mary so lovingly played for so many years, the Reuter organ was dedicated in her memory. Dr. Ragatz can be reached by contacting him at Meadowood Retirement Center in Bloomington, Indiana. David K. Lamb is currently the organist/choir director at First United Methodist Church in Columbus, Indiana. Graduating from IU in 1983, the year Ragatz retired, he completed the Doctor of Music degree at Indiana University in 2000. Dr. Lamb was recently appointed the District Convener for the State of Indiana by the American Guild of Organists.

 

Introduction by David K. Lamb

For more than 40 years, Oswald Gleason Ragatz served as chairman of the Organ Department of the Jacobs School of Music at Indiana University. On October 30, 2007, “Ozzie” celebrated his 90th birthday. Witnessing many changes through those years at Indiana University, Dr. Ragatz has also seen many changes in the organ world and in church music practices in the years since his retirement from IU in 1983.

I recently enjoyed the chance to visit with Dr. Ragatz in his home at Meadowood in Bloomington. Full of stories and anecdotes, as always, he was ready to recount his years at IU in full detail. What a joy it was listening to those reflections as Dr. Ragatz revisited the events in his early life that led him to his 40-year teaching position at Indiana University. 

“Guardian Angel” is a wonderful exposé by Dr. Ragatz, detailing the sequence of events that made up the path leading him to Indiana University in 1942. In the words of Oswald Ragatz, please prepare to travel with him on this journey to Indiana University.

•

 

During my 25-year employment as organist-choirmaster in Presbyterian churches, I never heard the term predestination mentioned from the pulpit. But I understand that belief in predestination is one of the tenets of the Presbyterian faith. My Unitarian and agnostic friends shake their heads in patronizing dismay, when, instead of attributing some event to predestination or to sheer luck, I refer to my “Guardian Angel.” Probably influenced by all those charming angels in Renaissance paintings and those lovely little winged cherubs in the rococo churches in Europe, I personally would rather attribute the chain of events that greatly determined my life to an angel than to luck or to predestination. Luck never did me any good in those very brief encounters with the slots in the casinos in Las Vegas, and of course no serious angel would look after anyone foolish enough to wager hard-earned cash on those automated bandits. And I’m not a Presbyterian. But let me recount those events that directed my life, and the reader or listener can decide, Guardian Angel, Lady Luck, predestination, or whatever.

I guess I must start way back in the midst of the Great Depression and the Democratic landslide of 1932 that brought Franklin Roosevelt into the presidency, and that cleaned out all of the Republican county office holders in Logan County, Colorado, including my dad. The ensuing years found the Ragatz family trying to make a meager living from a small, 40-acre farm at the edge of my hometown, Sterling, Colorado. Farm labor, dust storms, locust plagues, and fundamentalist, straight-laced parents contributed nothing to the wished-for joie de vivre of high school student Oswald Ragatz. It must have been about then that Guardian Angel was assigned to look out for this puny kid, whose interests were music and architecture, thus contributing to the general scorn of his macho classmates.

 

High school days

The angel first appeared in the guise of a high school math teacher, Miss Smith. It was she who set me on the path that would lead to my escape from the dead-end existence of life on the dreary eastern plains of Colorado. It was Miss Smith who asked me to stay after algebra class so that she could talk to me, as she had some very exciting information to impart. My grade average was one-half point above that of one Verda Guenzi, and Verda and I had the highest grade average of our class. I probably should at this point give credit to the newly hired empathetic gym teacher, who had taken me in hand and had introduced me to gymnastics. This had had a marvelous effect on me. I was no longer the class wimp with C and D grades in gym. I now got an A in gym, which got me that one-half grade point above Verda Guenzi. (Was possibly Mr. Durfee the gym instructor an assistant Guardian Angel? Whatever.)

At any rate, Miss Smith pointed out that the University of Denver gave a four-year, full-tuition scholarship to the graduating senior valedictorian in the six largest high schools in the state. If I maintained a straight A average for the remaining years in Sterling High School, I would be able to go to college at the prestigious university in Denver, a city where there could also be numerous musical opportunities. That put on hold my interest in architecture; the nearest school offering architecture was Kansas U., which of course was out of the question. And anyway, no one was employing architects during the Depression.

My parents were elated by this news, and my mother, who was your basic taskmistress, went into a full cry. For the next two and half years, I became no longer the class wimp but now the class grind, the resident ant being held in some awe by the grasshoppers, my classmates. Verda Guenzi didn’t have a chance, poor girl.

 

Off to the University of Denver

Now things were getting under way in this chain of events. My dad’s brother lived in Denver and was married to a professional musician, a singer of some note in the city. They suggested that I live with them while attending the University of Denver. Their four sons were grown and out of college. I could pay for my room by accompanying students in my aunt’s studio and eventually accompanying her on singing engagements. There would be other duties—in-house chore boy, chauffeur for Aunt Ruth on occasions, etc.

Sterling, a town of less than 8,000, had a remarkable music program in the schools; the high school band and orchestra perennially won first place in the state competitions. I had begun playing oboe when just out of the sixth grade, and in six years had become quite proficient. In 1938 a symphony orchestra was formed in Sterling to accommodate the sizable number of graduates of the school’s music program who still lived in town and who wanted an outlet for their talent. Though still in high school, I was playing oboe in this symphony that had been organized during my senior year. 

Guest conductors were brought in for the three concerts that we played. The most important of these guests was Horace Tureman, director of the Denver Symphony. I don’t remember what we played, but there must have been an important oboe part. At any rate, when I enrolled in music theory the first semester at the university, who should be the teacher but Horace Tureman! And wonder of wonders, he recognized me. After class, he asked to talk to me, saying that he remembered me from the orchestra concert he had conducted in Sterling, and would I like to fill the opening in the Denver Civic Symphony for the second chair oboe? The pay was not great, but it enabled me to pay my uncle for my board. Did my Guardian Angel arrange for all this? But I continue.

I had played piano since I was six years old, my mother being a piano teacher. And I had my first organ lessons the summer after the eighth grade, and became the organist at the Methodist church that fall. During my last year in high school, my parents managed to scrape up enough cash to enable me to drive the 140 miles up to Denver once a month for oboe lessons and organ lessons with the organist-choirmaster of St. John’s Episcopal Cathedral. Now, living in Denver, I hoped to be able to continue organ lessons, although payment for same would be a problem. But not to worry, said my teacher. There was an opening for an organist at Broadway Baptist Church. He told me to try out for the job; I did and got the job. Those four years of playing for First Methodist in Sterling for little more than a Christmas remuneration had prepared me for the paying job in Denver.

So now I had enough monthly income to pay for organ lessons, textbooks, and music. I had been pretty burned out by the tension of making straight A’s during high school, so now I had decided to slack off a bit in college. However, shortly after the first semester had begun, I received a nice letter from the University Chancellor congratulating me on having won the scholarship and indicating that academic excellence would be expected of me. Furthermore, he indicated that since scholarship students were expected to give some services to the university, and in view of my experience as an organist, I would be expected to play the organ for university functions as needed—before lecture in the chapel, for example. 

This was OK by me. It gave me unlimited access to the chapel organ for practice and resulted in my being asked by the Dean of Women to furnish background music on the Hammond electric organ in the posh Renaissance room in the library where teas were the style in those days. For each of these events I was paid $3 and engendered a high profile among the female elite of the student body who were wanting to go to the teas—the girls of the Pan Hellenic Society, the Associated Women’s Students, etc.

So my fingers (on the ivories) were doing the walking—well, the earning, and my parents did not have to fork over that first dollar for my undergraduate training, just an occasional dressed chicken sent by my mother to Aunt Ruth, but that was it. I felt that I was independent, I was living in a sophisticated environment at my uncle’s, and I no longer felt inhibited by my strict parents’ restrictions—and I had a ball! I was pretty naïve and thoughtless though; things had worked out so well for me, so why worry about the future? Incidentally, I did graduate eighth from the top in my class, due to the chancellor’s veiled admonitions four years earlier. But I must continue.

 

Clarence who?

I am not quite finished with undergraduate years. The next vignette may seem inconsequential, but keep in mind, it turned out to be very significant. The setting: a picnic in the mountains. Who was there? I don’t remember, just a bunch of college students. What? I was sitting on a big rock eating a hot dog when a blonde girl I didn’t know joined me and initiated conversation. She was quite hep, and shortly had me telling her about my interest in organ playing. At that point, she became very excited and said that I must meet her uncle from New York, Clarence Dickinson, who would be in Denver in a couple of weeks. Her enthusiasm caused me to think that Uncle must be a man of some importance. And indeed the name was familiar to me: Dickinson was the author of the organ method text given to me by my cousin, my first organ teacher, that summer after my eighth grade. 

I was only mildly impressed, however, but I did mention this information to my organ teacher at my next lesson. Well, his reaction let me know that Clarence Dickinson was indeed a person of importance, being the head of the School of Sacred Music at Union Theological Seminary in New York City. So, a week later, I was playing two of my biggest pieces at St. John’s Cathedral for Dr. Dickinson, my teacher having somehow made contact with him in Denver. Tall, dignified, with white hair and mustache, Dr. Dickinson was cordial, and, I thought, politely complimentary. But I was still only mildly interested; I was probably preoccupied thinking about the impending fall Pan Hellenic formal. By the way, I never encountered the blonde niece on campus again. Was she my Guardian Angel in disguise? If so, she must have been pretty bored by my lackadaisical lack of enthusiasm. But guardian angels must be patient, and fortunately Guardian Angel didn’t forsake me, as will soon become evident. She just became a bit more devious. So I continue.

 

Aunt Ruth: gateway to Eastman

I have mentioned my Aunt Ruth previously. There is no doubt that she was my mentor if indeed not my Guardian Angel. She introduced me to the facets of the professional musical world, and she and Uncle Arthur took considerable pains to civilize their shy and unhep nephew from Sterling. By my senior year, Aunt Ruth had sensed my lack of a clear picture of what I was going to do the next year after graduation. My Bachelor’s degree in Social Sciences had presumably prepared me for getting a job in some small-town high school teaching history or social studies. But it was obvious that my interest and talents lay elsewhere—in music, of course. 

Aunt Ruth had a former voice student who had gone to the Eastman School of Music in Rochester, New York, and had high praise for the school. It sort of became understood during my senior year that I should go to graduate school the year after graduation from Denver. So I applied to Eastman and was accepted. However, I don’t remember now that I was particularly concerned about the financial requirements this expensive school would entail. I guess that I naïvely assumed that it would work out some way. It always had, hadn’t it? Of course, if there were sounds of fluttering angel wings, I didn’t notice.

I taught some organ students during the summer and played oboe in the Sterling summer band. So I had a little money in my pocket when I started out for New York with my two friends in the model A Ford. We traveled economy class, camping out, cooking our own food, and cheating on entrance fees at places like Mount Vernon. After two weeks of travel and visiting the 1939 World’s Fair in New York, we arrived in Rochester. The semester had not yet started, but I went into the Eastman office to see what a student did about housing. There was no men’s dormitory, but I was given a sizeable list of rooming houses near the school that catered to Eastman students. The person I talked to about this looked at a register of entering students (probably to see if I were indeed a legitimate entrant), and seeing that I was to be an organ student she immediately told me that an organ job was open and would I like to try out for it? 

And OK, yes, a lady had called for an organ student to come to her home and play her pipe organ during tea that she was hosting. It was intimidating that in view of the address this would undoubtedly be in one of the mansions out on East Avenue where the old elite of Rochester held forth. Well, I had brought with me my “tea time” music, thanks to those $3 gigs I’d played for at the University of Denver—I’d “been there, done that.” This gig was indeed in a mansion on East Avenue and was on an Aeolian pipe organ, the instrument of choice in those days for those who could afford such a pipe organ in their home. And needless to say, the pay was considerably more than $3. And, when I had my audition at Emanuel Lutheran Church, I got that job. So I had money to pay for my room and board—board by eating on $1 a day at a cafeteria across the street from the school.

Did Guardian Angel arrange it that I got to Eastman several days before the other students arrived, so I had no competition for these jobs and the opportunities to make some money?

By this time things had improved for my parents. Sterling was having a modest oil boom, and new houses were being built. Three blocks of our farm abutted on a subdivision, and it became possible to sell some of our property for city lots. I felt able to ask for tuition money, since I’d cost my parents nothing for my undergraduate education.

 

Life at Eastman

I found life at Eastman a far cry from my Denver experience. As an undergraduate in Denver, I had played an organ concerto with the Denver Junior Symphony, the Grieg piano concerto with the University Orchestra, and the organ part to the Saint-Saëns Organ Symphony with the Denver Civic Symphony. Big deals!!! Big toad in what I now found out had been a fairly little puddle. My uncle, who was somewhat of a VIP in some circles in the city, reported stiffly one evening at dinner that when he had that day been introduced to someone, he was asked, “By any chance are you related to Oswald Ragatz that young organist?” May I say, that that “made my day.” Country nephew, indeed!

But things now were different in Rochester. I was just a new student in one of the top professional music schools in the country. And believe me, there is no place more competitive than a big music school. Nearly all of my fellow graduate students had undergraduate degrees in music, many from Eastman itself. During my time at Eastman I learned discipline, humility, and respect for what the music profession really was like.

My Guardian Angel was no doubt cheering a bit seeing her/his protégé getting his comeuppance. But I was not being crossed off the list that year. Oh no! So I must continue this saga.

About the Lutheran church: it had an organ the likes of which I had not encountered. At that point, the organ world in the United States was just beginning to become aware of a renaissance in organ tonal design that had begun in the middle of the 20th century. The new instruments that were being built by many European builders and by a few avant garde builders in the United States were referred to as Baroque organs because the builders were attempting to design their organs on the tonal principles of the great old European organs of the 17th and 18th centuries. The organ at my church was a newly built instrument by the Walter Holtkamp Company, one of the first of these avant garde American builders. After a year with this organ at Emanuel Lutheran, I understood how to use it. This experience became very valuable for me, as will be noted later on.

The choir director at church was a talented young man who was the choral person in one of the big Rochester high schools, and his church choir was made up almost entirely of high-school age singers. I was getting some very good experience in choral techniques by observing how Ernie Ahern worked with the choir. I had had no training in choral work up to this point. The second year in Rochester, I actually did some private coaching with Mr. Ahern, and what I learned became the basis of my career as choirmaster through all my life.

One other facet of the Rochester experience must now be mentioned to make clear how the chain of events developed. If one link in the chain had not been there, there would have been no chain. When I obtained the list of rooming houses suitable for an Eastman student, my choice was purely arbitrary (or was Guardian Angel getting into the act again?). The first place I investigated was a big, old, three-story Victorian home, housing a dozen or so men, half of whom were students, the others single professional men. The maiden lady that ran the establishment had a nice vacant room (due, I presume, to the fact that I had gotten there before other students had arrived in the city). It was a congenial bunch of fellows, who all seemed to be on a tight budget, so we frequently ate supper en masse (I could hardly honor the meal as dinner) at the aforementioned cafeteria. 

 

Wilson College

One of the students, a fine violinist, and I became very good friends. It turned out that John’s father was the head of the music department of Wilson College, an undergraduate woman’s college in Chambersburg, Pennsylvania. When John came back from Christmas holidays, he told me that the organ teacher at Wilson College was going on sabbatical the second semester the next year, and his father, Prof. Golz, thought I might want the job as substitute for a semester. Of course I was most interested, and as a matter of fact I went down to Chambersburg with John during spring break to be interviewed. I played for Prof. Golz, and he seemed pleased and offered me the job. A real teaching job with a salary—$850 for the semester as I remember it! But that was 1940, and remember, I was eating on a dollar a day, so that seemed like a gold mine. I was just beginning to cope with the competitive stress of Eastman and the demanding teaching of Harold Gleason, my organ professor, so I was very glad to stay on at Eastman for the summer and fall semesters, which enabled me to get a second major, namely in music theory. Then in January of 1941, I arrived at Wilson College, with its faculty comprising chiefly elderly ladies. Now that was an interesting experience for a 23-year-old kid hardly dry behind the ears. It could furnish material for another different document, but that would have no relevance in this tale, except for two non-Wilson people with whom I made friends.

There was a young lawyer in Chambersburg who was very interested in music, and since there were not many opportunities for social contacts with people in their twenties, he immediately contacted me, and we became lifelong friends. He lived with his mother in Chambersburg, and they were frequently visited by his sister Selma, a music teacher in Baltimore and a graduate of N.Y.U. Selma was about my age, and we became good friends also—we dated in fact.

The semester at Wilson College was all too short, and I was having to face a very uncertain future. World War II was in full cry, and I had registered for the draft while in Rochester. So that dark cloud was hovering over my head. But I had had no word from Uncle Sam, so in the meantime I had to hunt for a job. I registered membership with a teacher’s placement agency in Chicago—Clark Brewer. And in May I went to New York to interview with a couple of agencies there. But they wouldn’t even take my registration. Colleges were retrenching because of the war and were hiring no new faculty. 

That was a very low moment in my life. For the first time I was faced with having no idea what to do next. I was suddenly out in the big world. I started walking aimlessly up town on Fifth Avenue, my mind swirling. I may even have contemplated how near the Hudson River was and how long would it take one to drown oneself. But maybe I wasn’t that far down or that stupid. At any rate, by the time I’d walked from the ’40s where the agencies’ offices were and reached 59th Street and the beginning of Central Park, my befuddled mind began to remember that Selma, who of course had lived in New York City while attending N.Y.U., had at some point asked me why didn’t I look into Union Theological Seminary. That had seemed like a dumb statement. A seminary? I didn’t want to be a preacher! Far from it!

 

Oh, that Clarence

But now my tiny memory began to function, and by the time I got up to the Metropolitan Museum, I thought of the blonde at that picnic in the mountains years ago, and her uncle, Clarence Dickinson, who was the head of the School of Sacred Music at—yes—Union Seminary in New York City. With a quick visit to a phone booth, where wonder of wonders there was a phone directory, I determined that Union Seminary was at 120th Street and Broadway. The next 50 or so blocks were covered with considerable resolution, and crossing over west to Broadway, past the Cathedral of St. John the Divine and Columbia University, I found the Gothic towers of Union Seminary and its quadrangle, which occupied two city blocks. 

Hot, tired, still dispirited and thinking that this was totally mad, I entered the main entrance and located the offices of the Music School. When I made it known to the secretary that I might be interested in becoming a student there, things began to move very rapidly. I was ushered into Dr. Dickinson’s office, where I was warmly greeted by Dr. Dickinson and then was introduced to Mrs. Dickinson, who, it developed, actually seemed to manage the business end of the school. The introductions were barely over when Dr. Dickinson said he remembered my playing for him in Denver, and that I had played very well. Where had I been since then? Eastman? Teaching at Wilson College? Interesting. Well, of course they would be delighted to accept me as a student working on the two-year curriculum leading to the Master of Sacred Music degree.

I had no money? No problem! The dormitory had two-room suites for students at $10 a month, and I could work a shift in the refectory for all my meals. And all of their students were placed in churches in Manhattan and in communities around New York City—on Long Island, in Westchester County, in Connecticut or over in New Jersey. Auditions for a job would be set up for me during the next month.

I could hardly believe all this. An hour earlier I was plodding the streets of New York wondering if I should be heading for the Hudson River. And had I listened, I might have heard Guardian Angel wildly flapping wings and snarling, “Oh ye of little faith, you silly twit. Why do you think I had that blonde girl join you on that rock that afternoon in the Rocky Mountains? And all of that other stuff we went through to get you this far!” Of course I wasn’t listening, but I do hope that I had the good grace to think that too many good coincidences were beginning to occur. My parents once had told me that the German name Oswald meant “Chosen of God.” What’s in a name? Maybe I should have paused to think. But of course, pausing and thinking were two things I’d not yet learned to do.

So I was set for two more years, Uncle Sam willing. I went back to Rochester for the summer to finish my master’s thesis. I had enough money saved up from that great salary at Wilson College to pay for a room at the Y, eat at the cheap cafeteria, and pay train fare to New York City twice for auditions.

The second audition was at Hitchcock Memorial Presbyterian Church in Scarsdale, a posh suburb in Westchester County. As it turned out, this was one of the prime jobs the Union students had. I would be replacing Robert Baker, a doctoral candidate at Union, who had just been hired at First Presbyterian in Brooklyn, a real, full-time professional position. I felt the audition went well, but nothing definite was said at the conclusion of my playing and answering questions. I would have a junior choir, a choir of twelve high school girls, and a professional quartet—VERY professional. The soprano had just sung a solo recital at Town Hall and the contralto was singing at the Metropolitan Opera a couple of years later, and several years later I read a rave review of her Carmen sung in Vienna. 

This would not be the first time I was faced with a task for which I was not really prepared. But I will say, without professing any modesty, that I never ducked. I learned how to conduct from the console by doing it—not that that quartet needed as much conducting as I thought I should be doing. At the end of the interview the chairwoman, an elegant middle-aged lady, said she would like to take me to dinner at the Scarsdale Country Club. That didn’t scare me: my aunt and uncle had seen to it that I knew how to behave at dinner, hold the chair for the lady, use the flatware from the outside in, etc. I seemed to pass muster with my hostess, since she informed me at the conclusion of the evening that I was hired. Eureka! Not only was the salary quite sufficient to pay for the organ lessons (which were outrageously high even for those times), tuition, and incidental living expenses, but even for a concert and opera now and then and a few heady evenings taking a date dancing to big name bands on the Astor roof.

 

Life in New York City

Guardian Angel now left me for a time as I devoured the life in New York. Our church jobs only required our presence at Sunday morning services, so a number of very compatible friends from Union would rush back to Manhattan by 3 o’clock, meeting at one of the big churches that had afternoon vesper services, oratorios, etc. A typical Sunday afternoon would be St. Bartholomew’s on Park Avenue at 3, where the 60-voice choir sang an oratorio every Sunday with a stunning organist on an enormous triple organ—chancel, rear gallery, and dome, playable from a single console in the chancel. Then over to St. Thomas on Fifth Avenue to hear a fine boy’s choir sing the 5 o’clock vesper Evensong. Then after a quick snack at our favorite bar, Tops, it was to St. Mary the Virgin Church on 46th Street, where the young avant garde organist, Ernest White, presided over a high-church late Evensong service. When I heard Mr. White play, I knew that I would have to study with him someday—which I did one summer after I had been at I.U. for a couple of years. These experiences taught me more than all the courses at the School of Sacred Music about what music could be in an enlightened church—with money. I HAD A BALL, needless to say.

It was the summer after the first year in New York, and I had had a very lucrative June playing for eight or more fashionable Scarsdale weddings. I was set indefinitely at the Scarsdale church and at Union, and after the M.S.M. degree I could continue working on a doctoral degree at Union, as had my friend, Robert Baker. I had dreams of eventually also moving on to some big Manhattan church. But this had to wait for a few decades for one of my students, who now is at the First Presbyterian Church in New York and is a big name there. Guardian Angel had other plans.

 

Hoosier holiday

Mail time was always a time of anxiety. Several of my friends had been drafted, but there was no message from the government for me. BUT, there was a letter from Clark Brewer Teachers’ Agency in Chicago telling me that there was an opening for an organ teacher at Indiana University. INDIANA? That was just a state to quickly get through when one was en route from Colorado to New York (with the exception of that adventure at Spring Mill Park in 1939). But I could get my expenses paid to Bloomington, and—always on the lookout for a deal—I figured I’d go to Indiana and then on to Colorado to visit my parents. I hadn’t been home for two years. I would go by train and stop off in Rochester to take my orals on my master’s thesis. Sneaky. Smart. I wasn’t even remotely interested in a job in Indiana.

So that is what I did, and after a night sitting up on a train from Rochester to Indianapolis, and then a bus to this village in the wilderness, I was even less inclined to take it seriously. After a night in a hot room in the Graham Hotel, I wandered out to the campus, past yellow clay around the old business school and the auditorium, both of which had just been completed. With the help of a kind lady who thought I was a new student (my ears were slow to dry), I found the new music building. First I was interviewed by Dean Sanders, a smooth, formidable, sophisticated young man, and then by the chairman of the theory department. Then I was taken up to a small practice room where the only organ on the campus existed. And guess what? The instrument was a Holtkamp almost identical to the one I’d had in Emanuel Lutheran in Rochester. And of course I knew how to handle it. (Did Guardian Angel snicker smugly?) 

So I played a couple of big pieces, and because I didn’t give a tinker’s cuss about the job, I was cool, probably to the point of being arrogant. Consequently, I greatly impressed the interviewers. It was explained to me that there was one organ major who would be a senior. Her organ teacher, who was also a pianist and taught theory, had been drafted. The organ “department” had been set up two years before when one Mary Christena had come over from the main campus wanting to major in organ. An organ curriculum was hastily fabricated, the Holtkamp was promptly purchased, and now they needed a regular organ teacher to get Miss Christena through her senior recital. 

I would teach any other organ students that might show up when it was learned that there was an organ teacher (there were nine of them), I would teach two sections of freshman music theory (after observing the chairman of the department teach another section of the same class each day), a music appreciation class for the general student body (there were about 70 enrolled, it turned out), and I would conduct the Choral Union, the only choral group on campus. This would result in my conducting in the auditorium a performance of Messiah, with orchestra, just before Christmas. I had never conducted an orchestra, to say nothing of an orchestra with a big chorus of 90 or so singers. But as I said earlier, I was not one to duck. I was new at academia and didn’t know that this teaching load was brutal and now would be considered illegal. It was a job, and I intended to be a success at any cost.

But I wasn’t offered the job on the spot, which was of no concern to me. I wanted to go back to New York. As a matter of fact, I called my parents and suggested that they come east instead of my going on to Colorado. They would meet me in Chambersburg, where I would go to visit Rudy and Selma Wertime. Did I tell Dean Sanders about this? NO, of course not. (Guardian Angel almost gave up on me at this point.) Three days later, my family and I were at the Wertimes in Chambersburg, when I got this irate call from Dean Sanders wanting to hire me. I don’t know how he found me. He probably contacted someone at Union who knew I had a girlfriend in Chambersburg and knew the name. I never asked. Maybe Guardian Angel slipped him a note.

So I was being offered a real job, a permanent job, albeit in the hills of Indiana. Well, I stalled a bit. My parents pushed, Guardian Angel was pushing, I am sure. I thought that surely that draft would get me any day, and a job at Indiana University would look good on my résumé some day, so I gave the dean a reluctant “yes.” The Dickinsons called me a day later suggesting that I postpone the appointment for a year, so I could finish the degree, but that was out of the question since Miss Christena would be awaiting her new teacher in September. So after a week in the city with my parents, I was off to Bloomington, Indiana, for an entirely new life, and as it turned out, a wife.

Mary Christena turned out to be a fine organist, and again I was faced with a situation I wasn’t quite ready for. But I didn’t duck, and she got a performer’s certificate with distinction for her senior recital. It was not until after Mary’s graduation that the student-teacher relationship segued into a more personal one. After a summer of dating, Mary went to New York to Union Seminary on my recommendation. I wanted her to experience the school, and especially the milieu of New York City and the great church music. However, she spent only one semester at Union, terminated by my going to New York to propose at Christmas. And that event can be subject for another paper—shorter than this one, I assure the reader. We were married June 4, 1944. (I never had trouble remembering that date. The assault on Normandy was to take place that week.)

There is one loose end that must be taken care of in closing: THE DRAFT. During my first Christmas vacation at I.U., I had three recitals scheduled in the East—for the American Guild of Organists Chapter of Baltimore, before the New Year’s midnight service at First Baptist Church in Washington, D.C., and in Chambersburg. Of course I had as yet not learned how to cope with the stress of this sort of behavior, and I took sick on the B. & O. train returning from Washington to Indiana. A few days later, my landlords called a doctor, and I was promptly swished off to the hospital in an ambulance with a severe case of pneumonia. (Guardian Angel was taking severe measures!) 

I was very ill, and had not the sulfa drugs just come on the market, I might have died. But after three weeks, I was released, only to go back to my room to find THE letter from Uncle Sam telling me to report for induction in Indianapolis. Why had it taken them so long to find me? I had registered in Rochester, giving my address as Sterling, Colorado, but I found out later that my registration had been sent to Sterling, Pennsylvania, wherever that is.  And when they finally found me, it was discovered that I had registered as a conscious objector—and that is another story—so interviews had to be made with all sorts of people in Colorado to see what sort of a jerk I was. (Was Guardian Angel back of all this? Surely not . . . ) But now I was going through induction in Indianapolis, then, pale, and suspect. The late January quota for draftees was unusually low that month, and after the examining doctors took a good look at me and they took a look at my 1-A-O classification, I was told that I probably wouldn’t do much good for the U.S. Army and to go back to I.U. “and teach them how to sing the Star-Spangled Banner.”  

So that’s how I met my wife. Do I believe in a Guardian Angel? Sometimes I almost think that I do. Maybe everyone has a similar chain of events that direct them through life. They just don’t spill the whole tale in a writer’s club. I leave it up to you, with apologies for being too forthcoming. n

 

What a pleasure it has been to prepare this essay for publication in The Diapason to honor and celebrate the 90th birthday of Dr. Oswald G. Ragatz. This inspirational tale provides a glimpse of the organ and church music scene in New York in the early forties, as well as the documentation of the beginning of the I.U. Organ Department at that same time. When Dr. Ragatz retired in 1983, that organ department that he found in Bloomington in 1942 with the Holtkamp organ in the practice room had grown to a department with a notable historic concert organ in the I.U. Auditorium, two respectable studio organs, and eleven pipe organs in practice rooms for student use. Ragatz built the department to a level where it could take its place along with the other large university organ departments in the United States. Currently, the organ department of the Jacobs School of Music at Indiana University is one of the largest institutions offering degrees in organ in the United States.  

With approximately 400 living IU alumni organists, the former students of Oswald Ragatz can be found all over the U.S. and in several foreign countries. Teaching and playing in both churches and universities, these Indiana University organists carry the Ragatz legacy with them in all of their endeavors. We salute you, Dr. Ragatz. Happy birthday and many happy returns.

—David K. Lamb

 

Andrew Peters

Andrew Peters studied with Wilma Jensen while serving a church outside of Nashville, Tennessee. He holds degrees from St. Olaf College and the Cleveland Institute of Music and is Pastoral Musician at Second Presbyterian Church in St. Louis. He plays recitals and released a recording in 2008 on the Schoenstein organ in Franklin, Tennessee. For more information, go to www.andrewjpeters.com.

Wilma Jensen is heralded as an outstanding recitalist, church musician, and teacher. Her extensive concert career has taken her throughout the United States. She has played on countless well-known instruments, including those at First Congregational Church in Los Angeles, the Mormon Tabernacle in Salt Lake City, the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception in Washington, D.C., Riverside Church in New York City, St. Paul’s Cathedral in St. Paul, St. Philip’s Cathedral in Atlanta, and the West Point United States Military Academy. Having played for several regional conventions and three national conventions of the American Guild of Organists, she is in demand as a recitalist, lecturer, and clinician for choral workshops, church music workshops, and organ masterclasses. Numerous European tours have taken her to Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Germany, France, Poland, the Netherlands, and England. In addition, she has made a recording for West German Broadcasting, Sender Freis Berlin.

Dr. Jensen earned her Bachelor and Master of Music degrees from the Eastman School of Music in Rochester, New York, where she was a student of Catharine Crozier and Harold Gleason. During that time she received the Performer’s Certificate in organ. She received an honorary doctorate from Piedmont College in May 2004. Recognized as a successful teacher, Wilma Jensen has served on the faculties of Oklahoma City University, the Blair School of Music of Vanderbilt University, Scarritt Graduate School, and Indiana University, where she was a tenured professor.

In addition to two professional solo recordings—Mors et Resurrectio (Arkay label) and Sketches and Improvisations (Pro Organo label)—Wilma Jensen also made two recordings conducting the St. George’s Choir on the Pro Organo label. She has given numerous masterclasses around the country at sites including the Juilliard School, Curtis Institute of Music, Westminster Choir College, Eastman School of Music, and many others. She has a full upcoming schedule of recitals and masterclasses and will present a pre-convention recital for the 2012 AGO National Convention in Nashville. Additionally, she will teach two workshop masterclasses. For more information, go to www.wilmajensen.com.

 

Andrew Peters: You’ve had a lengthy career in the organ world. What first interested you in the organ?

Wilma Jensen: My father was a Methodist minister in south central Illinois. By the age of ten, I wanted very much to try the organ, having started piano lessons at age five. Of course I was in church every Sunday and could play many hymns on the piano at a very young age, as well as do some playing “by ear.”

 

AP: You’ve had experiences in three aspects of the organ world: church music, teaching, and performance.  Can you talk a bit about your experience with service music and hymn playing?

WJ: When I was twelve, I had a regular job on a two-manual pipe organ in my father’s church, since there seemed to be no one else to play. I have no memory of what I might have used for voluntaries. They were probably poor, but I did enjoy working out the hymns with pedal, although at this point I was self-taught. I was extremely proud of my salary of $1 per week! A well-known organist, Dr. Frank Collins, gave a recital in my hometown, and my parents asked him to hear me play. He suggested I should study with a good teacher and recommended Ruth Melville Bellatti at MacMurray College in Jacksonville, Illinois. She was a graduate of the Eastman School of Music, having studied with Harold Gleason, and was a classmate of Catharine Crozier. She insisted I play every note of the first edition of the Gleason Method. Also, she was instrumental in my attending Eastman for undergraduate and graduate study.

 

AP: You had a long tenure at St. George’s Episcopal Church in Nashville. Did you have a choral background before serving there? 

WJ: Unfortunately, no. I conducted only one other church choir for a short time before coming to St. George’s. I realized I was in no way ready for the position, so I sought out excellent teachers to help me with conducting, diction, and repertoire. (This happened over a number of years.) Lois Fyfe and her staff at Lois Fyfe Music in Nashville provided invaluable assistance for the selection of choral music. An associate priest at St. George’s spent hours helping me each week in the study of the church year and planning appropriate music for the specific Sunday lessons from the Lectionary. Also, I listened to and studied numerous recordings of choirs from all over Europe and the U.S.

 

AP: Did studying choral skills in your mid-life give you a unique perspective on choral music and the voice?

WJ: Yes, it certainly did. Conducting makes one so conscious of the “time and dynamics between the beats,” the shaping of the musical line, and the timing of consonants for perfecting ensemble. Unifying proper vowels contributed more to the beauty of the sound than I ever previously could have imagined.  

During my tenure at St. George’s, the choir made two recordings and was chosen from an audition tape to sing for the national convention of the American Choral Directors Association in 1989. By that time, I had been choirmaster/organist for seven years and had been studying and growing as a musician. That summer, the choir made an extended tour of Europe, singing in England, Austria, and France. Our tour concluded at the Cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris, where we sang a pre-service a cappella program prior to singing the Vierne Messe Solennelle at Sunday morning Mass. (I also played the afternoon organ recital.)

 

AP: You’ve played recitals on organs of various historic periods throughout the United States and Europe. Out of the hundreds of recitals you’ve played, do any stand out in your mind? 

WJ: I am very grateful for the experience of playing so many diverse instruments, both electro-pneumatic and tracker. Some have been in large cathedrals with much reverberation and some have been small historic instruments. I appreciated being able to play the first Cavaillé-Coll of 1850 in Paris at the Cathedral of St. Denis, as well as later instruments of the same builder. At St. Denis, because the pedal pipes are so far from the console and there is no Barker lever for the pedal, I had to stand on final long notes with all the weight I could manage in order for all the pipes to sound! I enjoyed playing an Åkerman instrument in Uppsala, Sweden (Åkerman was a pupil of Cavaillé-Coll), a Schnitger organ in Germany, St. Paul’s in London, and many small tracker instruments in the Netherlands. I must admit I love a reverberant cathedral sound. This wide variety of experiences helps in my understanding of the overall repertoire and my ability to communicate appropriate registration to students. I do enjoy spending time planning the registration.

 

AP: You’re continuing to learn new repertoire. Do you have a particular style, period, or composer in which you specialize? 

WJ: I especially enjoy learning, performing, and registering the Romantic and contemporary literature. Additionally, I keep exploring repertoire for voluntaries for services, both for myself and students, and occasionally substitute for services at St. George’s and other churches. I have been given some out-of-print repertoire, which I later performed and recorded. As a result, several of these compositions now appear as archival editions. I am so looking forward to playing soon the newly renovated 1932 Aeolian organ at Duke Chapel. I have just learned all three of Eric Delamarter’s Nocturnes and will use the Chimes, Harp, Celesta and many solo stops as indicated in the score.

 

AP: You have current and former students across the country. Are there students with whom you are still in touch?

WJ: There are too many to name! Some are high-profile professionals. I am equally proud of many other students who are making invaluable contributions in their current positions. I stay in touch with many former students and enjoy hearing about their teaching, church positions, and performing. You might say talking on my cell phone to former students is my hobby!

 

AP: Do you still teach a monthly masterclass in Nashville? 

WJ: Yes, I did teach a monthly masterclass for many years for anyone who wanted to attend. This season, however, I am so busy with recitals, classes, and other commitments that, at least for the moment, I am taking a break.

 

AP: You recently released an extensive teaching video and booklet, “Organizing Notes in Space.” Why did you start this project?

WJ: This project was important to me to help communicate some of my teaching concepts as part of my legacy. After considerable study of the physical aspects of keyboard technique, I have developed an approach to help students overcome problems and develop a facile technique. And, of course, one arrives at a satisfactory musical result only through a controlled technique. As a result, I wanted to demonstrate these ideas by teaching former students in a video.

 AP: Is it true that you once played in a masterclass for Bonnet?

WJ: Yes, I played in a masterclass for Joseph Bonnet when I was twelve. I thought it was a recital, not a class. Since I was the first to play, I was humiliated that he stopped me for his suggestions.  At the conclusion of my playing, I went to a corner in the back of the room and shed many tears.

 

AP: Besides being a past dean of the Nashville AGO chapter, have you served in other AGO positions?

WJ: In addition to being Dean-elect and Dean for the two-year period, I have served on many program, executive and education committees through the years. Also, I have judged competitions, taught at Pipe Organ Encounters—both beginner and advanced—and taught masterclasses throughout the U.S. I am on the workshop committee for the Nashville 2012 AGO national convention. 

 

AP: What are your thoughts on the need for piano study before studying organ?

WJ: I think piano study is essential at a young age for developing a natural, flexible, facile technique. In mid-life, I had developed some wrist tension, too heavy thumbs, and resulting weak fourth and fifth fingers. I sought the coaching of Ernestine Scott, an incredible piano teacher in Oklahoma City. This study and extensive readings she recommended have changed my approach to technique and resulting musicianship. My new teaching video is dedicated to her. Sometimes when we are young we have a natural, facile technique that may change with lack of continued piano practice. Finding those skills again is a truly valuable gift at any age.

 

AP: Would you like to tell us a bit about your family? 

WJ: I have two children, seven grandchildren, and five great-grandchildren. I frequently visit my daughter and her family near Chicago. The oldest two of three girls attend Indiana University School of Business, and I was able to visit them in Bloomington while attending conferences last year. My son lives in Orlando. His three girls and one boy are rather scattered geographically, but we all manage to meet in Orlando. 

My daughter played the piano well and was fortunate to study with my teacher, Ernestine Scott. When she was in junior high, she was the registrant for my first European tour in Holland. She thought it was not as glamorous as she had expected! All seven grandchildren stomped their feet and said, “We are not taking any more piano lessons!”

 

AP: What changes in organ design have you seen during your career?

WJ: I recall experiencing the Orgelbewegung; then later Romantic organs including trackers, which became larger and larger; again more small historic trackers into the mix; and back and forth we go. I love it all!

 

AP: What do you perceive are the challenges of music in the contemporary church?

WJ: Just as we cannot seem to make up our minds about what kind of organ is best for each church, we seem to be having issues in choosing a traditional service with classical music or a contemporary service thought to be more appealing to young people. This issue has just come to the forefront at St. George’s in Nashville. The first modern liturgical service was just held a few weeks ago in a secondary worship space, which has been created with an altar, screens, microphones, etc. I attended the first service, and it was very successful and well done. I am pleased it was held in a place other than the main worship space. I believe it is essential to make the traditional service as beautiful, moving, and exciting as possible. The music of this new service was sensitive, set in a liturgical context, and still within the form of this modern style of worship. If that happens, there will be a place for both services to exist peacefully “in harmony.”

As for positions for church musicians, I believe if you can develop a really fine program that has meaning musically and spiritually, as well as make yourself invaluable to the program, there will be a good job for you.

 

AP: Thank you so much, Wilma!

 

 

Dennis E. Northway

Dr. Dennis Northway is Parish Musician at Grace Episcopal Church, Oak Park, Illinois, a former Dean of the Chicago AGO chapter, Artistic Director of the Handel Week Festival in Oak Park, Illinois, an employee of John-Paul Buzard Organbuilders, recently Councilor for Research and Publications of the Organ Historical Society, and Chair of the 2012 OHS National Convention. He is the co-author, with Stephen Schnurr, of Pipe Organs of Chicago and Pipe Organs of Chicago—Volume Two, author of To Touch the Garment’s Hem: meditations before a choir rehearsal, and editor of The ChicAGO Centenary Anthology.

As part of the Organ Historical   Society’s 57th national convention in metropolitan Chicago (to take place July 8–13, 2012), we will visit the corner of Milwaukee and Addison streets in Chicago. Located there is Carl Schurz High School, a Prairie-style building from 1909 given Chicago Landmark status. It boasts a 1,800-seat auditorium with a three-second reverberation time and a spectacular four-manual pipe organ. We hope you will join us in Chicago to hear this instrument! This is the story of that remarkable pipe organ as told in correspondence.

The story of Carl Schurz High School, and its four-manual 1935 Whitelegg-designed M. P. Möller pipe organ, Opus 6373, is well documented in the more than 250-page factory file now housed in the American Organ Archives of the Organ Historical Society. This is a landmark instrument—it is intact, and in need of restoration. The saga of the instrument, and the final negotiations and installation presented in correspondence, is an important and interesting case study of a ground-breaking pipe organ. The instrument was once appreciated and has recently been largely neglected. It has not been heard in concert in nearly 30 years. Fortunately, neglect and disuse have preserved a large instrument that represents a revolution in pipe-organ building in America.  

We begin with a Western Union telegram dated September 1, 1935 from organ consultant Calvin Brown to Richard O. Whitelegg (1871–1944), Tonal Director of Möller, which states:

 

SUGGEST YOU COME HERE EARLY NEXT WEEK STOP FOUR MANUAL DEAL WHICH BELIEVE CAN TURN YOUR WAY ANSWER BY WESTERN UNION¹

Whitelegg came to America and worked with the Welte firm that later became the Welte-Tripp organ company. Calvin Brown’s interest in Whitelegg’s work may stem from the latter’s work as the tonal supervisor for a four-manual instrument on the near South Side of the city in St. Augustine Roman Catholic Church.² This large instrument in a generous acoustic would have made a profound impression on the listener. 

The Schurz instrument, with its vanguard specification for the time, is also highly noteworthy with regard to the speed of its implementation and completion. The specification is dated October 29, 1935 and was accepted in contract form dated November 4, 1935 in Hagerstown, Maryland. The Swell and Great divisions, played from the four-manual console, were heard in public recital on December 19, 1935—six weeks and three days later!  

The remarkable specification below includes an identical version of the three Great mixtures: the III Mixture, the III–V Cornet, and the amazing IV Harmonics, detailed by John Gladden Barr (b. 1938) in his 1977 dissertation, “A Tonal History of Pipe Organs Built by M. P. Möller, Incorporated.” This “experimental” chorus had been built by Whitelegg and placed in the west wall of the Möller erecting room in 1934.³

The compositions, listed in the dissertation, are given below:

 

Mixture III

15th 15th 15th 

19th 12th 12th 

22nd 19th 8th 

#1–23 24–40 41–61

C–A# B–D# E–C

Unison: 44 scale at 8′ CC, 1/4 mouth

Quint: 2 notes smaller, 1/5 mouth

 

Cornet III–V

1st

8th 8th

12th 12th 12th

15th 15th 15th

17th 17th 17th

#1–12 13–24 25–61

C–B C–B C–C

Unison: 42 scale at 8′ CC, 2/7 mouth

Quint: 2 notes smaller, 1/4 mouth

Tierce: 4 notes smaller, 1/4 mouth

 

Harmonics IV 

17th 17th 10th 

flat 21st flat 14th 8th 

19th 19th 12th 

22nd 15th 15th 

1–39 40–51 52–61

C–D D#–D D#–C

Unison: 48 scale at 8′ CC, 2/9 mouth

Quint: 2 notes smaller, 1/5 mouth

Tierce: 4 notes smaller, 1/5 mouth

21st flatted [Septième]: 8 notes smaller, 1/5 mouth

 

Carl Schurz High School, Chicago, Illinois; 1935 M. P. Mљller, Opus 6373

GREAT (Manual II, 5″ wind)

16′ Double Diapason (metal, sc 35, 73)

8′ First Diapason (metal, sc 43, 61)

8′ Second Diapason (ext 16′ Dble Diap)

8′ Harmonic Flute (metal, sc 50, 61)

4′ Octave (metal, sc 56, 61)

22⁄3′ Twelfth (metal, sc 65, 61)

2′ Fifteenth (metal, sc 70, 61)

III–V Cornet (metal, 269 pipes)

III Mixture (metal, 183)

IV Harmonics (metal, 244)

Chimes (from Choir)

Great 16′

Great Unison Off

Great 4′

SWELL (Manual III, enclosed,
7″ wind pressure)

16′ Salicional (metal, sc 46, 97 pipes)

8′ Geigen Principal (metal, sc 46, 73)

8′ Rohr Floete (wood and metal, 73)

8′ Salicional (ext, 16′ Salicional)

8′ Voix Celeste (TC, metal, sc 59, 61)

4′ Geigen (ext, 8′ Geigen Principal)

4′ Chimney Flute (ext, 8′ Rohr Floete)

4′ Salicet (ext, 16′ Salicional)

2′ Flautino (metal, sc 73, 61)

V Plein Jeu (metal, 305 pipes)

16′ Contra Fagotto (metal, 97)

8′ Trumpet (metal, 73 pipes)

8′ Fagotto (ext, 16′ Contra Fagotto)

8′ Vox Humana (in second enclosure,

metal, 61)

4′ Clarion (ext, 16′ Contra Fagotto)

Tremolo

Swell 16′

Swell Unison Off

Swell 4′

CHOIR (Manual I, enclosed,
5″ wind pressure)

16′ Spitz Floete (metal, sc 40, 85 pipes)

8′ Diapason (metal, sc 47, 73)

8′ Spitz Floete (ext, 16′ Spitz Floete)

8′ Spitz Floete Celeste (TC, sc 52, 61)

4′ Principal (metal, sc 62, 73)

22⁄3′ Twelfth (capped metal, sc 72, 61)

2′ Fifteenth (metal, sc 76, 61)

8′ Clarinet (metal, 73 pipes)

8′ Vox Humana (from Swell)

Tremolo

Chimes (25 tubes)

Choir 16′

Choir Unison Off

Choir 4′

SOLO (Manual IV, enclosed,
8″ wind pressure)

8′ Stentor Diapason (metal, 73 pipes)

8′ Major Flute (wood and metal, 73)

8′ Gross Gamba (metal, sc 56, 73)

8′ Gross Gamba Celeste (metal, sc 56, 73)

8′ Tuba Mirabilis (metal, 73)

Tremolo

Solo 16′

Solo Unison Off

Solo 4′

PEDAL

32′ Resultant (from Diap and Spitz Fl)

16′ Diapason (5″ w.p., wood, 44 pipes)

16′ Second Diapason (Gt 16′ Dble Diap)

16′ Contra Bass (5″ w.p., stopped wood, 44)

16′ Spitz Floete (from Choir)

16′ Salicional (from Swell)

8′ Octave (ext, 16′ Diapason)

8′ Flute (ext, 16′ Contra Bass)

8′ Spitz Floete (from Choir)

16′ Trombone (8″ w.p., in Solo enclo- sure, metal, 56 pipes)

16′ Fagotto (from Swell)

8′ Trombone (ext, 16′ Trombone)

4′ Trombone (ext, 16′ Trombone)

Chimes (from Choir)

INTER-DIVISIONAL COUPLERS

Great to Pedal 8, 4

Swell to Pedal 8, 4

Choir to Pedal 8

Solo to Pedal 8, 4

Swell to Great 16, 8, 4

Choir to Great 16, 8, 4

Solo to Great 8, 4

Swell to Choir 16, 8, 4

Solo to Choir 8, 4

Choir to Swell 16, 8, 4

Solo to Swell 8, 4

Great to Solo 16, 8, 4

Choir to Solo

Swell to Solo

 

ACCESSORIES

12 General pistons (1–12 thumb, 1–6 toe)

8 Great and Pedal pistons and Cancel (thumb)

8 Swell and Pedal pistons and Cancel (thumb)

6 Choir and Pedal pistons and Cancel (thumb)

6 Solo and Pedal pistons and Cancel (thumb)

6 Pedal pistons and Cancel (affecting couplers, thumb and toe)

General Cancel (thumb)

Combination setter (thumb, with indicator light)

Pedal to Great pistons on/off (thumb)

Pedal to Swell pistons on/off (thumb)

Pedal to Choir pistons on/off (thumb)

Pedal to Solo pistons on/off (thumb)

Great to Pedal reversible (toe)

Test button and light (for current)

Chimes damper (toe reversible)

Harp damper [sic] (toe reversible)

All Swells to Swell reversible (toe, with indicator light)

Swell expression shoe (with indicator dial)

Choir expression shoe (with indicator dial)

Solo expression shoe (with indicator dial)

Crescendo shoe (with indicator dial)

Sforzando reversible (thumb and toe, with indicator light)

What follows is a virtual flurry of correspondence addressing various façade decisions, descriptions of changes in specification, commentary on blower placement, wiring, etc. We shall see that many letters crossed in the mail on the same day! Because of the close time frame and the extant fairly complete correspondence on this groundbreaking instrument, let us explore the documentation for insights into Opus 6373 and its manufacture.

On stationery from the Board of Education, City of Chicago, Carl Schurz High School, 3601 Milwaukee Avenue dated November 22 to the Möller Organ Company, we read:

Gentlemen–

Enclosed please find the print of organ console which is o.k. Please note notation on reverse side of the blue print—console is to be movable and we are planning to place it on the stage, with three junction boards—one in center, and one on each side. Please tell Mr. Whitelegg I have changed my mind about “Horn” for “Solo Organ”—and wish Stentorphone in its place as originally specified.

Sincerely,

LeRoy Wetzel

The dummy façade pipes in the display were intended from the outset, as noted in a letter from M. P. Möller, Jr. to LeRoy Wetzel (Schurz High School’s choir director) on November 25:

Mr. Whitelegg has passed into the factory instructions that the display pipes are to be of natural zinc finish. Your comments on this will be brought to his attention.

November 26 finds Whitelegg writing to LeRoy Wetzel at the high school:

 

In reply to your letter of the 22nd, referring to the movable console, we note you suggest having three junction boards, and while this can be done, it is really very impractical. This method would lead to all sorts of trouble—short circuits, etc., besides considerable additional expense. You should arrange to have the cables come up either at the left or right hand side of the stage, preferably right in the corner, with long enough cable to reach to the center of the stage.  

In regards to the console being movable, this being an all electric action, there will only be cable attachments and it will be possible to move the console wherever you desire; but really as regards having those union boards, that just isn’t done, as in all cases tried previously it ended up in having to make a permanent job of just the one set of cables.

We are planning to ship the first part of the organ by freight Saturday, comprising the platform, pedal pipes, pedal chests, etc., and we are having men from the factory reach there to take care of the installation. I expect to be in Chicago in about ten days time. The organ in the Church of St. John of God Roman Catholic will be ready for ok, and possibly you will be able to give the time to run over and try the instrument as soon as it is tuned up.

Regarding the location of the blower, I am still of the opinion that it is more advisable to place it in the fresh air inlet; there is always a 12 degree rise of temperature from the air entering the blower until the time it gets into the organ and considering that underneath the stage that temperature is running as high as seventy and eighty, would bring the temperature of the wind up to ninety degrees, which is somewhat high and could be harmful in the way of drying out woodwork, etc. However, this matter can be left for decision until the men arrive for the installation.

 This was to be a special organ in many ways. In a factory order from Whitelegg dated November 27, 1935, we read:

 

The type of organ bench required is the pattern made after the one sent to Hugh McAmis Studios, New York, only made of oak in finish to match the console. As this console will be out on the stage for many public occasions it is necessary to have this special organ bench in preference to the standard style.

 

November 27, Whitelegg writes to Calvin Brown, 4539 North Richmond Street:

 

Dear Cal: I have just received your letter referring to the location of the blower for the Carl Schurz High School. Mr. Wetzel has written mentioning that there was some opposition regarding the location of the blower. Frankly, there is everything in its favor as regards the location of the blower in the fresh air inlet. There is always at least a twelve degree rise in temperature from the air intake to the outlet, which just for a few exceptional occasions, the temperature will normally delivered from the blower be around about 70 degrees. On the other hand, if the blower is located immediately under the stage, the temperature there is any where from 70 to 80, and figuring the rise of temperature as it passes through the blower, will be considerably warmer or a higher degree of temperature than would be good for the woodwork. However, you can settle this matter when the installation commences, but my preference would be where I suggested.  

Regarding the location of console, we have heard from Mr. Wetzel and they are thinking of having the console on the stage with three union boards for attaching console, either on each side or the center. This, while it can be done, is right out of the question in every case where this
[s]ort of console attachment has been tried, and the result has been failure. Here are almost certain difficulties as regards short circuits or bad contacts and always ends up in a permanent connection being made. My suggestion is that if the console is to be on the stage, considering the orchestra pit as first requested, it would be better to decide on which side the console would be permanently located and then have cables long enough to extend to the center of the stage.

I expect to be in Chicago again within the next ten days or so, no doubt will be seeing something of you then.

 

Calvin Brown was the recipient of a letter from Whitelegg dated December 3 discussing the console, blower placement, belted generators, commission, and concludes:

 

We are making every effort to have this organ playing for the 19th, that would be the Swell and Great divisions, hence the reason for going ahead with all parts and the necessity to eventually send a large staff to Chicago to get the work done. Well, I expect to be in Chicago next week, probably this week-end and will give you a ring in case there should be anything required in regard to the Carl Schurz School for discussion.

The same day, from Möller sales manager E. O. Shulenberger⁴ (who was “on the road” in Chicago) to M. P. “Ted” Möller, Jr., we read: 

 

I spent all forenoon with Mr. Brown and the Schurz High School. First, because Brown asked me to go out, and secondly, because Buterbaugh⁵ who arrived here yesterday with Kenneth ’phoned and said he thought they would have Union trouble. I am quite sure that we will have some trouble before we are through. Every employee around the School, including half dozen or more engineers, electricians, janitors, and some others, amounting to about a total of fifty-five in all, are Union men, and the Chief Engineer, while courteous regarding certain things, says that the electrical union even interfered when he fixed one of the electric clocks. It was a sad mistake, I think, that we built the platform there. Maybe the steel workers won’t find it out, but there is every reason to believe they will. That and the electrical work is the most serious. I talked to the Chief Engineer, the Principal of the School, Mr. Wetzel, and some others, and they said they will do what they can, and I told Buterbaugh and Kenneth to work and not talk.

In a letter written while he was in the Möller Chicago office in the McCormick Building, 332 South Michigan,
E. O. Shulenberger writes to M. P. (Ted) Möller, Jr., on December 4, 1935: 

 

Dear Ted:

I have your letter of December 2d. The boys worked last night until ten o’clock, and got part of the steel-work of the platform up, and so far without any interference. I understood that Brown’s commission was to be figured on the basis of contract price, less motor wiring, starter and platform, which as I remember was $13,650.00, or whichever was my original estimate, plus a Clarinet. That is what Mr. Whitelegg told me at the time. I will try to find out, if possible, about the grille, but I am not sure that I can make the contact today, and if I don’t leave the city later today, I will the first thing in the morning. I understood, however, that the sawed out grille as approved by the architect was what was wanted, and the architect, Iam [sic] informed, is final regarding all of those matters.  

I wrote you about the junction yesterday, and have suggested that the wiring be done to a junction board, placed on an apron of the stage, and the wiring from there permanent, since there will be no air. I think Mr. Brown will work that out, and he has the confidence of Mr. Wetzel, and would be the best medium to take it up.

I advise strongly against Kenneth attempting the motor wiring, and have told Buterbaugh toget [sic] an estimate from an electrical contractor out there, and send the estimate to Hagerstown. All the employees there are union men, and are watching what is going on. So far they have not interfered with the steel-work, but the Chief Engineer, who is in charge of the entire building and equipment, is a union man, and told me if the Delegate came in and found our men doing electrical wiring, he would start real trouble. The Chief Engineer said he don’t care, but that they are checked up very frequently, and what we might save by Kenneth doing it, might be more than lost by trouble that would be caused, and furthermore, difficulty with the inspectors could be expected.

Whether the generator is direct-connected or belt-driven probably won’t be an issue, but as we have all decided that the place for that blower is in the engine-room, there is plenty of room for a direct-connected generator. It would be impossible to put the blower and air duct where Mr. Whitelegg suggested and keep the organ in tune, as the temperature in there yesterday was below thirty, with a terrific draft, and no-one here wants to put it there. The engine-room is not hot, never above seventy, generally considerably below, and has all kinds of space. 

 

On December 10, 1935 Richard Whitelegg writes to LeRoy Wetzel:

 

The last of the Carl Schurz High School organ will be leaving the factory next Saturday, and this is almost certain unless some unforeseen difficulty arises, that the organ—at least the Swell and Great divisions—will be available for the 19th. I had expected to be in Chicago by this time, but there have been several matters which have detained me and again I must go up to New York, but I am still hoping to be in Chicago within the next three or four days.

It is indeed a considerable effort to get that organ completed in the short time: I gave it preference and hence the reason why the organ will be available as promised. I do not think that there is any other part of the world that an organ of that size could be handled on such short notice: however, nothing has been spared to make it one of the finest organs that ever left the factory.

On the tonal side of the instrument, you are going to find a very much more aggressive organ tonally than the one in your church: we have all the Great work unenclosed and the Mixtures—flu [sic] work a very sweet agressive⁶ tone, likewise with the reeds. However, I am sure after you have used the instrument a little while it will appeal to you much better than the late, Heavy Phonon Diapason type of organ.

Mr. John Buterbaugh will, I expect, have arrived in Chicago by this time. He has installed many of the larger Möller organs and in my opinion is one of the most capable organ builders we have at the present time. Mr. Buterbaugh will be in complete charge of the installation, and you will find him very tactful, diplomatic, and ready to co-operate in every way. In any case, I expect to be around myself for two or three days prior to the 19th, so will be seeing you.

 

M. P. Möller, Jr. writes December 14, 1935 to R. O. Whitelegg, in care of the Chicago office⁷:

 

In reference to your telephone call from New York this morning, I was very surprised that you were still in New York as I thought the New York work was to simply be the conference with DeTar on Wednesday and that you would be in Chicago on Thursday. I haven’t had a report as to what progress they are making, but as the organ must be playing by the 19th, or just what the schedule is. I really had not been worrying about it, as I presumed you were there and were taking care of all details.  

The third load is going today, containing the Choir and Solo organs and I presume practically everything except some parts of the case.

 

Whitelegg responds, in a report to
M. P. Möller dated December 16, 1935:

 

The plans there are to have the Great and Swell divisions playing on the 19th, which is all I promised at the time of signing the contract. 

I plan to give three or four days to the St. John of God organ, and also set up the tonal values of whatever is playing at the High School, and then return to the factory, possibly the end of this week.  

Yours truly, 

R. O. Whitelegg

 

P.S. Since the above was dictated, I’ve been over to Carl Schurz School. The work is progressing satisfactorily, Mr. Wetzel stated that he is ordering the balance of the contract tomorrow, and he is also asking for the list of suggestions on the other prepared for pipes, which I am sending to him from this office.⁸

 

Whitelegg writes then to M. P. Möller on December 20, 1935:

 

Dear Sir: Regarding Carl Schurz High School, the organ was available for use last night as planned, and is truly remarkable. In Mr. Wetzel’s own words, he expected a fine organ, but it has exceeded anything that he hoped to have.

E. O. Shulenberger writes to Calvin Brown, 4539 North Richmond Street on December 23, 1935:

 

I understand that the boys got the organ playing at the time wanted and can not do any more now until after the Holiday Season. I hope everything has come through satisfactory [sic] to every one.

We find a memo from the Hagerstown Möller factory to the offices in Chicago dated December 31, 1935:

 

The last load of the Carl Schurz High School organ will arrive at the High School on Monday morning, January 6.

Richard O. Whitelegg writes to J. B. Buterbaugh on January 17, 1936: 

 

Please let me have a report as to the progress of the Carl Schurz High School, in order that I can plan my future movements. I will be busy in the factory until the 25th, and plan to spend a few days at the completion of the organ you are installing.

Because it was a strict union house, and because of the heavy use of the auditorium during the day, we find sent to the attention of Mr. Whitelegg from Buterbaugh the following: “I am starting to do regulation this evening as we must work nights from now on.”

The prepared-for stops, the Vox Humana, Chimes, and Trombone 16′ & 8′ were called for by Calvin Brown on January 22, 1936 for the sum of $1,330.00.

The Vox Humana stopknob was ordered from H. W. Cramer by M. P. Möller, Jr., January 31, 1936.

The weekly installation report to the factory dated February 1, 1936 and signed by John Buterbaugh states: “Chimes installed. Organ tone regulated except Solo,” with a listed probable completion date of organ as February 12.

The following week’s installation report, dated February 8, 1936 states:

 

Solo and Choir finished, some regulation and final tuning of Great and Swell.  Probable completion date of organ is February 13th and dedication planned in about a month. Signed John Buterbaugh.

C. W. Nowell⁹ provides a report of All Electric Consoles (no pneumatics in consoles) built by Möller; a copy of this is in the file and is reproduced here. It may be surprising to some that Möller produced these in this period. Note the exceptional number of magnets in the Schurz console and the unique report configuration of that entry. (See chart.)

John Buterbaugh, who oversaw the installation of the instrument, writes from the Hotel Milshire on February 18, 1936:

 

The organ in the High School is entirely finished and is an exceptionally fine job according to all who have heard it. I have gone over it with M. Wetzel and he says it is beyond his expectations.

Calvin Brown writes to E. O. Shulenberger on February 28, 1936 and states: 

 

I am very much pleased with the job and your boys did an excellent job and I hope to have some more for your firm shortly.

 

G. N. Snyder, writing from the Chicago office of M. P. Möller to Richard O. Whitelegg March 13, 1936 reports: 

 

Mr. Buterbaugh and I drove out to the Schurz High School yesterday, and had the pleasure of meeting with Mr. LeRoy Wetzel. This is a case where the folks are most over-joyed with the organ and all those who had anything to do with its installation, etc. I have heard no man speak more highly of anything than he. He incidentally mentioned that Dr. Barnes had visited him a day previous, and that Dr. Barnes was most enthusiastic about the organ, making the statement that it sounded like a fifty thousand ($50,000.00) dollar organ.

 

Warfield Webb¹⁰ writes to Möller on April 20, 1936 and says: 

 

Understand you recently installed a large and expensive organ in the Carl Schurz High School, Chicago. As a writer for many, many kinds of publications, wonder if anything in the nature of a story about this organ has appeared in a music or school publication. . . Understand this organ is one out of the ordinary found in a school. Perhaps you may be able to give me some interesting data.

 

E. O. Shulenberger, Secretary and Sales Manager, responds on May 1, 1936:

 

The organ there is very much out of the ordinary as found in schools and has attracted an unusual amount of attention, so it should make a very good story. I am sure that Mr. Leroy Wetzel, head of the music department of that school, would be glad to assist you in getting any or all information, and Dr. William H. Barnes, the organ architect, South Wabash Avenue, has also made a lot of study on it. He has written an article to be published in the American Organist on the particular organ, but as this publication has not yet come out, I have not seen the copy.

 

Whitelegg writes to “Mike” Buterbaugh August 13, 1936:

 

I hope to be able to see and hear this organ after visiting Kalamazoo when that organ is completed.

 

L. B. (“Mike”) Buterbaugh, writing from the Chicago office, Suite 1742 McCormick Building, 322 South Michigan on October 12, 1936, reports, “The organ itself is in very fine shape.”

There is a great deal more in the file; however, this array of documents gives us a glimpse of what it took to get a large instrument in quickly. This also hints to the truth that all large instruments take a great deal of negotiation, in all aspects of construction and design, to fabricate and install. Opus 6373 is a monumental organ and completely intact. You are cordially invited to hear it live at the Chicago national convention of the Organ Historical Society this summer!

 

Listen to Dennis Northway play the Schurz Victory March on Möller Opus 6373 at: www.TheDiapason.com.

Jay Zoller

Jay Zoller is organist at South Parish Congregational Church in Augusta, Maine, where he plays the church’s historic 1866 E. & G.G. Hook organ. He holds degrees from the University of New Hampshire and the School of Theology at Boston University. A retired designer for the Andover Organ Company, he currently designs for the Organ Clearing House and for David E. Wallace & Co. Pipe Organ Builders of Gorham, Maine. Zoller resides in Newcastle, Maine, with his wife Rachel. In addition to writing several articles about Heinz Wunderlich for The American Organist, Choir and Organ, and The Diapason, he has played in all-Wunderlich recitals in Hamburg, Germany in 1999, 2004, and 2009. His article, “Heinz Wunderlich at 90,” appeared in the April 2009 issue of The Diapason.

 

I  had never given much thought to organs or the organ culture in South Korea. My interests, along with, I suppose, those of many organists, lay in the direction of European composers. However, a recent trip to South Korea to visit family got me thinking about this subject, about which I knew nothing. The questions swirled around my head: What was the organ culture like in South Korea? Was it anything like our own? What kinds of organs were there in Korea? What did the organists play? Was there a South Korean style of organ composition? Do they play the same repertoire as we do? In this age of instant communication, I imagined that they must play Bach and Mendelssohn, just as we do, but how was I to know for sure?

Our visit was primarily centered in and around Daejeon, a city of about two million people. With my lack of knowledge of the Korean language, I would have gotten nowhere in my quest without the help of Rosalie Bowker, who is Board Chair at the Daejeon Christian International School, an organist herself, and a missionary to South Korea for over forty years. Her help in taking me to see organs, introducing me to Korean organists, and finding resources for me, was invaluable.

I make no claim that this report is complete, since my discoveries center around Daejeon. I hope that someone more knowledgeable will write about the nation as a whole.

 

A brief history of Korea

Korea is the only nation in the world where Christianity first took root without priests or missionaries, but solely as a result of the written word. Bibles, which had been translated into Chinese by Jesuits, were brought back by a Korean scholar on a diplomatic trip to Beijing in 1621. Korea has had a long friendship with China, which has lasted for centuries. As a big brother to Korea, China has had a profound influence on Koreans. However, Koreans transformed those influences into their own distinctive advances in fields such as literature, art, ceramics, printing, philosophy, astronomy, medicine, and astrology. As an example, Koreans invented metal moveable type in 1230, 200 years before Gutenberg. 

Geography has played an important role in Korean history. This small mountainous country sits in a strategic area surrounded by the larger and more powerful countries of China, Japan, and Russia. During its two thousand years of recorded history, Korea has suffered nine hundred invasions and five periods of foreign occupation. Its relationship with China has seen Korean kings embracing Chinese culture and receiving some protection in return for tribute to the Chinese Emperor.

When Japan was unified in the 16th century, its leader Hideyoshi Toyotomi attacked Korea as a first phase of an invasion of the Chinese mainland. This war, which left the country devastated, resulted in keeping relations acrimonious. Korea attempted to stay isolated until western influences in opening the country to trade during the 19th century left Korea vulnerable. In 1875 Japan forced exclusive trade with Korea and then flooded Japanese advisers and military personnel into the country. 

In 1905, America and Britain felt that Japanese control over Korea would prevent Russian expansion, and so Theodore Roosevelt traded Korea’s independence for U.S. control over the Philippines. The Treaty of Portsmouth, which ended the Russo-Japanese War, made Korea a Japanese protectorate. The Japanese then forced, despite protests and student uprisings, a Protectorate Treaty, which was followed in 1910 by a forced Treaty of Annexation, which made Korea a Japanese colony. The Koreans were treated brutally until the Japanese surrender after World War II.

The end of World War II brought about the arbitrary division of the country, by the West, at the 38th parallel. This unfortunate afterthought by the major powers in the post-war period has proven to be the one blunder that has caused inordinate trouble for the North and the South as they have grappled for advantage and supremacy over each other. 

A Korean guerrilla commander, Kim Il Sung, chosen by the Soviet Union to head its regime in the North, chose, with Soviet and Chinese backing, to invade the South and unite the country under communist rule. This conflict, in a fear of communist menace, drew in U.N. and U.S. troops and savage fighting. The Korean War claimed a huge number of casualties and devastated both halves of a country that had only just begun to recover from four decades of Japanese occupation. When the fighting finally stopped in July 1953, the front line was virtually at the 38th parallel, close to where it had all begun. A demilitarized zone was created, which has remained in place to this day. The North became a dictatorship under the thumb of Kim Il Sung and later his son, Kim Jong Il, and the country closed off from the rest of the world.

In the South, anti-communist dictatorships gradually gave way to democratic reform and growing trade with the world. Under President Park Chung Hee, conglomerates were formed, which made South Korea a major economic power. It is in this period of economic growth and democratic reform that our organ story begins.

 

Organ culture

As one might imagine after the widespread destruction during the Korean War, organs were not a priority and as a result were slow in coming. Gradually, however, South Koreans who had an interest in music began coming to the United States and to Europe for training. Those interested in studying the organ concentrated primarily on the United States and Germany, countries that offered organ curricula and good instruments to play. 

As time went on, students who returned to South Korea wanted similar instruments to play at home and often were able to have their church buy an organ from a builder that they had become acquainted with during their studies. Since there were no Korean organbuilders, they imported organs from the United States and Germany. Seoul, South Korea’s largest city, has the greatest number of pipe organs in the country. Wicks began the Seoul imports, followed by such builders as Brombaugh, Flentrop, Schuke, Rieger-Kloss, Ruffatti, Beckerath, Karl Wilhelm, Jäger & Brommer, Bosch, Pels & Van Leeuwen, Klais, and many others. The large six-manual Klais in the concert hall is a jewel in the collection, with its case designed after the traditional Korean plucked musical instrument, the “Komungo,” giving the effect of several instruments hanging from the wall. It boasts as well 40 French bells and 32 Korean bells in addition to 270 Spanish trumpets. The organ looks very impressive, although I have only seen it in pictures. We mustn’t forget the new Fisk organ installed in 2010 at Incheon, about twenty miles west of Seoul. 

There is an interesting story about the Klais in the concert hall. When it was new, apparently the organist at the time had the mistaken impression that it didn’t need regular attention for maintenance and tuning. The organ became almost unplayable before a new professor took over and had some much-needed maintenance done on it. There are a few German-trained organ technicians in the country who take care of the pipe organs, one of whom is the husband of an organist I will mention later.

 

Organs in Daejeon

Although churches seem to be located everywhere, Daejeon contains only five pipe organs. Many churches have electronic imitations and most have praise bands to accompany worship. Even churches with pipe organs often have a band as well. The organs include Rieger-Kloss, Oberlinger, Flentrop, Speith, and  Paul Fritts. 

We met Eunyoung Kim at the Baptist Church where she is organist. The church contains an organ built by Speith-Orgelbau of Reitberg, Germany. Although a fine tracker instrument, it is situated in an acoustically dry room. Dr. Kim played the last movement of the first Mendelssohn Sonata for me—it was exquisitely played, but the sound was almost sucked into the walls. This led us to a discussion of acoustics in South Korean churches. This is a subject too large to go into here, but suffice it to say that with carpeting all over and acoustical tile even in the rear of the organ there is no resonance at all. Her comment was that the Korean idea of acoustics is figuring out how many speakers a room needs. It is a situation that organists are trying to correct.

After a delicious lunch at a Korean restaurant recommended by Dr. Kim, she took us to see the organs at Southern Baptist University, where she is the organ professor. Unfortunately, a class was meeting in the auditorium, so we were unable to see that organ, but in a smaller, happily much more resonant room is an organ built by Paul Fritts. The lower manual contained a Hohlflöte 8′, Principal 4′, Quint/Cornet, and Octav 2′. The upper manual had Quintadena 8′, Spielflöte 4′, Gemshorn 2′, and Dulcian 8′. A Subbass 16′ and Gedackt 8′ rounded out the pedal division. Couplers were I/Pedal, II/Pedal, and II/I, and there was also a tremulant. I played the first movement of the Mendelssohn A-major Sonata and it had a nice effect. It is a delightful practice organ and often does double duty for concerts.

Eunyoung Kim’s husband is one of South Korea’s German-trained organ technicians, and I was sorry that I did not get to meet him as well. Surprisingly, Eunyoung Kim was working on a recital entitled “The Organ Music of America since 1950,” which she played after our trip was over. It consisted of music of David Arcus (b. 1958), Memorial Festival Overture and Ancient Wonders; John Behnke (b. 1953), Three Global Songs; Derek Bermel (b. 1967), Two Songs from Nandom; and David Conte (b. 1955), Pastorale and Toccata. 

On another day, Rosalie Bowker took my wife Rachel and me to Hyechon University to meet Mrs. Min Jin O, who is the university organist and who, when we met her, was preparing four students for a required recital. I asked if they would mind playing their prepared music for us and they gave us a remarkable program all played from memory. One girl played the Langlais Epilogue for Pedal Solo. A young man, who was autistic, had none of his usual symptoms when he was playing. We were impressed by every one of them. Their playing had confidence and vigor even without music in front of them.

The organ was built by Oberlinger and was located in a large room that looked as though it served for concerts as well as for worship. The acoustics here were much better than what we had heard previously. 

 

Organ miscellanies

Several universities in South Korea offer doctoral degrees in organ, so that an organ student need not travel to a different country to study. However, many do decide to work on degrees beyond their own borders. I got the impression that the two favorite places were Germany and the United States, although not limited to those. Dr. Kim remarked that you could often tell where they studied by the kind of repertoire they played. Of those students who choose to return to South Korea, there is a desire to have the kinds of organs they were exposed to where they studied and a desire for improved acoustics. As more organs are imported, it is a great opportunity to spread the gospel of better acoustics. The Koreans want the best of what the world has to offer and I don’t believe it will be long before churches begin to hear the difference that good acoustics can make.

There is a Korean Association of Organists that is active in South Korea. It sponsors seminars, festivals, and masterclasses as well as hosting visiting organists from other countries, much like the AGO does in the U.S. Their journal, which contains the usual news about organs and meetings, also publishes new music written by Korean composers. I was able to discover several new pieces, many centered around hymn tunes, but one composer in particular, Ju-Hwan Yu, had written a Prelude and Fugue on B-A-C-H in 2005, which I found fascinating and which I played in two recitals earlier this year. As in any other country these days, Korean organ recitalists play music of many countries and different time periods.

 

Postscript

I very much enjoyed my visit to South Korea and only wish that it could have been much longer. I am attempting this small article in hopes that someone with much more knowledge of Korea and its organ music might take up where I have left off and fill in many more details. It is an organ culture that is growing and trying hard to catch up with the West. 

I want to thank Dr. Rosalie Bowker, organist, musician, missionary, and Board Chair of the Daejeon Christian International School, without whose help none of this would have been possible. I also want to thank Dr. Eunyoung Kim and Mrs. Min Jin O, who provided information and visits to notable Daejeon organs. n

 

Bibliography

Breen, Michael. The Koreans—Who They Are, What They Want, Where Their Future Lies. Orion Business Books, 1998. 

Oberdorfer, Don. The Two Koreas, A Contemporary History. Basic Books, a member of the Perseus Books Group, 2001. 

Becker, Jasper. Rogue Regime—Kim Jong Il and the Looming Threat of North Korea. Oxford University Press, 2005. 

Halberstam, David. The Coldest Winter: America and the Korean War. Hyperion Books, 2007.