In Memoriam Wesley Vos

Wesley M. Vos 1940-2002

Wesley M. Vos, associate editor of The Diapason since 1967, died on May 9 at his home in Crystal Lake, Illinois. He was 61. Dr. Vos also was professor of music at DePaul University and served as organist for several area churches. He died of complications from liver disease; in 1991, he had undergone three liver transplants, the first two of which were rejected, and the third of which prolonged his life by 11 years.

Dr. Vos was born on November 16, 1940 in Sully, Iowa. His parents, William and Marjorie Vos, were farmers and workers in a window manufacturing plant in the small town of Pella, Iowa. Vos's grandmother was the one who insisted that he have piano lessons, and he was found to have a natural talent. By the time he was a teenager, he was giving piano lessons to other children in town and playing the organ for church services.

After graduating with a BA (double major, music and art) from Central College in Pella, he went on to receive master's and doctoral degrees in musicology from Washington University in St. Louis. His organ study had been with Laurence Grooters and Howard Kelsey, and summer study with Anton Heiller.

Wesley Vos began working for The Diapason in 1967 under editor Frank Cunkle, and he shared responsibilites for both the editorial and advertising departments. He also worked at the American College Bureau, then taught briefly at McHenry County College. In 1971, he was named associate dean for the school of music at DePaul University, where he had been teaching part-time. He served as academic advisor to the university's music students for about a decade, and then taught music history and theory for another 20 years. His area of expertise was early music, and he played the harpsichord in addition to the piano and organ.

Vos was a member of two local churches--the First Congregational Church of Crystal Lake and St. Paul United Church of Christ in Palatine. He held organist positions at First Unitarian Church, St. Louis; St. John's Episcopal Church, Franklin, Pennsylvania; Delmar Baptist Church, St. Louis; the Community Church of Barrington, Illinois; St. Mary's Church, Woodstock, Illinois; First United Methodist Church, Crystal Lake, Illinois; and most recently, St. Paul's United Church of Christ, Palatine, Illinois. He also had sung as a member of the professional choirs at the Church of Saints Michael & George, St. Louis, and the Church of the Ascension, Chicago. Vos performed with the Chicago Master Singers as well, taught private music lessons, and worked with many vocalists and instrumentalists as a coach-accompanist.

Wesley Vos is survived by his wife, Marie Ann Heiberg Vos, whom he married in 1968, and their two sons, Robert and Thomas; a son, Jaime Vos, from his first marriage, daughter-in-law Victoria Brasser-Vos, and two grandchildren, Parker and Anastasia Brasser-Vos; and  two siblings, Robert G. Vos of Seattle and Marla Hardin of Pella, Iowa.

A memorial service was held on May 18 at the First Congregational Church, Crystal Lake. [The organ at that church, by Buzard Organ Builders, was featured on the cover of the March, 1997 issue of The Diapason.] The Chicago Master Singers and the Vestry Choir of the First Congregational Church both sang during the service.

Memorial gifts in his name may be made to the Regional Organ Bank of Illinois (660 N. Industrial Dr., Elmhurst, IL 60126) or to the McHenry County Music Center (31 E. Crystal Lake Ave., Crystal Lake, IL 60014).

(See "In Memoriam" on page 2 of this issue.)

December 16, 1910-August 4, 2002

J. Bunker Clark is editor of Harmonie Park Press. He taught organ and theory at Stephens College (1957-59), was organist and choirmaster at Christ Church Cranbrook (1959-61), taught music history and harpsichord at the University of California, Santa Barbara (1964-65), and music history at the University of Kansas from 1965 until retiring in 1993.

William Osborne holds three degrees from the University of Michigan. He serves Denison University in Granville, Ohio as Distinguished Professor of Fine Arts, University Organist, and Director of Choral Organizations.

Haig Mardirosian is Associate Dean of Academic Affairs and Professor of Music at American University. He is also Organist and Choirmaster at the Church of the Ascension and Saint Agnes, Washington, DC, and a recitalist, recording artist, writer, and consultant on organ building.

Ronald E. Dean is on the faculty of Centenary College, Shreveport, Louisiana.

Robert Noehren died on August 4 in San Diego, California, at the age of 91. (See "Nunc Dimittis," The Diapason, September 2002, p. 8.) International recitalist, recording artist, author, scholar, professor and university organist at the University of Michigan, and organbuilder, Noehren enjoyed a long and remarkable career, and was clearly one of the major figures of our profession in the 20th century.

His many recordings and recitals evidenced a special kind of organ playing: the highest standards of musicianship, devoid of superficial excesses, quiet and controlled console manner; indeed, his technique seemed to become quieter and easier the more difficult and virtuosic the music became. He continued to practice the organ daily and record up until his death, carried on extensive correspondence, had plans for another commercial recording on his organ in Buffalo, was preparing a talk for the AIO convention this month, was working on a cookbook of his favorite recipes, and continued to enjoy music, art, fine wine, good food, and friends from all over the world.

Below follow tributes in Noehren's honor, by William Osborne, Bunker Clark, and Haig Mardirosian, and a review by Ronald Dean of Noehren's Bach CD which was released last year, in addition to a listing of his articles and news releases as featured in The Diapason. Requiescat in pace.

--Jerome Butera

Robert Noehren: A Remembrance

When Jerry Butera, Ron Dean and I shared a meal during the Organ Historical Society gathering in Chicago on the final day of June, we regaled ourselves with tales about and from the man who had had such a seminal influence on us and a host of others, assuming that he would endure virtually forever, little anticipating the shocking news of his sudden death only weeks later. He had suffered the loss of his devoted wife only months earlier, but on the evidence of telephone conversations had seemed quickly to reconcile himself to this new phase of his incredibly rich life, determined to get on with his latest passions, energetically practicing daily at age ninety-one on his electronic [sic!] house organ, wrestling with what he could possibly say to a conclave of pipe organ builders in Los Angeles during an upcoming invited lecture, listening intently to CDs drawn from his immense collection, having been recently attracted particularly to the playing of pianist Ivo ogorelich.

A consummate man of the organ, he was nonetheless not preoccupied with the instrument, always fascinated by a wide range of human understanding.  For example, when the Noehrens made the decision to relocate to suburban San Diego after a particularly harsh Ann Arbor winter, the significant tragedy of their transfer was a wayward moving van stranded in the desert heat of the Southwest, a delay that turned the man's substantial and valuable wine collection to vinegar. I suspect that in retrospect he might have preferred to express himself through a medium other than the organ, since he was constantly dissatisfied with so many examples of the instrument, especially his inability to make music on them to his satisfaction. In fact, he suggested that his students could learn more about elegant music-making by observing a fine singer, violinist or pianist, and, when time permitted, he practiced Chopin or Debussy at the piano, although never in public.

It seems a bit incredible that he retired from studio teaching at the University of Michigan more than four decades ago, and that at least a few of his students have preceded him in death. I, for one, found him a rather reluctant pedagogue. When provoked, he could be enormously enthusiastic and insightful, but one had to work to attract his attention. He loved to tell a story that he attributed to George Faxon, but which I suspect was meant to mirror his own predicament. Supposedly Faxon had in his Boston studio a very comfortable upholstered chair where he ensconced himself as he directed a student to play straight through a big Bach prelude and fugue. As the piece proceeded, he would brush the lint off his jacket, adjust his shoelaces, settle back, and gradually fall completely asleep. The student, having finished his performance, would turn expectantly, at which point Faxon would suddenly rouse himself and blurt out: "Bravo! Play it again!"

Robert Noehren also frustrated and even infuriated many in a profession rife with calcified credos by remaining in a constant condition of quest. I joked that it was impossible to ride a Noehren bandwagon because, as his would-be disciples were clambering on one side, he had already jumped off the other and moved on to some new position. Recall the man's seminal role in the organ Renaissance in this country. He was one of the first to study the classic European instruments to the extent that he was able to understand and explain what made the instruments of Schnitger and Cavaillé-Coll tick. Those of us privileged to experience his organ design course can vouch for that wisdom. It was also Robert Noehren who was crucial in bringing to this country in 1957 that groundbreaking von Beckerath instrument in Cleveland's Trinity Lutheran Church. I can remember driving from Ann Arbor to Cleveland in a snowstorm to experience the incredible revelations that it offered. So, how did a man devoted to the principles the Beckerath manifested become a builder of instruments based on direct electric action and incredible amounts of borrowing and duplexing? Hard to say, except to acknowledge that he later pretty much disavowed that facet of his career, although expressing annoyance over those attempts to redress some of the mechanical problems he bequeathed the instruments' owners. He did assert that his foray into organ building resulted from his failure to find an established builder who was willing put his ideals into practice. Recall also that the best of his instruments were and are ones of distinction, and that he was a pioneer in considering the possibility of computer-driven combination systems, even though the clunky, punchcard system that he and a Michigan Engineering colleague devised seems hopelessly antiquated now.

Even though he has left us physically, his legacy will surely survive in the form of his immense discography and the many provocative, sometimes quixotic writings published in this journal and elsewhere.

What will survive as well for those of us privileged to know him is the memory of a man with a generous sense of humor (I will never forget the look on his face when asked in a studio class by a pompous doctoral student how one properly mounts the bench); an immense, eclectic repertory (e. g., as I recall, virtually nobody on this side of the Atlantic was aware of Tournemire when Noehren began to champion the man); an intense musicality at his chosen instrument that nonetheless refused curtailment by any of the various performance "isms" by which the profession lives (Furthermore, I, as one who was privileged to assist him often, for example in the series of sixteen all-Bach programs he played in Hill Auditorium before such marathons became fashionable, was always amazed that, while he advocated marking scores extensively, he always seemed to play from pages untouched by a pencil.); an incredible range of experiences (e. g., as a young church organist in Buffalo being asked to play the two existing Hindemith sonatas for their composer, thereby indirectly provoking the writing of the last of the trilogy); a man of immense principle who retired from active teaching prematurely when confronted with a Michigan dean who asked him to create the country's largest organ department (he seems to have been prescient enough to have anticipated the future state of the profession and thus suggested as an alternative the country's finest, albeit compact organ program); and, last, but hardly least, the sense that organists are all too often insular in their perspective, encouraging all with whom he was associated to seek out and embrace the full  range of human experience.

RN, we will miss you.

--William Osborne

From his editor

"Gee, it's hard to play the organ, isn't it?"--cliché by Robert Noehren after hearing a student trying to play a difficult piece.

"Gee, it's hard to produce a book about the organ"--my cry in the process of working with Bob on An Organist's Reader.

Bob had been talking about doing a book for some years, but I'm proud of persuading him to begin in earnest in 1995. He sent a box two years later, and after two more years of phone calls and letters concerning the details, the box was sent to Harmonie Park Press in February 1997, and the result appeared in November 1999.

I'd known Bob since going to Ann Arbor in 1950, but after my piano days unfortunately never took organ with him. Nonetheless, I was lucky to audit several of his classes on the history of the organ--which, in retrospect, helped considerably in checking details of historic instruments. Even then, it was embarrassing to both of us to have a good friend point out the omission of thirteen pedal stops from the 1576 organ of  the Georgenkirche, Eisenach. (Harmonie Park Press has an errata slip, or get it at .) But this omission had not been discovered when that article had previously been published in the Riemenschneider Bach Institute's Bach no fewer than three times, 1975, 1985, and 1995! It's only logical that an organ associated with Bach would have more than two pedal registers, no?

He correctly defended Grobgedackt, against my proposal of Großgedackt. As for another detail, does one use the modern German "K" for Katharinenkirche, or the original spelling Catharinenkirche, Hamburg? (we used the latter). Lüdingworth has an umlaut; otherwise it would seem to be a village in England. So does the composer Jean-Jacques Grünenwald, even though he was French. The foregoing represents a survey of some 54 pages of letters on my computer, which also has comments on a trip to Italy; Eloise's new hip, fall 1997; and his bout with cancer, early 2000.

I had attended many of his Ann Arbor recitals, and have seen the two-story end of the Noehren living room in Ann Arbor which housed his Hausorgel. But Lyn and I really got to know Bob much better when he taught at the University of Kansas, fall 1975; we had Thanksgiving and several other similar occasions together. What a wonderful human being! I already miss our more recent phone chats, in which he described his interest in a proper diet (indeed, published as an article in these pages last year), in our mutual enjoyment of a pre-dinner drink, his interest in audio equipment and recent recordings (usually not of organ music), and in a joke. And I miss his Christmas cards (the design of one is on the cover of his book).

Bob Noehren was very modest--but a hard worker when preparing a recital. He was not vain, but I'm certain he was very proud of the discography and recitals (a representation of programs appears in his book). Above all, in spite of and perhaps due to, his quiet and unassuming manner, his playing never highlighted the performer, but always the music, as if to say "I've studied this piece hard, and here is what I found out."

--J. Bunker Clark

Letters from Noehren

I never met Robert Noehren, yet I am humbled to be able to call him a friend. In the last three years of his life, Noehren and I had corresponded regularly through a series of letters, a thread of correspondence initiated somewhat coincidently.

In my academic administrative capacity, I was at work during 1997 with a project team charged with drafting a self-study report to my university's regional accrediting agency. Our member from the university's publications office, Trudi Rishikoff, saw to the style and editing of the finished document. At some stage of the process, Trudi mentioned that she had learned that I was an organist. Did I know her Uncle Bob?

Uncle Bob, it turned out, was Robert Noehren. With what must have been obvious mirth at this serendipitous news, I told Trudi of my high esteem for Noehren, the thrill of having played a recital on one of his instruments, the honor of having reviewed several of his recordings for both The American Organist and Fanfare, but even more, of the inspiration that I had derived from listening to him perform, both on disc and live, early in my career. I asked Trudi to convey those sentiments and my kindest respects to her uncle.

About the same time, my editors forwarded for review a CD comprising reissues of various Lyrichord recordings by Robert Noehren. These amounted to seminal performances on several of his instruments (as well as others) and an assortment of repertoire attesting to the performer's all-embracing musical interests. The disc merited its title, "A Robert Noehren Retrospective."

Months later, a long letter arrived from Robert Noehren, the first of many in which we discussed issues of mutual interest--musicians, repertoire, organs. Noehren's beautifully composed and printed texts (for openers, I marveled at the deliberate care in writing these and his obvious fluency at computing, something quite remarkable for a man about to turn 90). The composition and printing mirrored what one heard in his meticulous musicianship and performance. His critical but calculated opinions about music matched his gifted and insightful interpretation of music. His thoughts about the music and musicians of his early years in particular bespoke his own deference to tradition, origins, and lineage in composition, organ building, and pedagogy. In sum, these letters represented valedictory notes to a new friend, but they were frank, surprisingly modest, and very generous in tone and spirit. Noehren, it turned out, had wanted to contact me for some time and he had done his research too. He had gone out and found recordings by his correspondent and he had closely read any number of reviews of books and recordings. He was sizing me up!

I had just released a recording of the Suite for Organ, by Paul de Maleingreau. I had not known that Noehren regularly played the toccata from it back in the 1930s. He clearly missed the piece adding that " . . . since it is no longer in my head I am glad to be able to hear it again . . ." Of our mutual interest in Maleingreau, he observed that "it [the toccata] is such a fine work and no one else seems to be interested in Maleingreau." A second little coincidence had sealed a friendship. With that our correspondence grew more personal as well with talk about his wife Eloise, and illness, and aging. He was very sympathetic and supportive at my family's story of senior care, and the intellectual and physical changes brought on with age.

A major part of our conversations concerned organs. For two years, Noehren and I exchanged many words on organ design, organ building, and organ builders. I had made the analytical (but not malicious!) observation in my review of his Lyrichord recording that certain of the organs he built were idiosyncratic. My observation was based on experience. I had played a recital at St. John's Cathedral in Milwaukee where, in preparation, I had spent hours punching out registrations manually on the IBM data cards that comprised the combination action's memory. I had also remarked on the various subunison registers that played only to tenor C. Noehren graciously observed that "It was right for you to comment on the design of my organ in Milwaukee." He continued with a treatise on the economics of organ building, tight budgets, and resource maximization. It may have been a musician/instrument builder speaking, but it was also the voice of someone who had taught at a university and worked for the church!

Noehren tempered economic exigency with art. "I designed the organ [at St. John's Cathedral] always thinking how it was to be used musically." Saving the cost of the bottom twelve pipes of the Great 16¢ Principal on that 1965 organ allowed Noehren to add a string and some mutations to the specification. "If . . . you look at the music of Vierne, you will often see that the Gambe on the Great Organ is required in many pieces. . . . Look at most American organs. There is rarely a string on either the Great or Positiv (or Choir) organs. Indeed, there is usually an Unda Maris set. To be sure, a beautiful sound, but not very useful in much serious organ music." He questioned both his own tonal choices and those advocated by others. Robert Noehren had taken this critic earnestly, drew no offense from the opinions in print, and used the opportunity to engage in a dialog on the merits of respective tonal choices.

I later asked Noehren about Paul Hindemith, adding that my own conception of the organ sonatas was formed mainly through Noehren's recording of them. That prompted a meticulous response concerning Noehren's association with the composer. He outlined meeting Hindemith in Buffalo, where the composer lived after arriving in the United States before going to teach at Yale University, and where the organist played at a small Episcopal parish. Because Hindemith would sometimes visit the church, Noehren eventually got to know the composer well. They spent many hours together discussing interpretation and registration of the then only two sonatas, for Hindemith had just begun composing the third.

I had commented about the respective merits of romantic, colorist and dryer, abstract interpretations of the sonatas. In fact, I told Noehren that I had rebelled against my own teacher's insistence on an orchestral approach to these scores. That rebellion led to my  willful imitation of Noehren's old LP recording. He replied, "Like your teacher, I had been playing them in a rather romantic way, and I have to thank Hindemith for helping me with my musicianship during those early days. I still remember how dissatisfied he was with my performance of the last movement of the first sonata."

Noehren also voiced curiosity about instruments on which I had recorded and consulted. I had asked him about a couple of stoplists on which I was working and received immediate, candid, and helpful responses. At the time, the new organ at my own parish, the Church of the Ascension and Saint Agnes in Washington, was under construction by Orgues Létourneau. I had confided in Noehren that our hope was for an instrument reflecting English tonal heritage and had sent him specs and scalings. In the end, when I sent him a recording of one of the opening concerts, his approval overjoyed me.

What was most remarkable about Robert Noehren in his last few years was the zeal with which he still played the organ on a daily basis. He had been hard at work revisiting the Orgelbüchlein, a book he felt "appropriate at my stage of life." He had just been diagnosed with serious illness and seemed to find particular comfort in the brief movements. But, he acknowledged their musical difficulties. "I might feel a bit safer in the great G-minor fugue than in the prelude on 'Heut triumphieret Gottes Sohn' with that wicked pedal passage at the end!"

While he missed access to a good pipe organ near his home in San Diego, he did own a custom electronic organ, and his curiosity and aptitude with technology had led him to electronically revoice that instrument and add several MIDI sound modules to it. This fulfilled both his need to play on a daily basis and his ongoing instinct to build "better" organs. He was carefully apologetic, but not defensive about this instrument. "I fear that you might be one who believes we have been poisoned by the advent of the electronic organ!" But, he added, that this instrument "assuages some of my frustrations." As proof--extraordinary proof--he enclosed a cassette recording of some Bach, Karg-Elert, and the Roger-Ducasse Pastorale as recorded on his house organ. Of the dazzling and poetic performance of the latter piece, made when Noehren was in his late 80s, he commented, "it is perhaps the most difficult work I have ever encountered, and it has been a constant challenge. It is technically difficult and choosing and executing the registration is no easy task." Of the thousands of organ recordings in my collection, this one, performed by an octogenarian on an electronic organ in his living room and recorded on his little cassette machine, is the most prized.

Robert Noehren had also published a book of memoirs that I had reviewed, and some of the letters to me may have well been an elaboration or gloss on the book. At one point, Noehren sent a long list of all his teachers--piano, organ, theory, composition. This early 20th century Who's Who of our profession contained several names that interested me greatly.

One of these was Charles Courboin for, as a boy, I would sit in the choir loft at St. Patrick's Cathedral and watch Dr. Courboin play for the 11:30 "organ mass." In those pre-Vatican II years, the Cathedral maintained the tradition of a low mass (rendered mostly silently by the priest at the east end) accompanied by organ music (rendered not at all silently by the virtuoso at the west end). I would, on my own, take the bus and the subway and travel down to 5th Avenue on Sunday mornings in order to hear the Solemn Mass at 10 o'clock. I would always remain for Courboin's organ mass at 11:30. It was a splendid dessert to the sung mass. Courboin would graciously welcome me to the gallery and even ask me what I would like to hear. Courboin's phenomenal memory was legendary and I don't ever recall naming a piece of repertoire that he could not simply rattle off.

One of the reasons that Courboin fascinated us both was his atypical profile for an organist. He loved fast cars and boats. He was dashing and, in Noehren's terms, "could have been mistaken for a government ambassador." While a student at the Curtis Institute during the early 1930s, Noehren had coached with Courboin. One morning, Noehren and his friend Bob Cato, Lynnwood Farnam's favorite student, were walking downtown. They ran into Courboin. "He behaved at once as if we were his best friends and suggested we all have lunch at Wanamaker's. It was then about 11:00 o'clock, and he invited us to meet him at noon at the front of the store. When we finally entered the dining room it became apparent that the luncheon had turned into a big party in a private room with at least 15 people. All I can remember of the food is that for dessert there was a great flourish as the party was presented with a huge baked Alaska prepared for the occasion."

Robert Noehren also recalled his meetings with Fernando Germani (with whom he became friends and who introduced him to Italian food and garlic), André Marchal (who influenced him musically but was "distracted by the ladies," such that, in a meeting along with Marilyn Mason, Marchal paid no attention to Noehren), Gaston Dethier (who had the most formidable technique of anyone and whose pedaling was "really phenomenal" although he eventually no longer took the organ seriously), and Lynnwood Farnam (whose playing "simply put everyone I had ever heard in the shade"). These reflections were all the more vivid as several of these legendary performers were still active in my own youth. As Noehren put it about our swapped recollections, "what a difference a generation makes!"

How does one summarize the enormous range and analytical insights of Robert Noehren? It is difficult task to be certain. His musical life spanned East Coast and West, with a long stop in between. He could be, at once, a Classicist and a Romantic. He studied old music and old organs, built modern instruments capable of playing the old, and championed scores by composers of his own day. He was the recitalist who built instruments to overcome the defects he perceived in the instruments upon which he had to play. He studied with the legends of his youth and passed that tradition on to generations of fortunate students in one of the country's most important universities. He agglomerated seemingly far-flung and inconsistent concepts, all the while making sense of their synthesis. His world was expansive and never shrank, for his all-embracing curiosity disclosed an adroit mind that slowed little even in its ninth decade. Robert Noehren zealously coveted the truth--truth as discovered, revealed, debated, or developed in theory and creativity. He grappled with and reconciled art and technology decades before such would become commonplace. He generously communicated his remarkable journey to a large audience in his writing and teaching, and even to a grateful correspondent late in his days.

Can all of this, then, amount to anything less than the absolute and comprehensive definition of professional and personal intellect, art, and, above all, integrity? I would argue not. Integrity, furthermore, takes courage, the courage to pursue truth and to assert the convictions to which one's work leads. As such, Robert Noehren was nothing less than a genuine hero. I thank God for having had a moment to know him. Requiescat in pace.

--Haig Mardirosian

Robert Noehren bibliography in The Diapason

Robert Noehren is organist and choirmaster of St. John's Church, Buffalo. November 1940, p. 22.

Robert Noehren takes up new work in Grand Rapids. September 1942, p. 3.

"Organ Building an Art Not to be Limited by Definite Styles." February 1944, p. 12.

Robert Noehren leaves Grand Rapids for war duty. March 1944, p. 23.

Famed Dutch Organ Used in Broadcast by Robert Noehren. November 1948, p. 2.

"Poitiers Cathedral Has Famous Cliquot Organ Built in 1791." June 1949, pp. 28-29.

Noehren appointed to post in Ann Arbor. September 1949, p. 4.

"Historic Schnitger Organs Are Visited; 1949 Summer Study." December 1949, p. 10; January 1950, p. 10.

Bach recitals by Noehren in Ann Arbor and Buffalo. June 1950, p. 40.

"Famous Old Organs in Holland Disprove Popular Fallacies." March 1951, pp. 8-9.

"Organ Cases Objects of Beauty in Past and Return Is Advocated." June 1951, pp. 14-15.

Michigan "U" course reorganized to make all-around organist. November 1951, p. 38.

"Schnitger Organs That Still Survive Teach New Lessons." December 1951, p. 24.

Robert Noehren on fourth tour of recitals in Europe. September 1953, p. 17.

Robert Noehren is winner of prize for his recording. November 1953, p. 1.

Robert Noehren to play in Duesseldorf. June 1954, p. 1.

"Commends Opinions of Dr. Schweitzer to Organ Designers." February 1954, p. 22.

Robert Noehren is awarded doctorate. June 1957, p. 1.

"How do you rate? Test yourself on this final exam." July 1959, p. 16.

"Music Dictates Good 2-Manual Organ Design." September 1960, pp. 12-13.

Robert Noehren . . . Northwest regional convention. April 1961, p. 16.

Noehren to act as judge at Haarlem Competition. December 1962, p. 3

"The Relation of Organ Design to Organ Playing." December 1962, pp. 8, 42-43; January 1963, pp. 8, 36-37.

Robert Noehren to give dedicatory recital on the Schlicker organ at Southern Baptist Theological Seminary. March 1963, p. 24.

"The Organ and Acoustics." March 1964, pp. 26-27.

"Architectural Acoustics as related to Church Music." November 1964, pp. 40-41.

"Taste, Technique and Tone." April 1965, p. 49.

"Schnitger, Cliquot and Cavaillé-Coll: Three Great Traditions and their Meaning to Contemporary Organ Playing." November 1966, pp. 40-41; December 1966, p. 28; January 1967, pp. 48-49; February 1967, pp. 44-45.

Robert Noehren appointed Rose Morgan Professor of Organ for the fall semester of 1975 at The University of of Kansas. September 1975, p. 18.

Robert Noehren, professor of organ at the University of Michigan, retired in January 1976. June 1976, p. 2.

Robert Noehren named professor emeritus. January 1977, p. 5.

Robert Noehren elected Performer of the Year by New York City AGO. May 1978, p. 19.

"Squire Haskin--a tribute." February 1986, p. 2.

"The discography repertoire of Robert Noehren." March 1990, pp. 12-13.

"Robert Noehren at 80: A Tribute." December 1990, pp. 12-14.

"Organ Design Based on Registration." December 1991, pp. 10-11.

"A Reply to the Tale of Mr. Willis." January 1997, p. 2.

Robert Noehren celebrates his 90th birthday. December 2000, p. 3.

"Enjoying Life at 90." September 2001, pp. 15-17.

"Reflections on Life as an Organist." December 2001, pp. 17-20.

Johann Sebastian Bach: Organ Works. Robert Noehren, Organist. Previous unreleased recordings from 1980 issued in celebration of Robert Noehren's ninetieth birthday. Noehren organs of The Cathedral of Saint John the Evangelist, Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and The First Presbyterian Church, Buffalo, New York. Fleur de Lis FL 0101-2. Available from The Organ Historical Society, P.O. Box 26811, Richmond, VA 23261; 804/353-9226; $14.98 plus shipping;

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Program: Fantasia and Fugue in G Minor, BWV 542; Wenn wir in höchsten Nöthen sein, BWV 668; Wo soll ich fliehen hin, BWV 646; Partita: O Gott, du frommer Gott, BWV 767; Partita: Sei gegrüsset, Jesu gütig, BWV 768; Fugue in G Major ("Gigue"), BWV 577; Prelude and Fugue in D Minor ("Violin"), BWV 539; Prelude and Fugue in A Minor, BWV 543.

This new issue, like the previous Robert Noehren Retrospective produced by Lyrichord (see this journal, December, 1999, p. 11), is the result of expert remastering by Hal Chaney of analog recordings done on tape many years ago. As in the CD mentioned above, this issue features organs designed and built by Robert Noehren.

For those who are familiar with Noehren's tasteful and flexible organ playing, this issue should come as a welcome addition to his already considerable discography. Noehren was never one to endorse or follow "trendy" or merely currently fashionable playing ideas; instead, he always makes the music come alive through thoughtful application of scholarship and study of the scores to determine both just the right tempos and appropriate registrations for convincing musical communication. These features are in abundance on this new issue.

Another important facet contributing to the pleasure of this CD is the fact that the same person is both the artist and the organ builder. His clearly articulated philosophy of organ tone (see An Organist's Reader, reviewed in this journal, September, 2000, p. 10) is demonstrated here all the way from gutsy and brilliant (but never strident) principal and reed choruses to subtle smaller ensembles and solo combinations appropriate to the musical requirements. One can imagine that Noehren was able to bring forth the very sounds that were in his "mind's ear" by performing on these two rather large instruments of his own design.

All the pieces except for the two chorale partitas are performed on the 1966 organ in the Cathedral of Saint John the Evangelist in Milwaukee, while the partitas show off the varied smaller ensembles and solo combinations of the instrument in The First Presbyterian Church, Buffalo, built in 1970. Both instruments are of similar size, with the Buffalo instrument (somewhat larger) notable by its frequently pictured hanging Positiv division.

Seasoned players and students alike will be inspired by the apparently effortless execution of the more demanding works and should take note of the way Noehren uses subtle rubato to point up the structure of the various forms. His elegant approach to trills and other ornaments reveal that the artist regards these items as integral parts of musical expression and not simply as whimsical and mechanical additions to the musical line.

Blessed with both an astounding playing technique and impeccable musical taste, Robert Noehren's playing as revealed on this CD should bring feelings of recognition to those who have head him in past years and should also serve as a revelation to the younger generation. Highly recommended.

--Ronald E. Dean

Centenary College

Shreveport, Louisiana

On April 17th, 1999, a large group gathered in Boston's Trinity Church in Copley Square for a memorial service celebrating the life and accomplishments of Lawrence I. Phelps, the distinguished American organbuilder who died on February 22nd of this year. Present there were family, friends, professional colleagues, and organists who came to stand with Larry's widow, Gillian Weir, to honor the work and influence of this special man.

Lawrence Phelps began his musical life especially interested in conducting and studied at the New England Conservatory. Charmed by the wonder of the pipe organ after he left that institution, he apprenticed under G. Donald Harrison and worked later with Walter Holtkamp, Sr., before establishing his own career. He was responsible for the design and execution of the Æolian-Skinner organ at the Mother Church Extension (the First Church of Christ, Scientist, in Boston); the artistic direction and later presidency of Casavant Frères; and ultimately the establishment of his own firm, Lawrence Phelps and Associates in Erie. Following the close of that firm, he accepted a position with the Allen Company, where his long interest in digital tone production stood him in good stead in the design of custom non-pipe instruments. Following his retirement from Allen, he returned to Boston to superintend the refurbishment of the Mother Church organ.

But it was with the traditional pipe organ that Phelps' greatest musical interest lay, and where his voice was heard most influentially. He was a champion of the highest order of organbuilding technique, and sought in his own especial way to conceive, design and have built organs which were timeless in their musical personalities and capable of playing a large body of the literature with both stylistic authenticity and musical grace. To that end, he developed a firm belief that mechanical action, enhanced by modern registrational aids, was the way to best achieve his goals, and his later organs reflected that belief. He surrounded himself with a staff who shared his vision, offered both unstinting support and honest criticism. Together they forged a path which produced instruments which were neither slavish copies of what had gone before, nor were so avant-garde as to be unapproachable by their players. While he was a stickler for the finest details of mechanical and tonal work, he maintained always that these techniques were but a means to one end--the making of music of the highest order. "We are NOT in the organ business," he would say, "we are in the Music Business. We just happen to make organs." Equally firm was his belief that the excellence of an organ was a partnership between builder and client and room. Again one of his great maxims was "You cannot BUY a good organ. It is a prize you win for making all the right decisions!"

The memorial service began with a short recital of works by Mendelssohn, Elgar, J.S. Bach, and Frank Bridges' "E Major Adagio," eloquently played by Edwin Starner, the organist of the Mother Church in Boston. The officiant, The Reverend Ann W. Stevenson, set the tone of triumph in her moving reading of collects and Gospel; and Gillian Weir read a Lesson from Philippians with that same moving elegance which typifies her playing. Mr. Starner read passages which speak to the divinity of music from the writings of Mary Baker Eddy, founder of the Church which was Lawrence Phelps' denominational affiliation.

The choir of Trinity Church was heard in a number of works which were all of the genre dear to Larry: the Bach "Liebster Jesu" as Introit; Brahms' "How Lovely" from the Deutsches Requiem; Mozart's "Laudate Dominum" from the Solemn Vespers K.339; and Wesley's "Thou wilt keep Him in perfect peace" as anthems; and in final farewell the ethereal "In Paradisum" from the Fauré Requiem. This was fine singing, most splendidly led by choirmaster Brian Jones and sensitively accompanied by his associate H. Ross Wood.

Anthony Rollett, a former member of the Phelps staff at Erie, read tributes and reminiscences from Larry's old associates; and Larry's nephew Wayne Braverman painted an enthusiastic picture of a loving and caring family member who brought both joy and pride to his parents, siblings, and relatives; as well as honor and devotion to his wife which was equaled only by his honor and devotion to their common Muse.

Three congregational hymns--"When in our music God is glorified" (from the Episcopal Hymnal), "Happy the man" (A Christian Science Hymn), and "Angel voices ever singing" (Hymns Ancient and Modern Revised)--were joyously sung by those gathered, with the choir and organ rising to lofty heights in the "Angel voices." The service closed with the playing of Bach's 'St. Anne' Prelude by James David Christie.

For me, in addition to the privilege of joining in the tribute to this my singular teacher and friend, there was the rare joy of being close, even for a brief time, to our dear friend Gillian Weir, whose charm and good humor had so often enraptured us at Lawrence Phelps and Associates in those times when her busy schedule permitted her to 'come home' and relax amidst us. But equally, it was the gathering in those pews, after nearly twenty years, of the principals of Larry's firm in Erie--Claudette (nee) Bedard, his secretary; Clive Webster, his technical director; David Young, his assistant and voicing partner; Anthony Rollett and Burton Tidwell, who both had come to learn from Larry and who contributed so much in return; and myself, his general manager and later draughtsman--which added a significance and a closure to the era which to us Larry's life and time represent. We are a scattered lot, having gone our separate ways and to our various callings; but each carrying along the remarkable influence, loving support, and demanding expectations which we received from 'our boss' and our friend!

I would close by quoting a verse from "Angel voices" written by F. Pott, which we sang to E.G. Monk's memorable tune:

Yea, we know that thou rejoicest

O'er each work of thine;

Thou didst ears and hands and voices

For thy praise design.

Craftsman's art and music's measure

For thy pleasure

All combine.

Walter Holtkamp, Jr., quietly said to me at the reception following the service: "Larry was quite a fellow." I cannot improve on that.

January 18, 1914-September 19, 2003

Catharine Crozier died on September 19, 2003, in Portland, Oregon, at the age of 89. A complete obituary appears in the November issue of The Diapason ("Nunc Dimittis," page 10). The following tributes are presented In Memoriam.

Catharine Crozier--Paragon of our profession

A fond remembrance by Thomas Harmon

Long before I saw her or heard her play, I heard the name Catharine Crozier spoken with reverence by my boyhood organ teachers. It was not until my undergraduate years at Washington University in the late 1950s that the long awaited opportunity presented itself when she came to St. Louis to play on the university's recital series in Graham Chapel. I shall never forget seeing her walk gracefully in her stunning floor length gown to the console, front and center on the chapel dais. A radiant smile on her face, she was truly a vision of elegance and beauty as she ascended to the bench, parting the skirt of her custom-made gown and draping it in a regal train over the back of the bench. Even before she raised her hands to sound the first notes, she had me mesmerized. I was in the presence of royalty, and, as the recital unfolded from memory, piece by piece, so perfectly juxtaposed, meticulously registered, beautifully articulated and flawlessly played, I knew that I was experiencing greatness. Little did I know, when I stepped up in awe to meet her and gush my admiration following the recital, that someday she and her renowned spouse Harold Gleason would become dear personal friends during their California years.

Many times over the next four decades I was treated to a Crozier recital, and my experience was always the same--programming that was on the cutting edge in exploring both early and new music, remarkable stylistic versatility that was always historically informed and up-to-date throughout her long recital and teaching career, meticulous registration with appropriately applied artistic restraint and impeccable technique. My first opportunity to hear Catharine after that unforgettable recital in Graham Chapel came more than a decade later, after she and Harold had moved to California and I had assumed the post of university organist at UCLA. One of my first actions in that post was to oversee restoration of the 4-manual, 80-rank Skinner organ in Royce Hall, designed by Harold in consultation with G. Donald Harrison. Harrison did the tonal finishing, and Gleason played the inaugural recital in September, 1930. Thus, I had many reasons for inviting Catharine to play at Royce Hall in January, 1972. My wife and I invited Catharine and Harold to be our houseguests during her recital visit, and we spent a memorable time together getting to know each other. They kept us laughing with their favorite form of humor, limericks, at which they were both virtuosi. Harold contributed greatly to my file on the Royce Hall organ with colorful stories of his California days and his interaction with UCLA, E. M. Skinner and G. Donald Harrison. (I was later to capture this on tape in an oral history interview that I did with him in another of the Gleasons' visits with us in 1978.) Catharine enjoyed our new Hradetzky house organ and revealed her ingratiating personality and clever wit, complemented by her delightful chuckle, as well as her appreciation of fine food and an occasional glass of sherry before dinner. Her Royce Hall recital was, of course, a triumph and a special moment for Harold to whom we paid tribute as the designer of the organ.

Sue and I later enjoyed being the Gleasons' guests in Rancho Bernardo, near San Diego, and later in their second California home in Claremont. Despite their success and fame, they lived a disciplined, unpretentious life, committed to artistic and scholarly excellence. It was in their Rancho Bernardo home that I saw and heard for the first time Catharine's harpsichord and cherished house organ by Laukhuff, with its 2-manual, custom-built Aeolian-Skinner console, on which she did much of her practicing and memorization throughout her career. The organ was designed to fit comfortably in a normal 8-foot ceiling height and to be easily movable, quite fortunately, since I believe it was purchased in their Eastman days, subsequently moved with them to Rollins College in Florida, then to four different locations in southern California and finally to Portland.

The year 1980 marked the 50th anniversary of UCLA's Royce Hall organ, and I invited Catharine to re-create Harold's 1930 dedication program, an invitation that she was pleased to accept. By this time we had become dear friends, and I revelled in hearing stories about Catharine's then forty years as a major recitalist. We discovered that we had a mutual love of trains, and she told enthusiastically of her train adventures all over the country as well as her spirit of adventure in exploring, usually on foot, each new town or city in which she performed. Catharine's recital at Royce Hall on June 6, 1980, was a very special event, indeed, and in retrospect was given further poignance and meaning by the fact that Harold Gleason passed away just three weeks later. Harold's funeral in the Claremont church that the Gleasons had attended offered yet another example of Catharine's very special qualities as a human being. Her presence that day was a role model of  deep spiritual faith, personal strength and acceptance, and her decision on the music for the service was communicated by the simple printed statement that the organ would be silent this day in respect for the loss of Dr. Gleason.

Another memorable recital occurred sometime in the early 1980s, when she performed Ned Rorem's complete Quaker Reader at Whittier College Chapel, including narration by Hollywood actor Peter Mark Richman.  Rorem, a great admirer of Catharine who was a champion of his and many other composers' new music, was present. If I had to rank them, I would say that the greatest Crozier performance that I have ever heard, perhaps the greatest organ recital that I have ever experienced, was her program for the 1987 Far West Regional Convention of the AGO in San Diego. Flawlessly performed by memory on the First Presbyterian Church's superb 4-manual Casavant organ were three 20th-century works: Ned Rorem's Views from the Oldest House, Norberto Guinaldo's Lauda Sion Salvatorem, and Leo Sowerby's Symphony in G Major (a Crozier signature piece throughout her long career). Following her performance, I told Catharine that I had never heard her play with such flair and depth of expression, and in an example of her keen wit, she replied that she was just now beginning to feel in control of the instrument. A day or so after the recital, dear Catharine accepted my invitation to have lunch with me and take a cruise aboard my boat at the harbor in Oceanside, and I shall always remember her boarding the boat like a seasoned yachtsman and her delight in the sea world around us. She loved adventure.

When I made my decision in 1983 to step down from my position as organist at the First United Methodist Church in Santa Monica to take on the job of Chair of the UCLA Music Department, I approached Catharine, who had moved to Whittier after Harold's death, about the possibility of her serving as interim organist at the church while a search was conducted for my successor. She indicated that she might like to do this, and the end result was her decision sometime later to accept the church's hopeful invitation to stay on as the regular organist. Fortunately, she accepted, moved to the Santa Monica area and delighted the congregation with her marvelous service playing for the next nine years. I was on hand to pinch hit for her when she was away playing recitals, but she proved to be dedicated to the position and seemed to thoroughly enjoy being back on the bench playing services regularly. The choir adored her (everyone did!) and many stayed in touch with her as personal friends after she moved to Portland in 1992. At that time, I had just stepped down from the chairmanship at UCLA and accepted the church's invitation to return for what turned out to be another nine years. While she was there, Catharine had overseen the installation of new swell reeds and a new great mixture, making the organ better than ever. Typical of her exemplary pedagogical approach to playing the organ, the organ copies of the hymnal and anthems were lightly marked in pencil with her fingerings, pedallings, registration and manual changes. I learned a lot from them and respectfully left the markings for my successors.

Late memories: her stunning 80th birthday recital at the Crystal Cathedral (how could anyone but Crozier play such a huge organ with such grace and control at the age of 80?); her 85th birthday recital at the First Congregational Church on the world's largest church organ (by this time she was handicapped by the loss of vision in one eye, but she had no trouble finding her way around the maze of that immense console and tossing off the Liszt BACH as though it were easy); and, finally, her "Life Experiences" presentation at the 2001 Northwest Regional Convention of the AGO in Eugene. I noted that she had grown quite frail, as John Strege and I called for her at her hotel room to escort her to the venue for her presentation, but her radiant smile and warm greeting were not frail. Her presentation was deeply moving to me and, I am sure, to everyone present. It was the last time I saw Catharine in person, although we spoke on the phone periodically after that. I shall miss her presence and her friendship but will be nurtured for the rest of my life by happy memories and her supreme example of excellence.         

A tribute to Catharine Crozier Gleason

by Karen McFarlane

To read Catharine Crozier's recital reviews is to realize what a superb artist we have lost. "Catharine Crozier . . . may be an honored veteran among organ players . . . but she can still run rings around much of her younger competition, not only in interpretive style but in sheer technique as well." (New York Times) "At home in any style, the versatile performer captured the excitement of an accelerating fugue by Schumann, tossed off a Hindemith sonata with neat non-sentimentality and made sparks fly in a fiery virtuoso finale by . . . Milos Sokola." (The Plain Dealer) " . . . she always got to the heart of the music." (Los Angeles Times) Through the observations of music critics, we have a picture of some of the recitals she played.

Those who were in her audiences during the course of her 62-year career saw a slender, elegant woman walk "onstage" and instantly communicate a commanding presence. By her demeanor, one knew even before a note was heard, that she was an authority; as she played, the depth and range of her artistry simply confirmed it. Her discipline, her attention to detail and her high intelligence were all part of a persona "programmed" for a successful life and career as performer and teacher. In thinking over the 38 years I knew Catharine, several adjectives come to mind: elegant, shy, witty, hard-working, thoughtful, warm and yet also reserved. She was comfortable with solitude. One did not "buddy up" with Catharine Crozier, yet she had close friendships in her life which she greatly prized.

I have clear memories of Catharine. First meeting her in 1965 during a sweltering summer in New York City, I was struck by how cool and unruffled she was by the heat, how as she taught students whose fingers were nearly sliding off the keys, she seemed unaffected by a similar human malady! In my mid-twenties I had the good fortune to share some delicious and entertaining meals with Catharine, her husband Harold Gleason, and Fred Swann, three people who from my perspective were on towering pedestals. It was the first time I realized that the finest artists tend to also be marvelous people, a truism I have been interested to observe ever since. Although I remained in a certain awe of Catharine all the years I knew her, I came to see her as a human being rather than as someone out of reach.

At the opening of the Tully Hall organ, where she shared the program with E. Power Biggs and Thomas Schippers, I was thrilled by Catharine's performance of the Barber Toccata Festiva, from the moment she walked onstage till the moment she left it. I remember being riveted by her performance at The Riverside Church of "Mary Dyer did hang as a flag" (Ned Rorem's Quaker Reader), as she fiercely portrayed that condemned woman's death. Then, on her 80th birthday she played a dazzling recital (all from memory except for one piece) at the Crystal Cathedral, closing with the Widor "Toccata" as her smashing encore. Considering that she had awakened the morning of the previous day in a swaying 20th-floor hotel room during the 1994 Los Angeles earthquake, her performance was remarkable for its calm ease. She was always so well prepared and confident, that even an earthquake could not shake her performance.

One of my fondest memories is of the time Catharine, my husband Chick Holtkamp and I vacationed at Mohonk Mountain House. She would invite us to her room for sherry in the late afternoon and, beautifully attired, she would join us for dinner. Though she declined to go on strenuous hikes with us or swim in the lake, she treated us to a staid carriage ride, which was pleasantly old-world in its flavor. Her innate sense of formality in such a setting was utterly charming; she had a talent for quiet enjoyment in any place she inhabited.

I recall watching her teach a master class at Eastman during her late 80s, with her mind untouched by age in any negative way, her warmth toward the students genuine, her knowledge of the music complete. She was a total professional to the end of her life. I recall the time when I was astounded at hearing her play a certain wedding processional. When I expressed my amazement that "I never thought I would see the day when Catharine Crozier would play the Wedding March," she in turn surprised me by her retort, "It comes with the job!"

The last ten years of Catharine's life were among her happiest, mainly due to her appointment as Artist-in-Residence at Trinity Cathedral, Portland, Oregon. The high musical standards of Canon John Strege and his superb choir met her own on a happy level. I flew out to Portland on four occasions during her final decade, always dining with her in good restaurants (she had a fine time "researching" restaurants before choosing which ones we would go to) and of course going to church with her. Each time we would attend a service at Trinity Cathedral, she would lean over and quietly say "I just love it here!" The last time I heard her there in recital was the first day of April, 2001. She was, as ever, splendid.

In addition to Catharine Crozier's grace and intelligence, she was possessed of an optimistic nature. She was not immune to sadness, but she had that sturdy Oklahoma constitution that just goes forward in the face of any adversity. Even when she lost one eye in the last years of her life, she said "Well, I just go on." Indeed, after the loss of that eye, she played her 85th birthday recital at First Congregational Church, Los Angeles, to a packed church of admirers. Catharine had a funny story to relate about the eye trouble that caused her to stop driving. She started calling a local taxi company to take her to the cathedral to practice each day, then later back to her apartment. After about a week of this, the drivers stopped asking her destination and automatically took her to one place or the other! She was pleased at being such a celebrity among Portland's taxi drivers!

There are many good stories "out there" about Catharine. Upon her death, I received some touching e-mails from friends and admirers which related to first meeting her, first hearing her play, studying the organ with her, and so on. One man commented on the special quality of light which seemed to infuse her playing during her later years, and he was quite right. In the early part of her career she was well-known for her brilliant technique and effortless playing, but as she grew older she continued to build on that technique, bringing a complete artistry to her mature years. We are fortunate that she recorded several CDs during the last 20 or so years of her life, among them first-rate performances of Rorem and Sowerby. A supporter of the highest possible standards in musical performance, she remains an excellent model for today's young musicians to emulate. She would probably tell them to seek out a fine teacher, develop an infallible technique, practice diligently, learn your repertoire thoroughly, have a firm goal of becoming an artist, behave in a professional manner, and you will have a fine chance for a career. Catharine Crozier lived a full and interesting life. Her innate musical talent, her thoroughness in her work, and her consummate artistry gave us a person who was a living legend in the world of organ music. The immense regard her fellow artists the world over had for her is testimony to her great stature among them. On both a professional and personal level, our loss is deeply felt.  

Remembering Catharine Crozier

by Canon John Strege, Director of Cathedral Music, Trinity Cathedral, Portland, Oregon

Reflecting on Catharine Crozier's involvement at Trinity Cathedral as Artist-in-Residence these past ten years is a remembrance of graciousness, superb artistry, encouragement, and unbridled enthusiasm. When I was notified that Catharine was moving to Portland, the Dean of the Cathedral and I immediately wrote her asking if she would consider becoming Trinity's Artist-in-Residence. In what seemed like only hours, she quickly responded by saying that she would be most pleased to accept this position. So began my relationship with Catharine.

Catharine would practice most afternoons in preparation for occasional Sunday morning voluntaries, organ recitals, and in the first years, her out of town master classes and recitals. As we developed a friendship, I was always humbled by her enthusiasm for the music at Trinity. She embraced the magnificent Rosales organ, the liturgy, the Trinity Choir and Cathedral Chamber Singers, and the loving Trinity community.

In the later years, as we drove together, attended concerts, had lunches and dinners, I was privileged to sample her great sense of humor, her many opinions about legendary organists from the past, her reminiscences of her extraordinary career and life with Harold Gleason, and her timely words of encouragement for my work in the church. When I asked her if she could arrive a few minutes early for one of her practice sessions to hear an organ piece I was preparing, she responded with, "How about this afternoon?" With her generosity, these "brief" coaching sessions could last well over an hour. As I have frequently mentioned to my colleagues, having Catharine Crozier in the congregation on any given Sunday gave a new meaning to the preparation of organ voluntaries for the liturgy.

As Catharine lived out her final decade in our midst, her playing at Trinity evoked an unspeakable transcendence. Her life was lived in the realization of being in the moment, maintaining the integrity of purpose and spirit, and always looking ahead to new challenges and opportunities.

Of the many blessings in my life, I consider the opportunity of being with Catharine one of the greatest. I cherish our friendship and affection we had for each other. Her physical absence is a profound loss, but her spirit, musicianship and grace will remain with me for all time.              

Remembering Catharine Crozier

by Fred Swann

Many of us can identify a person who, by their influence and inspiration, has been paramount in the development of our lives and careers. Catharine Crozier was that person for me.

Although I had read about her and had heard one of her recordings, I didn't meet Catharine until the summer of 1949. I had just finished my freshman year at Northwestern University School of Music when she and her distinguished husband, Harold Gleason, came to teach and to lead a summer church music workshop at the university. I had been playing the organ since age 10 and intended to be "a good church organist," but that summer the Gleasons convinced me to commit to a career as an organist.

Catharine played a recital on the E. M. Skinner organ in St. Luke's Episcopal Church in Evanston as part of the conference. The combination of her incredible performance and that organ, one of Skinner's most remarkable and exceptional instruments, was so overwhelming that on that very evening my standards of musicianship and performance were set in stone for life. I became a Crozier "groupie"--wore out all her recordings as they came out, traveled huge distances to hear her recitals, and tried, pathetically as I look back, to emulate her playing style. In addition to the musical benefits, I was privileged to develop a cherished friendship that has lasted a lifetime.

That same summer I played the Langlais Te Deum for the Gleasons. It was then still new to most American organists, and even they had not heard it. It became one of "her pieces" and she would frequently remark about my bringing it to her attention. Despite her encouragement and interest in having me study with her at Eastman after completing degrees at Northwestern, I felt so inferior and in awe of her that I was terrified to take the Eastman audition. Fearing the humiliation of not being accepted, I chose to study at Union Theological Seminary School of Sacred Music in New York. Mrs. Gleason, as we called her then, became quite cross with me over this, but, as things sometimes happen, the decision to go to New York City turned out to be a fortuitous thing for my career and for our friendship.

Forgive me if I've written too much in attempting to establish the roots of my indebtedness with this wonderful lady and consummate musician. The stories and anecdotes would fill a large book, but here I want to pay homage to my mentor--for although I never formally studied with her, I have never stopped absorbing knowledge and inspiration from her.

You're reading a number of tributes in these pages, and very probably many of them have used the same words in describing Catharine. She could be stern in her expectations from students, but her compassion and humanity never stopped growing throughout her life. She was thoroughly professional and never failed to live up to the highest demands that she made upon herself. She was the personification of elegance in her playing, and just to watch her at the console was a lesson in grace and form. Posture, hand position, economy of movement and a complete involvement in the music all combined for incredible performances. She had a great thirst for continual learning that allowed her music making to remain fresh and vital whether she was playing one of the "old masters" or a contemporary work. She played in perfect style, and with the latest scholarship, everything she chose. She embraced new works of many composers, especially American. Her performances of these works was so compelling that she "sold" them to a profession and to audiences that were usually more ready to accept the latest from France and elsewhere.

A physically attractive woman who carried herself with poise and grace, she was a quiet person--but she never "missed a thing," had a wonderful, dry sense of humor, and an infectious laugh. She could often say more with a look than some people can with many words. She delighted in simple things, like being driven up and down Fifth Avenue in New York to look at all the lights at Christmas time. When young, she enjoyed fine food and fancy restaurants at times, but her own cooking abilities were limited. If she invited you to dinner the invitation often came with the question "Well, would you like the tuna casserole or the other one?"

Dr. Crozier kept performing until about a year before her death. People just wouldn't let her stop. I had to do some real arm twisting to convince her to play recitals on her 75th and 80th birthdays at the Crystal Cathedral, where I was in residence at the time. Each program was stunning despite her misgivings beforehand. When I greeted her as she left the console at the conclusion of her 80th birthday recital, she, having just finished a stellar performance of the Reubke Sonata on the 94th Psalm broke into a wide grin, cocked her head, snapped her fingers, and said "By crackey, I did it!" And she continued to "do it". Despite advancing age and physical handicaps that would cause most people to quit, she finally agreed after much cajoling to come to First Congregational in Los Angeles to play a recital on her 85th birthday--and what a wonderful time we had! Friends had come from literally around the country and even some from Europe. After that she slowed down gradually but still played Vesper recitals at Trinity Cathedral in Portland, Oregon, on the great Rosales organ she loved and recorded on so magnificently.

Because of the wonderful friendships with the cathedral staff, especially Canon John Strege and Kevin Walsh, and the loving care she was given, she almost reached her 90th birthday in a very content existence. When a handful of us gathered near the organ console in early October for a private service of blessing and commitment of her ashes, there were tears and sadness--but also enormous thanksgiving for a life that brought so much joy and inspiration to untold thousands of people over her long and distinguished career. Her influence will live on for many generations to come.  She is now at peace.  May light perpetual shine upon her.      

Michael Barone, a native of Kingston, Pennsylvania and graduate (Bachelor of Music History) of the Oberlin Conservatory, has been employed by Minnesota Public Radio since 1968. His Pipedreams program entered national radio syndication in 1982. Jack Bethards is president and tonal director of Schoenstein & Co. Organ Builders, San Francisco, California. Michael Friesen, of Denver, Colorado, is an organ historian who specializes in the history of organbuilding in America in the 18th and 19th centuries. He was president of the Organ Historical Society from 2003 to 2007. Orpha Ochse is Professor of Music Emerita at Whittier College, Whittier, California, and author of several books on the history of the organ and organ playing. Barbara Owen is Librarian of the AGO Organ Library at Boston University and author of several books on the organ and its music. Frederick Swann has been a church and concert organist for nearly seven decades. He is the immediate past president of the American Guild of Organists, and although semi-retired he maintains a full schedule of teaching, recording, and performing activity. John Weaver lives in West Glover, Vermont, having retired from three long-term positions as Director of Music at New York’s Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church and head of the organ departments at the Curtis Institute of Music and the Juilliard School. He has honorary Doctor of Music degrees from Westminster College and the Curtis Institute.

Centennial Celebration:
A new beginning
Early in the 20th century, the organ functioned as a community resource. Municipal instruments proliferated, organ concerts were attended by throngs, and competition for popular attention was relatively minimal. Organ installations garnered plenty of press, people enjoyed the effects of which the organ was capable, and famous recitalists (Lemare, Guilmant, Dupré, Bonnet) drew huge crowds.
But things change, always, and for the organ, the post-war (WWII) cultural shifts were monumental. Radio and television offered easy ‘entertainment’, and, along with the proliferation of symphony orchestras, undercut the civic organ’s necessity as a musical means and medium. And an increasingly intellectual direction in concert-giving (and music appreciation) stratified audiences.
Even when some of us were growing up (1950s-plus), the organ had two pivotal superstars whose prominence (and PR savvy) positioned them prominently in the minds of the general population. In those days, players still were the focus, instruments second, and the music simply the conduit.
But the fascination with organ history, period instruments, repertoire, and performance practice has taken the focus off of the virtuoso, and while we have learned a great deal about many things organic, along the way the cult of the performer has faded, and with it the audience.
Still, it could be argued that at this present time we are in a ‘golden age’ for the organ. The number of astonishingly talented young players is amazing, with more skilled youngsters on the way. New instruments of superb quality, in an incredible array of styles and venues, are being built, while historic organs representing every possible era and nationality have been carefully refurbished. We know more about and play more repertoire than ever before, and contemporary composers continue to be attracted to the instrument.
Yet the general public seems uninvolved. Even concerts on the big, new organs in our concert halls generally do not generate crowds of a size in any way comparable to their counterparts in the 1920s and ’30s.
So, unlike 50 years ago when the scene was lively and fun and the person-in-the-street was engaged by organ activity, these days we struggle to demonstrate relevance and can’t simply go along for the ride. Though in so many ways the situation is better than ever, the challenges for the future are as great as they have ever been (and there have been plenty of challenges in past centuries).
As one colleague recently reflected: “We must enhance the quality of life of our listeners, and reach out to communicate the emotional aspects of our music to our audiences, or else all just becomes more noise pollution, something of which we have too much already.”
I expect and hope that The Diapason will be an active participant in, conduit of, and catalyst for those processes that will keep the organ alive in the 21st century, as it has for the past 100 years. If so, this Centennial Celebration will be a new beginning.
Anyone who is interested in the pipe organ has, at some point or another, been introduced to The Diapason. The combination of this magazine’s sleek, non-standard proportions and its efficiently packaged and engaging content proved irresistible, particularly to the young neophyte.
But once the curiosity value had faded, The Diapason—this rare and informative ‘inside passage’ to the realm of the King of Instruments—continued to beguile with its news (and gossip), the important discoveries, and the thoughtful musings on historical and philosophical organ-related topics.
I first subscribed to The Diapason while still a teen, but then let the subscription lapse (money was tight and I could access the journal at the library). Sooner than later I wanted to reinstate my connection, and have been a regular reader for longer than seems comfortable to confess.
Obviously, others are in the same boat, else we’d not be celebrating a centenary here. Heaven knows that the organ, which itself has enjoyed the passage of numerous centennials, generates more copy than any one publication can embrace. I applaud The Diapason for doing its part while maintaining its quality of reportage—and quirky but charming format—with élan and grace through these many decades. Bravo! Now, bring on the second hundred years!
—Michael Barone

Reflections on The Diapason
I wonder how many others were as guilty as I of spending far too much study time in high school and college poring over old issues of The Diapason? Those pages, filled with news of the ups and downs of the organ industry and all of the colorful characters in lofts and factories, were an irresistible lure to daydream about the past and what the future might hold for a young man who also spent far too much time sketching stoplists during lectures. When I joined Schoenstein & Co. in 1977, the opportunities for such fun increased: the company archive started with the April 1911 issue.
What I liked then, and still do today, is that the format of The Diapason has changed only slightly over all these years (not even as much as The New Yorker)! What other magazine in business since 1909 can say that? In fact, how many magazines that old are still in business? The constancy of The Diapason, which stuck to its guns through the great boom of factory organ building during its first 20 years, the tough times of depression and war, the second big boom in the 1950s, and then the controversies that occurred about all aspects of organ design, while the structure of the industry changed from predominantly large manufacturers to a mix of large and small—a kind of cottage industry turning out every kind of tonal and mechanical style imaginable—gave me the feeling that no matter how much things changed, there would always be a pipe organ culture in America.
A delightful recent aspect of The Diapason is its mixture of serious and silly. The Diapason makes room (literally) for both. It is a place for lengthy, academic articles on arcane subjects and also for lighter fare—just check out the classified ad section! [See examples from the whimsy file, page 14.]
I hope The Diapason will continue to stay the course, amid shifting currents, in its second century. As our culture evolves more and more quickly, the organ world will value a familiar friend—The Diapason.
—Jack M. Bethards

Siegfried E. Gruenstein’s success
When Siegfried E. Gruenstein began publication of The Diapason in Chicago in December 1909, he was the first person to create a general-purpose journal devoted to the organ since Everett E. Truette’s effort in Boston in the 1890s. Truette’s journal, The Organ, unfortunately lasted only through two volumes, from May 1892 to April 1894. Truette’s precedent, in turn, was Eugene Thayer’s The Organists’ Journal and Review, itself also a short-lived publication issued in Boston from March 1874 to January 1877. (Both the Thayer and the Truette have been reprinted in complete sets, which are available from the Organ Historical Society.)
The Diapason, however, was to have a different fate. Here it is, still being published a hundred years later, a feat that has been matched by only a handful of journals throughout American history. Publishing is a hard business, and one fraught with constant tension over printers’ deadlines, obtaining and editing copy from multiple contributors, keeping advertisers and subscribers happy, and the like. It is also not usually highly profitable because of the relative mismatch between overhead and operating expenses versus what advertisers and subscribers are willing to pay for distribution and content, respectively. Cost issues were the factors in the demise of the above-mentioned journals, undoubtedly also affected by the fact that the organ world was, and still is, very “thin” compared to circulation numbers possible for mass-market publications.
However, Gruenstein’s effort was timely. The organ market in the United States was reasonably affluent and growing, and by 1909 was entering a period of significant technological change, with increasing demand for instruments built with forms of electric action to replace traditional mechanical-action organs. (Tubular-pneumatic action, a transitional form of technology, had obtained a foothold in the market beginning in the 1880s, but it was not destined to survive much longer.) Thus many organbuilding firms entered the field, and existing ones grew substantially, in the decade after The Diapason was founded. (To give some sense of numerical perspective about this period, M. P. Möller, Inc., for one example, gradually expanded its factory to the point that it could produce an organ every day; the combined annual output of the ten largest manufactories in peak years before the Great Depression began has been estimated at around 1,000 instruments.) Soon there was plenty of publicity about new organs and the activities of organbuilders to go around.
The Diapason became known as the journal where one could find multiple stoplists, descriptions, and pictures of new organs each month, and of course for organists, reading such material is almost akin to an addiction. Usually, an instrument was guaranteed publicity twice—when a contract was announced, and when it was installed and dedicated; often, readers could find snippets of work-in-progress news as well. The journal also promoted the activities of organists, publishing summaries of recital programs, and tracking their careers and travels. To amass such detail, and then publish it regularly every month, must have been a herculean task for Gruenstein, but he did it. Advertisers and subscribers flocked to The Diapason in droves, and he effectively was able to “corner” the market, because no other general-purpose organ periodical exerted significant competition. The American Organist, in its original incarnation as the “house journal” of the American Guild of Organists, was no match for The Diapason until T. Scott Buhrman’s editorship from the 1940s to the 1960s. Regardless, even in spite of the lean years of the Great Depression and World Wars I and II, The Diapason has held its own to the present.
That Gruenstein’s business model was successful is shown by The Diapason today, which still largely follows the format he established. In general, as readership demographics change, periodicals must adjust in order to survive, but a loyal following by organists, organbuilders, and friends of the organ has continued to ensure The Diapason’s success. And of course, today’s “gossip” becomes tomorrow’s “primary source material” for historians, and in that sense, The Diapason’s rich store of back issues, which is often plumbed for information about the twentieth-century organ, is priceless. With adaptation to changes in technology and electronic publishing, here’s to hoping that it will continue to be published indefinitely, and therefore also prove to be a gold mine for information about the organ in the twenty-first century as well.
—Michael D. Friesen

Celebrating a Centennial
The Diapason—what a treasure trove of American organ history! I have leafed through all its pages, discovering not just the facts I was particularly interested in, but also the broad contexts surrounding those facts. For the person who really wants to understand the “ups and downs” of the past century’s organ world, I suggest a decade-by-decade prowl through old issues of The Diapason. Of course, such a process is by its nature leisurely, but it compensates for inefficiency with its revelations about the evolution of style, and changing opinions regarding the essential nature of the organ.
Facts are also there in abundance. One particularly thorough example of journalistic reporting is a blow-by-blow description of the 1936–1937 Federal Trade Commission trials to determine if the electronic instrument developed by the Hammond Clock Company was indeed an organ, and if it could produce effects equal to those of a pipe organ. At one point in the trials, block and tackle were used to raise a Hammond instrument to the top of a pole for some outdoor acoustical tests. Well, you’ll just have to read the whole story in those old Diapasons. Then in the 1940s there were the chronicles of World War II: young organists and organ builders drafted into the armed forces; organ shops converted to war work; restrictions on the use of materials essential for the war effort. So many stories!
One wonders how our own time will appear to the reader half a century or more in the future. However complex and uncertain our present time may seem as we experience it, that lucky reader will be able to see the big picture—where we’ve been, where we’re going—by leafing through the pages of volume 100 and succeeding volumes of The Diapason’s Second Century.
—Orpha Ochse

The Diapason at the century mark
I first encountered The Diapason as a teen-aged baby-sitter. The youngsters were the offspring of my organ teacher, and I minded them in exchange for organ lessons. The latest issue of The Diapason was usually on her coffee table, and after the kids had been tucked into bed, I would read it from cover to cover, soaking up all that arcane information about organ recitals, organists, and the latest new organs in each monthly issue as only a young person newly introduced to the fascinating world of the organ could. By the time I was off to college I had my own subscription, which continues to this day.
While various general musical periodicals had carried news and occasional articles pertaining to organs and organists during the 19th century, it was only near the end of that century that any English-language journals dealing exclusively with the organ made their appearance, the earliest in North America being Eugene Thayer’s Organist’s Quarterly Journal and Review, 1874–1876. Others, equally short-lived, would follow. But it would appear that it was not until the first decade of the 20th century that a large enough potential readership had evolved to sustain a substantial national organ periodical. Thus in 1909 Siegfried Emanuel Gruenstein, a journalist for the Chicago Evening Post and organist of the Lake Forest Presbyterian Church, melded his two professional interests and established The Diapason, the first issue of which appeared in December 1909.
Over the years, The Diapason has served at various times as the official journal of the Organ Builders Association of America, the National Association of Organists, the Canadian College of Organists, the Hymn Society, and the American Guild of Organists. Eventually these organizations either ceased to exist or produced their own periodicals, and for the last several decades The Diapason has stood on its own feet. Today, having outlived various later competitors, it still stands as the only independent organ-related periodical still published in America. And, having reached the century mark, it is also the oldest, and still going strong.
To browse through back issues of The Diapason is to watch the entire history of the American organ in the twentieth century unfold in print and picture. The lives of numerous organists, well known or obscure, are chronicled from their debut recital or first church position to their obituaries. Organ builders come to prominence, change leadership, merge, and fade away or close. Organs for major churches, colleges and cathedrals are featured, many of them to be later replaced by newer organs that are likewise featured. Changing tastes in organ literature are reflected in reviews and recital programs, and contemporary composers of every period critiqued or interviewed. We can trace the rise and fall of residence and theatre organs, and the evolutionary history of the orchestral, American classic, neo-Baroque and eclectic movements in tonal design through stoplists and commentary, as well as opinionated give-and-take in the Letters to the Editor. Even the advertisements (including the classifieds) have a story to tell. And this tradition of chronicling the American organ scene continues into the 21st century.
Read any book about an organist, organ composer, or organ builder of the 20th century, as well as many books and articles concerning organs, organ music and organists, and one is more likely than not to find The Diapason cited in footnotes and bibliography. Researchers (including this writer) love its inimitable resources—and earnestly hope that all 100 years of it will one day be digitized in keyword-searchable form. But we read it too as the denizens of our little organ world have always read it, to keep up with what is going on among our contemporaries and to benefit from their scholarship in worthwhile articles. And yes, I still read every issue cover to cover when it arrives!
—Barbara Owen

The Diapason:
100 years and counting
My sincere congratulations on the 100th anniversary of The Diapason! This historic journal—the longest-lived of its type in the world—has faithfully chronicled the history of organs, organists, church music, and related fields in an informative, interesting, and educational manner. Further, it has done so fairly and without bias as ideas and fads of organ culture have changed over the years.
I received my first issue of The Diapason in 1946 when, as a young teen-ager, I joined the American Guild of Organists. To me, at that age, the primary benefit of AGO membership was the monthly arrival of this fascinating publication, which was then the official journal of the Guild. It immediately enlarged my view and knowledge of a profession that was to become the focus of my life. I devoured every word of each issue, and over this period of nearly 63 years have saved all 750 copies, thinking that someday when I was old I’d sit on the porch and reread them. That hasn’t happened yet, but I have on numerous occasions consulted back copies for news and specific articles.
Soon after I entered Northwestern University in 1948, I was introduced to S. E. Gruenstein, the founder, editor and publisher of The Diapason. He was a kindly gentleman, interested in all matters related to the organ world, and was especially encouraging to young organists. Over the years his successors have continued to update and enlarge the journal. The look and the content have continued to grow and have reached a high standard of excellence.
The longevity of The Diapason affirms that it continues to reach many organists and enthusiasts who believe in the quality and value of its offerings. I am certain that others join me in expressing the hope that the advent of a new century of publication will herald its indefinite continuation.
—Frederick Swann

Recollections of The Diapason
When I started reading The Diapason I was about 10 years old—it was probably 1947. I remember the many pages of tiny print listing dozens of organ recital programs from around the county. I assume that they were all set by hand with individual pieces of type. I also recall that there were lots of advertisements for organ pipes for sale. I responded to several of these with letters, which I hoped would not reveal my age or inability to pay. I had visions of buying some ten ranks and building an organ with them. Congratulations on 100 great years.
—John Weaver

50 years of teaching at The University of Michigan, Part 2

Part 1 of this interview appeared in the October issue of The Diapason, pp. 16-21.

Q: I just wonder how you get all your energy.

A: Well, maybe it's because I'm from Oklahoma. I do exercise a lot. I walk quite a bit and I used to bike a lot, too.

Q: Does everybody in Oklahoma have energy like that?

A: It depends on the genes. They're always friendly, I know that.

Q: What suggestions do you have for young organists?

A: There might be some suggestions which are based on my own experience. One of them is the Boy Scout motto: "Be prepared," because as I look back the break that I had was in 1950 when the Boston AGO called me to say "Robert Ellis was to play and he cannot play. Will you play the Schoenberg 'Variations' for us?" I had less than two weeks to prepare this piece. But fortunately I had been prepared. I'd had my lessons with Schoenberg. I'd been preparing the piece and playing it for some time. I had it memorized.

The second thing is to be flexible. That is, if someone asks you to play, don't say, "I won't play because we don't have four manuals." Don't say, "I can't play because there's only two manuals."  Roll with the punches, be willing to fit into the situation. It's better to be playing a recital and have to make a few compromises than not be playing at all.

The third thing, very important, is be dependable. If you say you will be there, if you say you will do such and such, be there, do it. Be known for your dependability and your accountability.

Don't procrastinate. That comes along with being dependable. Don't put things off. I have a very fine colleague in the organ department--James Kibbie. He is the splendid example of this. He never procrastinates. If I suggest something or if I ask him to do something, he does it immediately. I think that's an important aspect of our work. If for any reason I might have to put off something, it's because my inner sense of the whole situation says "wait." We all know of situations where if you had waited a little bit things would have worked out a little better than if you had gone ahead immediately. So I say procrastination with a grain of salt--using your own judgment.

These four things matter: to be prepared, to be flexible, to be dependable, and not to procrastinate.

Q: Please tell about the Fisk organ here which is named "The Marilyn Mason Organ."

A: The organ which stands in the Blanche Anderson Moore Hall in the School of Music is a result of a lot of thinking and consulting and wondering what was going to happen next with our department. Robert Clark was teaching with us at the time we were thinking and trying to decide. He had just made his first trip to what was formerly East Germany. We knew that we were going to have this fund started by Judith Barnett Metz. She told me, "I would like to do something in your honor. Would you like a Marilyn Mason scholarship?" I said, "Well, we need an organ more than anything." So she gave Michigan the initial funds. Bob Clark said, "We should have a copy of one of those beautiful Silbermanns because we don't have anything like that." At that time, about 1979-80, there was nothing like that in the States. So he was the one who gave us that marvelous idea, and the whole faculty--Robert Glasgow, James Kibbie & Michele Johns--thought it was the right thing to do. So, that's what we did. The interesting thing is how it came about. I went to our Dean, Paul Boylan (and he had just become the Dean in 1979). I said, "We're going to have this money for an organ, but we can't have an organ without a place to house it." He said, "I want to have a rehearsal/concert hall for musical theater, because we're expanding that wonderfully." Then he said, "Can't we think about combining the two?" which is of course what we did. So we arranged to visit President Shapiro (this was during his very early days in office) and called on him together with this proposal. He said, "I'll be glad to help you and I think it a good idea." So he was very helpful in getting us funds from the legislature. Then there was other money which helped us get the Palmer Christian Lobby. People donated for that. The Earl V. Moore people donated for that. Bill Doty, Mildred Andrews and Franklin Mitchell also donated to the lobby. The hall is named for Blanche Anderson Moore (wife of Earl V. Moore) who was a very devoted patron of the arts. She came to many organ recitals. I remember seeing her at Hill Auditorium when some of us were playing. And so we named this hall in her honor. The organ contract was signed in 1980 with Charlie Fisk, who said, "I won't have the organ for you until 1985." We said, "Oh, it will never come." He said, "It will be here quicker than you can realize." That was really the truth--it was here very quickly. We dedicated the organ on October 4, 1985, and it was a special occasion.

Q: Was the organ named for you at that time?

A: No, that was a few years later. Dean Boylan said that it should be named for me because the initial funds had been given by Judith Barnett Metz in my honor. This was a very nice gesture, and I appreciate it very much.

The organ is modeled after a Silbermann, but there is no specific organ which it copies. We would not want, and  we could not make a perfect copy simply because the hall is different and the time is different. We're no longer in the 18th century. In most of the churches where the Silbermanns stand the organ is in the west gallery, while this one is in the front. We have a very nice situation the way the hall is built. There are tiers of steps that go up to the organ. Last night, as part of our Institute, there was a choral concert with James Abbington, conductor. The singers were standing on these different steps, and it was nice for the 20 singers to be heard that way in  acoustics quite sympathetic for the voices.

Q: The Fisk organ has provided the students there with an opportunity to encounter historic organ building principles that they wouldn't have in other places.

A: Exactly. It's been a big impetus for us. I am especially glad that we could provide the original type winding: the bellows may be hand pumped and a recital could go on despite an electrical storm, and Michigan has them. With this organ, our teaching organs and the organ at Hill Auditorium, we feel very blessed. We have 16 practice organs plus 3 teaching organs and 2 performance organs. We have the magic number of Bach--21.

Q: Would you talk about your family?

A: My first husband was Professor Richard K. Brown. Many of my students knew him. He was a true gentleman, a wonderful engineer and teacher, a man whom I had first met in 1945. We were married in 1949 (long enough time for him to see me in action, so to speak, and he knew what he was getting). He continued teaching at the University of Michigan until he retired in 1987.

We have two sons. The first is Merritt Christian Brown (named after my father and Palmer Christian), born in 1955. He's a scientist who earned his Ph.D. here at Michigan. He took classes with his father in engineering. He would come home and tell his father, "You could make that course even more strict. You have some very gifted students in there." Richard would say, "But I'm aiming for the middle students as well as the gifted ones." Then he would say to his son, "Please, don't go into engineering." Our son played the violin just wonderfully, studying with Gustave Rosseels at Michigan. When he would finish practicing, I would say, "Oh, Chris, you play so beautifully, but please don't go into music." So, here was this young man with opposing directives, so he chose acoustics. After earning the Ph.D., he continued research in the Kresge Hearing Laboratory. Later, he read a paper at an acoustical conference in Los Angeles. An engineer who heard him there said, "We would be very interested in having you join our research at Massachusetts General Hospital." Chris was intrigued with the work they were doing, so he joined that research group. His mentor there was Nelson Kiang. Dr. Kiang later invited him to teach at Harvard. He is Associate Professor at the Harvard Medical School where he teaches physiology. His specialty has been the inner ear. His music and his engineering led him into this.

To me, that's a lesson that young people must know. You must explore the options, and how better to explore the options than to go to school. If you're a freshman or sophomore in school and not happy with what you're doing, it may be that the Lord in telling you to go in a different direction.

I had a wonderful student, Weston Brown. After his sophomore year, he said, "You may be mad at me, but I think I want to change my major." I said, "No, I want you to do what you want to do." He said, "I am making straight A's in German and I am making a B in music history." I said, "The Lord is trying to tell you something." He said, "I love German." He earned the Bachelor's and Master's and later a Ph.D. from Columbia in German and musicology. That's a fine example of how you can find options if you keep watching. The best advice is to watch for the options and hope to find something that you enjoy doing. Try not to think about money. If you think only about the money you will make, you may end up doing something that you don't enjoy .

Our second son is Edward Brown, a wonderful young man who's a free-lance photographer. He lives in California. He likes California because the light is always wonderful there. But I think he loves it because there's no snow, fog or ice.

Q: Did either son have an urge to play the organ?

A: Not really, probably because they heard so much playing. It didn't turn them off, but they probably thought one organist was enough. I practice the piano a lot a home. Once one of our neighbors, Mary Sinnott, said to our son Edward, aged 10, "What's your mother doing?" He said, "She's playing the piano." The next day, Mrs Sinnott said, "What's she doing now?" He said, "She's still playing the piano." They got used to that.

When they were younger, I put them to bed with organ music on the house organ which my husband and I assembled in 1955. I gave that organ to two doctoral students, Howard & Marie Mehler. We purchased a small Walker tracker for practicing. My family has always been very supportive but also understanding with my schedule. The dishes may not get done or the beds made if I have to practice.

In 1991 my husband had enjoyed four years of retirement. Gardening was one of his interests and his beautiful rhododendrons still bloom. He suffered a stroke on May 7, 1991. We had to take him to the hospital. We thought he would recover from this, but on July 23 he slipped away. Both of our sons were extremely supportive of me at that time. Even though I had this great loss, I still had my teaching which was a comfort to me. I had become organist of the First Congregational Church in 1984. There, Tom Marshall had been my trusty assistant. I had the inspiration of the Wilhelm organ at the church and we had the Fisk here.

In the autumn of 1991, I felt more settled. Music was a great support to me. One of our good friends, Jim O'Neill, formerly chairman of the French department, called. "We have a dear friend and he would like for you to play a memorial service for his wife who died some time ago." Other friends, Mary and Bill Palmer, arranged dinner where I met William Steinhoff. Later, he came to the house to discuss music he wanted--mostly Bach and Mozart. I played for that service in January of 1992. After that, we had lunches and dinners. It was satisfying to spend time with someone who was not in music and yet who was very supportive. It's important to have a sympathetic person near you, someone who understands you. He is an emeritus Professor of English Literature at Michigan. Although he had taught here for 30 years, I had never met him. We were married on May 8, 1993. Someone said, "What did you do about music?" I said, "I played for my wedding!" We were to be at the church Saturday morning at 11:00. My sons were there along with Bill's nephew and niece. No one else was present. I said, "Well, I'm just going to play the prelude." So I played the Guilmant March on a Theme of Handel. Bill came in, saying, "Am I late?" So, Terry Smith performed the service for us. Then I moved to the organ and played the Widor "Toccata." That was a fine ending for our wedding service.

Q: Do you have brothers and sisters who are musical?

A: My brother James Clark Mason was musical. He was a wonderful family man, and loved his four children and wife. He died two years ago. My sister, Carolyn Mason Weinmeister, is active in computers and computer programming.   She enjoys music and sports. She lives in Oklahoma City and has one daughter and son.

Q: How do you keep your positive attitude?

A: A lot of this is based on the loving care that we had as children. Both our mother and father were supportive of us. My mother always did the cooking and dishes so that I could practice the piano or go to the church and practice the organ. A loving home, to be surrounded by such love, and a religious home, to be surrounded by Presbyterian Protestantism--these things are what you cannot take away but also what you can't buy. Parents must be aware of this when raising children. That religious upbringing that I was given is something that no one can ever take away and I hope I never forget.

Q: You continue to be a church organist, and you've been a church organist for a long time along with your teaching. Have you been an organist at several churches in Ann Arbor?

A: I was a substitute organist at the Presbyterian Church where we belonged for many years. When Zion Lutheran needed an organist, the music committee invited me to play there. I was the organist for many years in the early sixties. John Merrill was the choral conductor. I enjoyed the liturgical service and the Lutherans. I enjoy being a church organist and I like to play hymns.  I sometimes remind the students that if they are church musicians the title "church" comes first, with the flexibility and dependability that I mentioned earlier. And, after all, that is usually where the best organs are!

We were out at our lake cottage one Labor Day weekend, and I had to return for church on Sunday at Zion Lutheran. I went to the Schantz organ, saw the bulletin and #15 for the processional hymn. I opened the hymnal and found "Joy to the World." This was on Labor Day weekend! I thought--these Lutherans, if they want "Joy to the World" they're going to have it! I really gave it the full treatment. The choir came down the aisle with their books under their arms. Not a person was singing. When they arrived in the chancel the minister announced, "And now we'll have the opening hymn, number such-and-such." I had misread it and the "15" was the page number for the order of service. Regardless, I enjoyed the Lutheran service very much.

In 1963, I had a fine student, Donald Williams, who was just graduating. I recommended that he take over and he was invited. Dr. Williams was the organist/choirmaster at Zion Lutheran for over 30 years.

We need not frown on church and service music. As I said, that's where the good organs will be. We have at First Congregational a wonderful conductor, Willis Patterson, who inspires us all. My assistant, James Nissen, is Associate Director of Music. He is so versatile that he can play if I am gone or conduct if Willis is gone. That is good.

Q: The fact that you keep active in church music is a testimony to your own students and a good way that you can tell your students what they are going to experience when they go out to church jobs as well, because you know just what they will encounter. I think a lot of organ teachers in colleges are detached from that.

A: I don't want to ask my students to go into church music without experiencing it myself. We must not be detached from church music. We must be right in the swing.

One thing I do tell my students who move into church positions: You're a new organist and choir director in a church. If you don't hear anything, you're terrific. Keep telling yourself that. You'll always hear when somebody doesn't like it. When they don't like it, you must smile and try to agree. Don't be defensive. They may have a reason for saying so.

Q: I'd like to know when the cooking requirement came into the DMA program.

A: All my students, even Master's degree students, are invited to cook a meal for us. That idea came in the '50s. One of the nice meals that was prepared was by John McCreary and Phil Steinhaus. They knew that Jean Langlais was coming. They said, "We'll prepare a Master's dinner." So they prepared a wonderful dinner for us. It's referred to on page 15 of the book, Hommage à Langlais, in Langlais' diary, where he says, "We've had a dinner with the students and Marilyn Mason and her husband." That dinner was memorable because there was a pot roast which was luscious. The flavoring on the meat, the carrots and onions were delicious, but the potatoes had been added too late and they were hard. Langlais was trying to eat them with his knife and fork and said, "Is this some new vegetable in the United States that we don't know about?" Poor John was so chagrined. Those potatoes will always be remembered as the ones that didn't make it. That was the beginning of that requirement. And I am now so proud of Phil, his wonderful career as organist/choirmaster and his work with Aeolian-Skinner, and with John, too, 30 years in the Cathedral in Honolulu as Organist/ Choirmaster! I do feel we had that cooking requirement especially for the men, but we must all learn to cook.

Q: You're certainly well known for your jokes. For many years you had a joke book that you lost along the way.

A: No--it was stolen at Riverside Church. I was playing a recital there. The organ console had two large mirrors so the audience could see while you play. I thought I would put my purse right behind me. That purse had my joke book and some jewelry. Someone reached in behind and took the whole thing. Someone said, "What nicer way to lose it than to have it stolen from Riverside Church." But I've kept a lot of stories in my head. Along with flexibility comes a sense of humor--mostly to be willing to laugh at yourself. If we can have the light touch as we go along, I think that helps.

Q: Along with that, can you think of some humorous incidents in your travels that would be interesting?

A: I can think of some humorous things that happened here in Ann Arbor. I was playing for freshman convocation in the first week in September for about 4,000 new students. I had played the prelude, but they asked me to play a special piece. I chose the Haines "Toccata," which is something that I enjoy playing and can play without too much extra practice. The Dean of the Faculty, Charles Odegaard, looked over at me and said, "And now our organist will play --Miss Marilyn Monroe." All of these students just howled, and he was so embarrassed. He said, "Oh, I'm sure Miss Mason will do just as well." Then I did play and it was fun.

Another thing that happened at Hill Auditorium occurred in 1985. I had scheduled a series of 16 recitals of the music of Bach (1985 was 300th anniversary of Bach's birth). So I was doing that series here at the Fisk organ every Sunday afternoon at 4:00. But I was also supposed to play for a graduation ceremony at Hill Auditorium at 2:30. So I said to my colleague Sam Koontz (our organ technician at Hill Auditorium who knew the organ like the back of his hand and who had been one of my Master's students), "Will you please play the final hymn, which is the Michigan hymn, and then a postlude?" Sam said, "I'll be glad to." I played the opening prelude, the processional and "The Star-Spangled Banner." The console was in the corner on the far stage left. By this time it was about 3:00 and I needed to leave. So I left, and Sam was on the bench. I got to the Fisk on time and played the Bach recital in the afternoon. But I heard afterwards, the Vice President of the University, Richard Kennedy, had said at Hill (which he had never done before) "We're so happy to have our organist today--please thank Marilyn Mason." He looked back at the console. Sam threw up his hands in dismay, because I wasn't there. After that, when I was thanked for these occasions, Mr. Kennedy always looked back to see me.

Q: You mentioned that there have been 111 doctoral students. Do you have any idea of the total number of students you have taught?

A: No, I don't. But in over 50 years there were a lot of students. I wish I'd kept track, but at the time that is not the most important thing. Actually, we have graduated 600 organists in the Bachelor's and Master's programs since the first ones in 1932.

Q: I remember seeing the sea of people at your recognition dinner in 1986. All those people had been touched by your life, and also by the blue pencils that were given to each one.

A: I got the idea of the blue pencil from Palmer Christian. It's such a good way to mark music and it's easy on the eyes. It's a very important thing to mark fingering and how you're going to do things--not to have a Monday way, a Wednesday way, and a Thursday way. I have a student, Robert Jones, in Houston, who's fanatic about that. The strategy in the hand helps us to play. There are many people who say they're far too "creative" to mark their fingering. These are very often the ones who don't play as well as the ones who know where they're going.

The next thing is making the goals in your study. If you have a piece you want to learn, divide it into sections rather than trying to learn the whole thing all at once. Young people should have goals to learn certain music. In the semester system, we have juries for the music the student has learned. I don't know but that all of us don't waste time by being rather aimless. We waste time by not having an objective. That's why I've enjoyed teaching, because the goal is to be there and to have a plan.

Another goal I've had over the last five years is recording all the works of Pachelbel. He's such an imaginative composer. He doesn't have the rhetoric of the North Germans. He has a sweetness, placidity and strength in his music, and it has been a great joy to learn and play his music. These are recorded in the Musical Heritage Series. I began the series with the freely composed works, but then there were enough chorale preludes for three disks. The chorale preludes were written for services or as interludes for hymns. So we decided that the chorale would be sung first. A gifted tenor in the doctoral program, Robert Breault, sang the melodies. After  recording the chorales, we came to the Magnificats. I asked a Benedictine monk, Irwin West, to sing the alternation. There are more Magnificats written for the first tone than for any other. Dr. Tom Strode and his Boychoir sang the alternation for Volumes 7 and 8.

Q: Have you done some additional teaching elsewhere in addition to your teaching at Michigan?

A: I did some  teaching at Columbia University during summers while I was in doctoral studies. I taught at St. Paul's Chapel at Columbia, where Searle Wright was the organist. I also taught at Pomona College in Claremont and at the school in Brazil. But I love Michigan a lot. What's wonderful about teaching is that the clientele changes. I have had students for as many as four or five years. I have recommended that some of my students study with my other colleagues in the department. Prof. Glasgow, Dr. Kibbie, and Dr. Johns each have their own special things to offer.

Robert Glasgow excels in the nineteenth-century interpretations, while Dr. Kibbie enjoys the baroque and contemporary. Michele Johns with her expertise and experience has brought  much to our curriculum in church music practices. Her position as organist/choirmaster at Our Lady of Good Counsel, Plymouth, has given "hands-on" experience to so many of our students.

Q: Was there ever a thought that you would go anywhere else to teach?

A: I had a wonderful offer from USC  and Raymond Kendall in the '50s. But I talked to my husband and to Dean Moore and decided to stay here.

Q: In a job interview, someone once asked me what I would like written on my tombstone. What would you like to be remembered for?

A: You would like to think that the things you have done have been a blessing to other people and that you were kind. We all have our own opportunity to serve. So, for the stone, I have two suggestions: "She served and enjoyed" or "S. D. G."

Q: Thank you, Marilyn, for your 50 years of teaching at the University of Michigan and for the positive influence you have had on so many lives!