Squirrel Island completes first summer organ resident program

When I was a kid . . .

KLH and WCRB

I grew up in the rectory of the Parish of the Epiphany in Winchester, Massachusetts, where my father was rector. Prominent on the shelves on the living room wall nearest the street was a KLH Model 24 “Hi-fi” and a collection of LPs. Dad wrote his sermons in the living room on Saturday nights using a typewriter set up on a card table facing the speakers of the KLH, listening to the live broadcast of the Boston Symphony Orchestra (BSO) on classical radio station WCRB. It was well understood that one entered that room on pain of death.

Once, a thief broke into the house, and the KLH was among the missing items. The police recovered a cache of stuff they thought might be ours, and asked my mother over the phone for details that would help identify it. She remembered that there was a Joan Sutherland recording on the turntable, and that turned the trick. The cache was returned with the record intact. Dame Joan saved the day.

WCRB was, and still is, the classical music radio station in Boston. When I was a kid, it was at 1330 AM and 102.5 FM (like so many things, those numbers have changed). The AM side was important because the Ford Falcon only had an AM radio. The theme music for WCRB’s afternoon rush-hour program, Drive Time, was the last movement of Handel’s Organ Concerto, op. 7, no. 6 (B-flat major), in a recording featuring Pierre Cochereau with a big orchestra. I thought his cadenzas were thrilling, but later realized they were “of a period,” romantic and virtuosic, un-Handelian. We heard that piece pretty much every day, singing along, and carrying the earworm through supper. WCRB was such a part of our family life that I played that concerto on my senior recital at Oberlin as a gift to my parents. I used a three-stop Flentrop chamber organ on the stage of Warner Concert Hall joined by a string quartet of friends and wrote my own cadenzas—a decidedly un-Cochereau-esque performance.

Richard L. Kaye was the manager of WCRB, and ultimately the chairman of its board of directors. He hosted a program called WCRB Saturday Night, which came on after the BSO concert, in which he presented humorous takes on classical music and introduced the Boston audience to British comedy. It was at his hands that I learned of the King’s Singers, Florence Foster Jenkins, the “Bricklayer” letter (www.lectlaw.com/files/fun28.htm), and heaps of other hilarity. Allan Sherman (“Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh…”) was a favorite, and Monty Python a staple.

Mr. Kaye’s greatest contributions were marathon fundraisers for the BSO. Each year WCRB would devote an entire weekend to the effort, featuring interviews with orchestra members and giving the audience the chance to make pledges in return for prizes, very much a model for the now ubiquitous NPR fund-raisers. One tee-shirt bore the phrase, “Beethoven Lives: 1770–1827.” I’m guessing that was Beethoven’s bicentennial year. There were contests for musical limericks and puns, with symphony tickets as prizes. One of my entries as a 16-year-old was “Of Korsakov only between movements.” I didn’t win. I’ve read that Richard L. Kaye was responsible for raising more than $3,000,000 for the BSO—in 1974 dollars.

Vinyl

My parents’ collection of recordings included lots of the favorite classical symphonies, and Dad subscribed to the Musical Heritage Society, a mail-order record company with a “disc of the month” club. Two or three randomly selected discs would arrive in the mail each month. They were heavy on the baroque, which was fine with me, but I remember one in particular that featured the late McNeil Robinson and the choir of the Church of St. Mary the Virgin at Times Square in New York City. While I don’t remember the programming, I do remember that Neil improvised on that smashing Aeolian-Skinner organ between choral pieces. As a young pup of an organist, I was in the thrall of the sound of that organ and of the very idea that someone would create a piece of music out of thin air like that.

In those days, Gerre Hancock was organist at Christ Church (Episcopal, now Christ Church Cathedral) in Cincinnati. That was dad’s home parish, and he had gotten his hands on a couple LPs of “Uncle Gerre” leading the church’s annual Boar’s Head Festival. The “Title Song” was the Boar’s Head Carol, with organ improvisations between verses, and again, I was thrilled with the sound, the concept, and the power of that music. I feel lucky to have grown up to know both of those organists, and you can bet I told them both about how their recordings helped inspire my career.

Organs I knew

Ernest Skinner’s Opus 128—that’s an early one. It was built in 1905, the year that Robert Hope-Jones joined the Skinner Organ Company as vice-president, and it was in our home church. It was the first organ I played, and I thought it was pretty great. But from the beginning of my “organ awareness,” I knew it was in poor condition. It made all sorts of strange groaning and dying sounds, it had heaps of dead notes, and it ciphered. 

I have a vivid memory of the organist leaving the bench during a service, crossing the chancel (bowing to the altar), fetching a ladder, crossing the chancel (bowing to the altar), setting the ladder, and climbing to the chamber to pull a pipe, quelling the cipher, still wearing his black cassock—then repeating the solemn farce in reverse to return the ladder to its hook. Looking back on that, I’m sure he was delighted to stage that piece of theater. The Skinner was replaced by a two-manual tracker organ by C. B. Fisk (Opus 65) a few years later (www.cbfisk.com/instruments/opus_65).

As a treble chorister, I was itching to take organ lessons. Dad was adjunct professor of homiletics at the Episcopal Theological School (now Episcopal Divinity School) in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and he arranged for me to have lessons with Alastair Cassels-Brown, professor of sacred music and chapel organist at the seminary, where the chapel organ had been built by Walter Holtkamp in 1956. That organ is just as old now as Skinner #128 was when I first played it. (Yikes!) It has electro-pneumatic action, a slider chest for the Great, and a Ruckpositiv, unusual for American organs at that time. Melville Smith was the organist when the Holtkamp was installed—he was also director of the nearby Longy School of Music. A young Charles Fisk was Holtkamp’s apprentice, E. Power Biggs lived in the neighborhood, and his disciple Daniel Pinkham was also around. They were all leaders of a great revolution in organ design and playing, and I love to imagine evening conversations in that little organ loft during the installation. 

I rode my bicycle seven miles from home in Winchester to ETS for those organ lessons (when I was a kid . . . ). When I drive those narrow busy roads today, I can hardly believe I survived then—in the days before helmets.

A couple years later, my lessons moved to the First Congregational Church in Winchester, home of a three-manual Fisk organ built in 1972 (www.cbfisk.com/instruments/opus_50). John Skelton, a former student of Alastair, was the church’s organist, and he was my teacher through my graduation from high school in 1974. I was given practice privileges there, which was mighty convenient, as the church was just two blocks from our home.

George Bozeman was an organbuilder in the area, and his wife Pat was a member of the choir at the Parish of the Epiphany. George was one of several musicians in the area who encouraged my enthusiasm. He was organist of the First Congregational Church of neighboring Woburn, Massachusetts, which has a marvelous three-manual organ built in 1860 by E. & G. G. Hook (http://database.organsociety.org/SingleOrganDetails.php?OrganID=8041). He offered me the chance to serve as his assistant, covering for him when he was away on organbuilding trips. It was about an hour walk or fifteen-minute bike ride from home (when I was a
kid . . . ), and I loved playing and practicing on that grand instrument. There was a Dairy Queen along the route. The Woburn Unitarian Church was across the square, home to another large three-manual Hook—that’s the one that was relocated through the Organ Clearing House to the Church of the Holy Cross in Berlin, Germany—Die Berliner Hook.

William H. Clarke had been the organist of both those churches in Woburn through the 1860s and 1870s, oddly shuttling back and forth between the two. He was responsible for the installation of the organ in the Unitarian Church in 1870 and was the great and good friend of George P. Kinsley, the head voicer for E. & G. G. Hook. Sometime just after that, Clarke moved to Indianapolis to start his own organ building company, taking Kinsley with him. Among the few dozen organs he built was a ten-stop job for the Church of the New Jerusalem (Swedenborgian) in Yarmouthport, Massachusetts, where my parents bought a summer home in 1969. That church only operated in the summer, and I was organist there for four summers. That was only a twenty-minute walk.

The First Congregational Church in Yarmouthport has a two-manual Hook & Hastings organ that I played on a lot, practicing in bare feet, and playing recitals once in a while. The pastor’s name was Carlton Cassidy—we called him “Hopalong.”

Biggsy

My father’s teaching position at the seminary came with a parking space. Harvard Square, a favorite haunt of our family, was a couple blocks from there. I loved the record department at the Harvard Coop (now Barnes & Noble) and spent all the money I could spare. It seemed that every time I went there, E. Power Biggs had released another recording. I snapped them all up, racing back to the KLH for hours of listening. One of my favorites was Vivaldi’s D-minor concerto as arranged for organ by J. S. Bach (BWV 596). Biggs recorded that, along with chorale preludes by Ernst Pepping, on the Schnitger organ in Zwolle, Holland. I played it on a recital in 1972—I was 16 and never did get those pesky descending thirds in the fugue—and have played it dozens of times since. The organ in Zwolle was built in 1721—it’s 295 years old—and that contemporary music is just as viable there as Bach’s, which was written when the organ was new. Thanks to E. Power Biggs, I learned as a teenager that the pipe organ is all about timelessness. (I can play those thirds now!)

MBTA Commuter Rail trains run from Winchester to North Station in Boston. From there it was easy to take the Green Line subway to Boylston Street where I loved hanging out at the Boston Music Company and Carl Fischer’s, where George Kerr ran the organ music desk. He was a patient guide to an enthusiastic young musician on a tight budget, sharing stories of the famous musicians who came and went from his desk and offering me freebies—most of which I realized later was second-rate stuff he couldn’t sell. 

I bought Biggs’s editions and collections from George, dutifully dating each purchase. On March 4, 1970, I bought Festival Anthology for Organ ($3.00), and Treasury of Early Organ Music ($3.50), and on December 27, 1970 (Christmas money?), I bought A Treasury of Shorter Organ Classics ($2.00). Forty-six years later, they’re still on my shelf, chock full of my youthful fingerings (whose hands were those?) and naïve observations. Over the decades I’ve played from those volumes countless times, I treasure their presence in my library, and I can hardly express all I learned from Biggs through his publications and recordings.

I was surrounded by a group of organists who encouraged my interest in the organ, especially by taking me to concerts. I heard Anton Heiller and Fenner Douglass play the (first) Fisk organ at Harvard University, and thrill of all thralls, Biggs playing on “his” Flentrop organ at the Busch-Reisinger Museum (now Adolphus Busch Hall). One evening we heard him play all sorts of early music—Sweelinck, Bruhns, Buxtehude. At the conclusion of the published program, he sidled out from behind the Rugwerk and said to the delighted audience, “I’m happy to play another piece, but I’ve run out of baroque music!” (Baloney!) He gave us Charles Ives’ Variations on ‘America.’ I had never heard anything so cool. I’m guessing that was early in 1972, because the older of my two copies of “The Ives” is dated April 2, 1972. I must have been on the train to Carl Fischer’s the next weekend.

A favorite post-concert haunt of organists was The Wursthaus (long gone) in Harvard Square, an old-fashioned, old-world place that served beer by the bucket and classic soggy German dishes by the greasy pound. I sat with groups of organists at big round tables after concerts, and I recall one evening when someone noticed there were nine people present who played for area churches that had organs built by C. B. Fisk, Inc.

A few years later, in the fall of my freshman year at Oberlin, the magnificent Flentrop organ in Warner Concert Hall was dedicated on St. Cecilia Day, capping a week-long festival of workshops, round-table discussions, and concerts. Biggs was there as participant and to receive an honorary degree, and a classmate and I were deputized to meet Mr. and Mrs. Biggs and show them around the Conservatory. He asked us to demonstrate the practice organs for him (his fingers had been ravaged by arthritis) and answered our questions patiently and generously, moments an eighteen-year-old would never forget. When we were finished, he asked if there was a place to get a beer. Oberlin was a dry town then, but my friend and I walked the mile to Johnnie’s Carry-Out on the township border, and brought beer back to their room at the Oberlin Inn. I shared the story with my girlfriend Amy who was still back in Winchester finishing high school. She didn’t believe me, so she went to a record-signing event at the Harvard Coop, and asked Biggs if he knew me. “Oh yes, the bearded one.” Hah! Told you.

The summer of 1976 (I was twenty) was my second stint working for Bozeman-Gibson & Company. That summer, the company moved from Lowell, Massachusetts, to Deerfield, New Hampshire, and my co-worker John Farmer (now an active organbuilder in North Carolina) and I installed a new one-manual organ in the chapel on Squirrel Island, just off Southport Island and Boothbay Harbor, Maine. The only way to reach the island was by ferry, a small privately operated thing like a lobster boat. We caused quite a spectacle carrying the organ parts from the rented truck down the dock to the ferry and stacking them among the other passengers. It took three trips. That was lovely foreshadowing, as Wendy and I have had a house in that area for fifteen years, and we often sail around Squirrel Island.

Before the trip to Squirrel, Farmer and I took the organ on a detour to Boston where we installed it in the crossing of the Cathedral of the Holy Cross in preparation for the 1976 American Guild of Organists national convention, where Barbara Bruns played a Handel Concerto with the Handel & Haydn Society Orchestra. I had my AGO convention debut that week as Farmer and I played the organbuilder parts in a piece for organist, organbuilders, and electronic tape by Martha Folts. We stood inside the Fisk organ at King’s Chapel in Boston with the score on a music stand, slapping at square rails and rollerboards, stirring up a fine racket!

The highlight of the 1976 convention was “AGO Night at the Pops” at Symphony Hall with Arthur Fiedler, the Boston Pops, and E. Power Biggs. For one of his signature “Pops Extras,” Fiedler addressed the thousands of organists present, inviting us to sing along with the “next number,” and launching the orchestra into the introduction of “Hallelujah” from Handel’s Messiah. Lord, what a thrill. Biggs played a Rheinberger concerto with the orchestra in what I believe was his last public performance. He died on March 10, 1977.

§

I was lucky to come up playing a fleet of wonderful organs, both new and old. In those days, new organs were being sold like fried dough at the State Fair, and I was treated to more than a dozen dedication recitals during those years. I was fortunate to live in that area where so many talented people were doing so much interesting work in and around organs. They were generous to me with their time and interest in my development. I’m grateful to them all and have tried to pass on the torch in their names to young people I meet who are interested in the organ.

It’s sobering to realize how many of those organs were new—some brand new—when I first knew them, and they’re all over forty years old now. Their leather, like mine, is showing signs of age.

John Bishop is executive director of the Organ Clearing House.

Hometown loyalty
Local loyalty is legendary amongst native Mainers, those who have lived in Maine and nowhere else. There’s the story about the man from “away” who settled in a comfortable house with a backyard fence that separated his property from Eben’s (short for Ebenezer)—Eben had been born and grew up in that house. They were cordial neighbors for years, but our man was always aware that Eben continued to consider him an outsider. Forty years into their friendship, our man asked Eben, “We’ve been neighbors for forty years. Surely by now you must consider me part of the town.” Eben was quiet for a long moment, and then said quietly, “If the cat had kittens in the oven you wouldn’t call ’em biscuits.”
Some fifteen years ago I was renovating an organ in a small town in Maine. An elderly local organist was interested in the project and visited the church several times as I worked. He wanted me to see the organ in his church—an instrument built in the 1920s when his aunt was organist there. He had succeeded her some fifty years ago and was the proud steward of the little organ. I asked if he had lived there all his life. He replied, “not yet.”
I’ve lived in Boston all my life. Well, not really. I spent almost ten years in Ohio, first as an undergraduate and then as director of music at a church in Cleveland and working with organbuilder John Leek in Oberlin. Now although we vote in Boston, my wife and I divide our time between my hometown and mid-coast Maine, an area that I have grown to love. And I spend so much time away from home on Organ Clearing House projects (I’m coming to the end of five weeks in New York City) that I don’t seem to be at home for more than a few days at a time.
But I still consider myself a Bostonian. I’m proud of the city’s role in our country’s history. As a descendant of Paul Revere, I was brought up keenly aware of the sites of critical Revolutionary battles and the wealth of historic sites and buildings scattered throughout the area. We live a few hundred yards from the USS Constitution, familiarly known as Old Ironsides, the Navy’s frigate commissioned in 1797, now the oldest ship in the U.S. Navy. The Old North Church (“ . . . hang a lantern aloft in the North Church tower as a signal light; one if by land and two if by sea, I on the opposite shore will be ready to ride and spread the alarm through every Middlesex village and farm . . .”—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Paul Revere’s Ride) is in our neighborhood.
I have been an avid fan of the Boston Red Sox, where until about 1990 the team was made up largely of loyal “lifers.” Carl Yastrzemski played his entire 23-year career for the Red Sox. That seems a gentler era in professional sports when a hometown hero stayed home and was admired over the decades. Dwight Evans seemed headed for such a career until the Sox released him as a free agent in 1990 after eighteen years at Fenway Park. He retired after playing one season for the Baltimore Orioles and that apparent disloyalty on the part of the Sox was the beginning of the end of my unabashed fandom. That feeling was iced followed the thrill of the Red Sox’ long-awaited World Series victory in 2004. (They hadn’t won the World Series since 1918, the year they sold Babe Ruth to the New York Yankees for $100,000 so Red Sox owner and theater impresario Harry Frazee could fund the first performances of No, No, Nanette.) No sooner had the dust settled over Fenway after the 2004 Series, than Sox hero Johnny Damon was traded to the hated New York Yankees. Don’t tell me it’s just a game!

§

Boston has always been an organ town. It was right around 1800 when the Puritans gave in to the evils of church music, and a small pipe organ was installed at King’s Chapel on Tremont Street in Boston. Within a few years, William
Goodrich and Thomas Appleton were building organs in Boston. In 1827, two young cabinetmakers from Salem, Massachusetts (the town famous for the witch trials of 1692) finished their apprenticeship with William Goodrich and opened their own organbuilding shop in Boston. Elias and George Hook started slowly, building fewer than ten organs a year for the first few years, but forty years later they were rocketing along at a fifty-five-per-year clip.
I love to think of the spectacle of a nineteenth-century workshop building that many organs. The instruments were shipped all over the country—how did they manage the correspondence for that many instruments without telephones and self-stick stamps, let alone fax machines and (God forbid) e-mail? How did they organize the flow of materials to their workshop? It takes tons of lumber, metal, and countless other materials to build an organ. The in-street trolley tracks that carried human passengers around Boston during the day were the routes of horse-drawn rail cars that brought rough materials to the workshop. The same carts transported the completed organs to barges, steamships, and railroads. Rural northern New England is pretty difficult to navigate today. There are few large roads, many hills and mountains, and lots of narrow bridges that cross treacherous rivers. It’s hard to imagine hauling a large pipe organ to northern New Hampshire, Vermont, or Maine when teams of horses or oxen were the engines of the day.
And picture the rural church receiving its new Hook organ. A couple workers travel from the factory with the organ. The trip takes weeks. They enlist the help of locals for the heavy lifting and complete all facets of the installation. Since the trip took so long, they must have stayed on the job until they were sure the organ was perfect. There would be no relying on a routine two-month check-up to correct anything that went wrong with the new organ.
I suppose that before the workers left the completed installation, they would visit all the other churches nearby, offering the company’s services for more new instruments. There are Hook organs built in the 1860s and 1870s all around the country, including the Deep South. Was it awkward for the Yankees from the Hook factory to cross the Mason-Dixon Line with their organ shipments in the years following the Civil War? I imagine their wives spent sleepless nights worrying for their safety. And how did the southern organists and church committees get in touch with the sales department at Hook? Did Hook advertise in newspapers all across the country? We have copies and reproductions of the Hook catalogue and sales brochures (you can purchase them online from the Organ Historical Society).

§

When I was a teenager, I had my organ lessons on a new organ built by Fisk (First Congregational Church, Winchester, Massachusetts). I had organist duties at the First Congregational Church of neighboring Woburn, Massachusetts, which had a terrific organ by
E. & G. G. Hook, with around 30 stops on three manuals, built in 1860. My family had a summer home on Cape Cod in a town that was home to a small Hook & Hastings organ, and another by William H. Clark.
You may not have heard of William H. Clark. He had been organist of the First Congregational Church in Woburn, playing on the same terrific Hook organ as I. In the late 1860s he moved across the square to the Unitarian Church, where in 1870 he oversaw the installation of an even larger three-manual Hook organ. The Unitarian Hook is the instrument that was relocated to Kirche zum Heiligen Kreuz in Berlin, Germany, and so beautifully restored by Hermann Eule of Bautzen. Stephen Kinsley was the chief voicer at the Hook factory—today we would call him tonal director—and the great and good friend of William Clark—good enough that Clark was able to woo him away from Hook into an organbuilding partnership. William H. Clark Company was located in Indianapolis. They built about a dozen organs, including the one I knew so well on Cape Cod, another in Sacred Heart Catholic Church in Bethlehem, Ohio—an instrument that I helped John Leek restore in the late 1970s.
Those were all wonderful organs, but I know I took them for granted. As an incoming freshman at Oberlin, I realized that my classmates had had no such luck. One guy played a pipe organ for the first time when he auditioned at Oberlin. All his high-school experience had been on electronic instruments. I was dazzled by the then brand-new Flentrop organ in Warner Concert Hall, but quite a few of the organs I played there were much less than what I had grown up with. Growing up in Boston, I had been fortunate to hear E. Power Biggs play recitals on “his” Flentrop organ at Busch Hall (then called the Busch-Reisinger Museum) at Harvard University. I heard the dedication concert of the Frobenius organ at First Church in Cambridge. Few people knew much about the Danish organbuilder Frobenius in the 1970s, and the organ was a knockout. I heard Fisk organs at Harvard, King’s Chapel and Old West Church in Boston, and another dozen or so in the suburbs.

§

You may have noticed that all the organs I’ve mentioned so far are trackers. There is no American city where the revival (I like to say Renaissance) of the pipe organ was more active than in Boston. When I was in high school, companies like Fisk, Noack, Andover, and Bozeman were building exciting and fascinating new organs at a rapid rate. My several mentors took me to workshop open houses where I first experienced the ethic and mystery of the organbuilding shop. And skillful organists populated the area’s organ benches, playing recitals followed by receptions and parties that all helped me learn to appreciate the pipe organ, not only as a musical instrument but as a community and way of life.
It wasn’t until after I graduated from Oberlin that I had any meaningful experiences with electro-pneumatic instruments. I worked with John Leek replacing leathers in a large Aeolian-Skinner organ in Cleveland and in several other smaller instruments, notably one by E.M. Skinner in original condition. When I returned to Boston after my Ohio hiatus, I took on the care of the Skinner/Aeolian-Skinner organ at Trinity Church, Copley Square, and the Aeolian-Skinner (4 manuals, 237 ranks) at the First Church of Christ, Scientist (The Mother Church). Being around those organs exposed me to some of the finest musicians and helped open my eyes to the range of tone and expression for which those organs are famous.
And those Skinner organs are products of Boston. Traveling on the Southeast Expressway (Route I-93 south of Boston) you can still read “Aeolian-Skinner” written on the wall of a large brick building, directly across the highway from the headquarters of the Boston Globe. The large erecting room at the south end of the building was sacrificed for the construction of the highway, precipitating the company’s move to Randolph, Massachusetts, and signaling the beginning of the end of the company. But in the “glory days,” Ernest Skinner himself worked in that building, developing the rich orchestral voices for which he is still famous. (Or we might say, after the tracker-action blitz of the 1970s, voices for which he is again famous!)
Skinner was fascinated by the ergonomics of the organ console—though I suppose the word ergonomics was not part of our language until after his lifetime. He watched organists as they played and perfected the dimensions and geometry of the console. He worked hard to lessen the distance between keyboards—no small feat given the need for piston buttons large enough to use easily (piston buttons that easily conflict with the sharp keys of the keyboard below). The design of the Skinner keyboard included tracker-touch springs, lots of ranges of adjustment for travel, spring tension, and contact point. The stop knobs had distinctive over-sized ivory faces, with names engraved in a font (another word that Skinner didn’t know) that was both elegant and easily legible. He was proud of his combination actions, and with good reason, as he developed them in the first years of the twentieth century—among the first mechanical machines that functioned as programmable binary computers.
He invented the whiffletree expression engine, inspired by the rigs developed to hitch teams of horses to a carriage. The horse-teams would perform better if each individual had freedom of motion, and each individual’s relative strength could complement the others. By extension, Skinner’s expression machine has individual power pneumatics for each stage that are hitched together using the same geometry as the team. Good observing, Mr. Skinner.

§

I’ve mentioned several organbuilders who contributed to the culture of Boston. Others include George Stevens, George Hutchings, S.S. Hamill, Robert Roche, Nelson Barden, and the Spencer Organ Company. Extending the area to northern New England, you can add the names of Robert Waters, Jeremy Cooper, Stephen Russell, and David Moore. Extend the area to central Massachusetts and you can add Stefan Maier and William A. Johnson (later Wm. Johnson & Sons). Add them all up, from Goodrich to Fisk, from 1800 to 2010, and you get a total of something like 8,500 pipe organs built in Boston and surrounding areas. It’s a terrific heritage—a rich variety of musical imagination and creation that includes some of the finest organs ever built. But in sheer numbers, it pales in comparison to the world’s largest organbuilder, M.P. Möller, a single company that produced 13,500 organs in less than 100 years, all in the same town.

§

It’s a beautiful town. The Italian North End has scores of terrific small restaurants. The Freedom Trail (United States National Park) is an organized walking tour of two-and-a-half miles that covers sixteen important historical sites. The Museum of Fine Arts has impressive collections of ancient Roman and Egyptian art as well as the expected glories of high European Art. The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum comprises the private collection of an individual, opened to the public following her death. The Boston Symphony Orchestra under the direction of James Levine is as good as a great orchestra can be, and the Aeolian-Skinner organ at Symphony Hall (right across the street from the Christian Science Mother Church) has recently been renovated.
There’s plenty to do on the water. Boston Harbor Cruises operates tours ranging from an evening hour or two to a full day whale-watch cruise. You can take a fast ferry to Provincetown and back in a day. And if you visit in the fall, you can add a couple days of coveted foliage-touring in New Hampshire and Vermont.
The website of the Boston Chapter of the American Guild of Organists
(bostonago.com) has a good listing of organ recitals and related events. Emmanuel Church (Episcopal) on Newbury Street is the only place in the United States where you can hear a complete Bach cantata with orchestra every Sunday presented as part of worship service. The music is presented by the resident ensemble Emmanuel Music, a highly respected and accomplished group of some of the city’s finest musicians. Visit www.emmanuelmusic.org to see their schedule of performances. As Newbury Street is the city’s high-end shopping district, you can count on finding an exquisite Sunday brunch to complement the wonderful music.
Come to Boston, the pipe organ capital of America.

User interface

In 1975 and 1976 I had summer jobs in the workshops of Bozeman-Gibson & Company. I use the plural because the shop was in Lowell, Massachusetts in 1975, and during the summer of 1976 the company was moving to new digs in Deerfield, New Hampshire. These were my first forays into the craft, and those few months were full of adventure. In 1975 the company was installing an organ in Castleton, Vermont, and I thought it was great fun to be working on site. They were also starting the restoration of the very old Stevens organ in First Church in Belfast, Maine.

During the transitional summer of 1976, we worked hard moving truckloads of machines, tools, stock, and supplies to Deerfield. As I arrived in the shop at the end of the semester, a one-manual organ for the Chapel on Squirrel Island, Maine was being completed. We installed it in the crossing of Holy Cross Cathedral in Boston for use in a concert by the Handel & Haydn Society during the national convention of the American Guild of Organists. When the convention was over, we took the organ to Maine, carrying it to the island on the small private ferry. It was all very exotic.

The new workshop in Deerfield was an old barn, and we split our days between organ building and barn building, making all sorts of repairs to the place. One night there was a wicked thunderstorm, the remnants of a hurricane that worked its way up the coast, and we stayed up late moving things away from the unfinished windows.

George Bozeman and David Gibson were the partner-principals, and David and his family moved into the farmhouse that accompanied the barn. Several of us rented rooms in the house. We had a beer kitty (25 cents a bottle) on top of the refrigerator and we had communal meals. The whole thing was a great experience for a 20-year-old organ nut.

Today, the Organ Clearing House rents the workshop from George in his retirement. The plywood outfeed table I built for the table saw is still there, along with remnants of lots of other little handyman things I did. The roof above the table saw is the place where I put a hammer through the wood into a hornet’s nest while replacing shingles, and escaped by sliding off the roof into the bushes—a stunt that would kill me today! Since we occupied the shop several years ago, we’ve done lots of great work there, and it’s nice to have that connection with my past. George still lives in the little house out back, and it’s great fun to see him regularly.

Today, our house in Maine is about twelve miles from Squirrel Island, as the crow flies. I visited the organ there last summer. And First Church in Belfast is about fifty miles away. Wendy and I attended a concert there a couple years ago. It’s fun revisiting those places and those instruments that were part of my introduction to organbuilding, nearly forty (gulp) years ago.

A work in progress

As I look back across the intervening years, I realize how much has changed in the trade, and in my outlook and perception. In the seventies, I was a tracker-action firebrand. I’ve since come to appreciate and love the sounds of the expressive electro-pneumatic organ. Thirty-five years ago I scoffed at the gaudy consoles of big organs with electric actions. Those were the days when the phrase cockpit syndrome was born, and it was not meant to be complimentary. I wondered why an organist needed all those gizmos and indicator lights to make music. It seemed that the intimacy of the pure relationship between musician and instrument was compromised.

But even I had to admit that it was tricky to get your fingers between the huge ebony sharp-keys on the keyboards of a Hook organ. And speaking of that big 1860 three-manual Hook organ that I loved so much, draw two or three couplers, especially the Choir to Great sub-octave, and to repeat a common phrase, it was like driving a Mack truck. How intimate is that? And by the way, that would be a Mack truck from 1950 with a steel dashboard, twelve-speed manual transmission (without synchronized gears), a two-speed axle, and a cracked mirror—not a modern dreamboat of a truck with power steering, hydrostatic transmission, ergonomic seats, air conditioning, stereo, and GPS.

What was Ernest Skinner thinking when the only Trumpet in the organ was in the Swell box, not on the Great where God meant Trumpets to be? And forget about Trumpets, what about the Mixture? One Mixture in an organ and he put it in the Swell? Ridiculous.

Oh, wait a minute, I get it—when the most powerful voices are under expression, you maximize the range of expression. So when that full Swell is coupled to the Great with the box closed, you can “crack” it for the start of the second line, and by the end of the verse the organ is roaring, and your hands never left the keyboards. Marvelous.

Consoles

Until I joined the Organ Clearing House, I led the double life common among organ folk, that of organist and organbuilder. I recognize this as the source of my love for working on consoles. Whenever one of our projects includes rebuilding a console, I try to organize bringing it to my personal workshop at our house in Maine, where I can revel in the puzzle of how best to make the console as functional and accessible as possible.

I’ve come to realize that the well-appointed console of an expressive electro-pneumatic organ is the vehicle for the intimacy between the organist and the instrument. Longtime violinist of the Guarneri Quartet, Arnold Steinhardt, has written eloquently of the intimacy between the player and the instrument: “When I hold the violin, my left hand stretches lovingly around its neck, my right hand draws the bow across the strings like a caress, and the violin itself is tucked under my chin, a place halfway between my brain and my beating heart.” (Violin Dreams, Houghton Mifflin, 2006, page 5.)

Steinhardt goes on to compare all this with instruments that are played “at arm’s length.” He implies that the violinist has more intimacy with the music he makes than the pianist. He overlooks the oboe, clarinet, and bassoon—those guys take the intimacy thing a step further. But I don’t think organists need to be left out of the fun. Playing a large organ in a vast acoustic is a heroic, monumental experience. Many of us know the thrill of taking our hands off the keys and reveling in that last chord as it reverberates. But the modern console allows the organist real intimacy in the control of that gigantic beast.

Think of the players of orchestral instruments as they achieve fortissimo. The trumpet player’s face becomes a roadmap of veins and muscles, the violinist sends horsehair and rosin flying, the pianist conjures power from the base of his spine and his shoulders, not unlike the major league pitcher turning his arm into a whip to hurl a ball at superhuman speeds.

Sit at the console of a large organ and draw a full registration, then quietly touch a single key. With a miniscule twitch of a muscle you emit a roar. If you saw that motion on a soundless video, it might resemble touching a lover’s hand or flicking away a mosquito. Combine hundreds of those flicks, and a cavernous space is alive with sound energy. There are 82 notes in the first measure of the Toccata from Widor’s Fifth Symphony. Play that on a hundred stops, that’s 8,200 individual notes in about four seconds, unless you’re playing too fast. Take that, Mr. Steinhardt!

What that organ’s console allows you to do is fling those notes into space by the thousand without breaking a sweat. The flick of the organist’s finger is magnified exponentially.

I think of this as a magical intimacy. The ergonomic seats and power steering in that modern Mack truck allow the driver to manage the huge machine effortlessly and tirelessly. The ergonomic organ console allows the organist to command many tons of organ components with flicks of the fingers.

Gizmos and gadgets

I love to think of a console as a magnifier, expanding the motions of the fingers into monumental sounds. I also love to think of an organ console as a manipulator, even a conjurer, fooling the organ into doing things it didn’t know were possible. The clever use of Unison Off and related couplers make possible the redistribution of the keyboards so a solo sound might be made available on a neighboring keyboard for the “thumbing” of a few solo notes, or a lengthy melody. This is one place where “thumbs down” is a positive thing. 

And when we get into a complicated situation like that, it’s handy to have indicators that tell you where you are and remind you what you’re doing. Now, if only we could add a “rerouting” feature like that in Google Maps, which realizes when you’re gone astray, takes a moment to catch its breath, and then displays a new route home.

The organ console is our “user interface.” When we play, we have the notes in our minds, whether we’re reading a score or drawing on our memory. The organ console allows us to translate those thoughts, which are the intellectual versions of audible music into a stream of information—a data-stream. The data-stream leaves the console and enters the organ, where the data is converted to audible music at the speed of light.

Ideally, the console is configured to allow maximum flexible control over the machinery that is the organ. There’s a philosophical beauty present as we think of how thoughts are translated into sound.

The intimacy is magnified when we add the composer to the mix. The creation of music comes from the mystical skill of hearing melody and harmony before they have jelled into a musical phrase or composition. Our system of notation is precise enough to allow the intentions of a composer to be delivered to the brain of the musician, and it is the relationship between the musician and the instrument that allows the contemporary immediate translation and interpretation. The organ console is that relationship between musician and instrument. It’s a physical appliance that performs a metaphysical function. How cool is that?

White with blue

Most organbuilders have adopted and adapted the use of color-coded cables that were developed by telephone companies to simplify the wiring of multiple circuits. The cables come in various sizes—12 pairs, 25 pairs, 50 pairs, and the special 32-pair cables created for organbuilders that allow the 61 notes of the keyboard plus three spares.

The conductors are arranged in reversing pairs, with primary and secondary colors. The first two conductors of a standard cable have a white wire with blue stripe, and a blue wire with white stripe. Keeping white as a common, you go through a series of five colors—blue, orange, green, brown, slate. So we rattle off the sequence as white-with-blue, blue-with-white, white-with-orange, orange-with-white. When we finish the first five pairs at white-with-slate, slate-with-white, the common color shifts to red: red-with-blue, blue-with-red, etc. Sounds complicated, but after you’ve wired a hundred keyboards, stops, windchests, etc., it becomes second nature. Everyone knows that black-with-green is note 25, which is middle C. The point is that you can accurately wire both ends of a lengthy cable by yourself.

As I separate the individual conductors in a cable, and sort them into the correct order, I think of the relationship between colors and notes. Green-with-white is low F. That wire will fire the low note of the last chords of grand pieces by Widor, Bach, or Mozart. Slate-with-white is number ten—the low note of the first chord (after the fanfare) of Mendelssohn’s Wedding March. How many times will that piece be played on this organ? And have you ever stopped to think of the ironic symbolism that the first note of that melody is supported by a chord that demands resolution, ‘til death do us part? Think of all those brides and grooms trembling with the increased tension of the diminished chord. It’s the second note of the melody that allows a sigh of relief. And by the way, that high C which starts the melody? Violet-with-slate.

Years ago my company installed a solid-state switching system in the grand Skinner/Aeolian-Skinner organ at Boston’s Trinity Church. One woman working for me at the time had trouble seeing the difference between the slates and violets in the color code. More than half of the high-B/C pairs were reversed!

The console is up on my workbench so I can work on the stuff below the keyboards. Those expression pedals—I’m manipulating them with my hands. Is that enough tension for operation by foot? (If you manipulate with your hands, do you pedipulate with your feet?) How long after the organ is finished before the organist hears the first squeak? What can I do to lengthen that period? Some axle grease, lithium grease, graphite paste?  

Will the light over the pedalboard shine up through the keyboards to distract the organist? It’s a movable console. When the console is placed in front of an audience, will that light distract them? If the light is shaded so it doesn’t distract the audience, can the organist see the pedal keys?

Recently we completed an organ with a complex and sophisticated console. I’m counting the indicator lights with my memory’s eye—I think there are about ten. I came up with LED (light emitting diode) bulbs with various and rich colors that are about an eighth of an inch in diameter. I drilled perfectly sized holes in the stop jambs and coupler rail and inserted the bulbs from behind so they stuck out the tiniest bit. Man, were they bright. I pushed them back in the holes, which made the light more remote to the organist, but they shone on the wall behind the console like a circus wagon, and when the console was moved to the chancel steps for a recital, those pesky lights were like laser beams in the eyes of the audience. So I used a leather punch to make little discs of black translucent plastic that I stuck in the holes in front of the LEDs. Perfect. The colors are still vivid, but not so gaudy. Where did I get the black plastic? A report cover from Staples.

The pitter-patter of little feet

When I was a student at Oberlin, I was fortunate to participate in a month-long workshop in Eurhythmics. It was organized by my organ teacher Haskell Thomson, and led by the recently retired professor of Eurhythmics and Music Theory, Inda Howland, who had studied with Emile Jaques-Dalcroze in Geneva. The longer I played music after my graduation, the more I realized the value of that month—what the exposure to that discipline added to my musicianship. I was studying Bach’s Toccata in F at the time (remember that green-with-white wire), and during one of the sessions I played the piece for the class in a Robertson Hall practice room. Professor Howland’s first comment was a question: “What is my first impression?” I had the right answer—the noise on the pedalboard. “Play it again without making noise.” Hmm. Good point.

And today, I try to make the pedalboard help the player to meet Professor Howland’s standards. Here’s a pedalboard that doesn’t make much noise when I play the keys, but makes a heck of a thump when I release a note. It’s a little like playing the pedal solo on steel drums. What can I use as a bumper or cushion that won’t compress too much with use, changing the travel of the pedal key and the “pluck point” of the contacts?

All this happens in that workshop that’s so close to some of the first organs I worked on. If I had been given a 50-pair color-coded cable in the summer of 1975 I wouldn’t have understood. But those thousands of little wires have everything to do with great music-making.

I can name that tune in three colors! 

Catharine Crozier
died on Friday, September 19, 2003 in Portland, Oregon, at the age of 89. The
cause of death was a severe stroke with complications from pneumonia.

Catharine Crozier was born in Oklahoma, where she began to
study the violin, piano and organ at an early age, making her first appearance
as a pianist at the age of six. She was awarded a scholarship to the Eastman
School of Music in Rochester, New York, where she studied organ with Harold
Gleason and graduated with the Bachelor of Music degree and the
Performer's Certificate. As a graduate student, Ms. Crozier received the
Artist's Diploma and the Master of Music degree. In 1939 she was
appointed to the organ faculty of the Eastman School of Music and became head
of the organ department in 1953. Ms. Crozier received the following honorary
degrees: Doctor of Music, from Smith College, Baldwin-Wallace College, and the
University of Southern Colorado; the Doctor of Humane Letters from Illinois
College, and in October, 2000, the Doctor of Musical Arts from the Eastman
School of Music, University of Rochester.

Following her debut at the Washington National Cathedral,
Washington, DC, in 1941, Catharine Crozier joined the roster of the Bernard
LaBerge Concert Management (currently Karen McFarlane Artists, Inc.) with which
she remained for 61 years. Dr. Crozier played recitals throughout the United
States, Canada and Europe, and was heard on national radio in many European
countries, the United States, and on Danish National Television. She was one of
three organists chosen to play the inaugural organ recital at Avery Fisher Hall
at Lincoln Center in 1962, and was engaged for a solo recital there in 1964.
She returned to Lincoln Center to perform a concerto with orchestra at the
inauguration of the Kuhn organ in Alice Tully Hall in 1976, followed by a solo
recital there one year later. In 1979 she was awarded the International
Performer of the Year Award by the New York City AGO chapter, presented to her
by Alice Tully at the conclusion of Crozier's award recital at Alice
Tully Hall. Shortly after this event, she recorded many of the pieces from that
recital for Gothic Records.

From 1955 to 1969 Dr. Crozier was organist of Knowles
Memorial Chapel at Rollins College in Florida. She conducted master classes
throughout the United States, teaching at Union Theological Seminary in New
York, the Andover Organ Institute, at Claremont College and Stanford University
in California, and Northwestern University. In addition she served as a member
of the jury at many international organ competitions, the latest being the 1994
Calgary International Organ Festival.

In addition to performing and teaching, Dr. Crozier
co-edited several editions of the Method of Organ Playing
style='font-style:normal'>, written by her husband, Harold Gleason. The first
edition of the Gleason book appeared in 1937. Following the death of Dr.
Gleason, Catharine Crozier edited the seventh edition (1987) and the eighth
edition (1995).

In 1993 Catharine Crozier moved to Portland, Oregon, where
she was artist-in-residence at Trinity Cathedral until early 2003. As
artist-in-residence, she frequently played organ voluntaries at services, gave
solo recitals and continued to teach. Her recent performances were broadcast
over Oregon Public Radio and in 2001 she was a featured artist on Oregon Public
Television's "Oregon Art Beat." Known for her definitive
playing of organ works of Ned Rorem and Leo Sowerby, two of the five Delos
International CDs she made during the last twenty years of her life included
the major organ works of these two composers.

On Dr. Crozier's 75th and 80th birthdays, she
performed solo recitals from memory at The Crystal Cathedral in Garden Grove,
California; her 85th birthday recital was played at The First Congregational
Church of Los Angeles. Recently, the American Guild of Organists began to
compile a video archive series of great organists; Catharine Crozier was the
subject of The Master Series, Vol. I,
which shows her performing and teaching in her 86th year.

A memorial service/concert and reception will be held on
January 26, 2004, at Trinity Cathedral in Portland, Oregon, with the Trinity
Cathedral Choir (John Strege, director) and organists David Higgs and Frederick
Swann. Memorial donations may be sent to: Music Endowment Fund, Trinity
Cathedral, 147 NW 19th Avenue, Portland, OR 97209.

Morris Chester Queen
died on August 3. Born on September 30, 1921, he grew up in Baltimore,
Maryland, where he began music study at age 7. He became musically active at
Mt. Zion Methodist Episcopal Church, where he and his family worshipped, and
played piano and organ for the church, sang tenor in the Senior Choir, and
directed the youth choir at age 17. During World War II, he served in the U.S.
Navy, where he directed the Great Lakes Naval Octet. In 1947 he was appointed
music director at Sharp Street Memorial Methodist Episcopal Church, Baltimore,
where he would serve for 55 years. That same year he entered Howard University,
where he received both the bachelor of music and bachelor of music education
degrees. In 1955, he received the master of music degree in composition and
choral conducting from Howard University. In addition to his church post, he
also founded and conducted the Morris Queen Chorale and taught at Lemmel Junior
High School and then at Walbrook Senior High School. He also directed the
Baltimore Chapel Choir, including more than 20 performances of Handel's
Messiah. During his tenure at Sharp Street Church, he served under 11 pastors
and missed only one Sunday in 55 years. On May 6, 2002, he was awarded the
Honorary Doctor of Sacred Music by the Richmond, Virginia Seminary. He is
survived by his wife, Ovella Queen, nieces, nephews, cousins, and a host of
other relatives and friends. A memorial service was held on August 9 at Sharp
Street Memorial United Methodist Church, Baltimore.

Remembering Bethel Knoche (1919-2003)

Bethel D. Knoche, 83, the first person to serve as principal
organist at the world headquarters of the Community of Christ (formerly,
Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints) in Independence,
Missouri, died on April 27, 2003, at her home in Independence following a long
illness. During her service to the world church, which was a period of nearly
thirty years, Bethel's ministry reached literally thousands of people
internationally, initially as organist for the church's radio broadcast
of daily morning devotions from the Stone Church and subsequently during her
years presiding at the Auditorium Organ as a participant in worship at world
conferences, recitalist, workshop leader and teacher, and as originator of the
weekly broadcast recital, "The Auditorium Organ."

A native of Arcadia, Kansas, she moved with her family to
Independence when she was eight. Following graduation from William Chrisman
High School, Bethel attended Graceland College for a year and then returned to
Independence, whereupon she began her service with the world church. In
addition to her radio work, her responsibilities included playing for many
church services, accompanying various choirs at the Stone Church, as well as
providing the organ accompaniment for the church's annual broadcast
performance of Handel's Messiah. During that time she began studying organ
with Powell Weaver, well-known Kansas City organist and composer, and completed
a bachelor of music degree in 1946 from Central Missouri State Teachers
College, Warrensburg, Missouri. She then entered a master's degree
program at the Eastman School of Music in Rochester, New York, where she was a
student of Harold Gleason for the next six years.

Many area organists began to recognize that there was
something quite special about Bethel's playing, and thus her career as a
teacher began. In addition to her serving on the faculties of Graceland and at
Warrensburg, she joined the faculty of the newly-formed, but short-lived,
Independence branch of the Kansas City Conservatory of Music. She also served a
number of years as an adjunct instructor of organ at the University of Missouri-Kansas
City's Conservatory of Music, where she taught degree-seeking students at
the bachelor's, master's and doctoral levels. Following her tenure
at the Auditorium, Bethel continued to influence the lives of hundreds of children
by teaching elementary music in the Raytown, Missouri public school system
until her retirement.

In the 1940s Bethel was in a position to share the dreams
and aspirations of the church leadership of having a fine pipe organ in the
world headquarters building, which at the time was a large incomplete domed
shell. It was her association with Harold Gleason and his famous wife, organ
virtuoso Catharine Crozier, that culminated in the design and installation of
the Aeolian-Skinner organ in the Auditorium, completed in 1959, which at the
time was the largest free-standing organ in the United States. Dr. Gleason
served as organ consultant for the church, Ms. Crozier played the inaugural
recital in November 1959, and Bethel was at the organ for its dedication during
the church's world conference in April 1960.

The arrival of the organ, which was considered by many
(including Aeolian-Skinner's president, Joseph Whiteford) to be
Aeolian-Skinner's masterpiece, heralded a new era in the musical life of
the community as well as the church. From the very beginning, Bethel invited
many distinguished guest musicians from all over the United States and abroad
to perform in Independence, a tradition which continues to the present day. Not
only has the Auditorium Organ been a superb instrument for performing great
organ literature, it was designed to possess in abundance the necessary
qualities for encouraging a vast congregation to sing. A congregational hymn
with Bethel Knoche at the Auditorium Organ was a truly inspiring moment for all
present. The organ also provided a new outlet for the church's
longstanding commitment to radio ministry and eventually became one of the most
frequently heard organs on the air. "The Auditorium Organ," a
program heard for more than thirty years, originated as a 30-minute recital
featuring Bethel Knoche and broadcast weekly over an international network. The
organ also set a new standard of excellence against which all future organs in
the Midwest would be measured, and Bethel provided invaluable assistance to countless
congregations in their selection and purchase of new organs.

Sensing the need to have many people prepared to play the
new organ on a regular basis, Bethel assembled and trained a small, but very
dedicated, corps of volunteer organists to share the playing responsibilities
at the many events that would be taking place in the Auditorium. In addition to
the many services that occur in conjunction with the church's biennial
world conference, a daily listening period was instituted, for which the organ staff
would provide invaluable assistance, enabling countless visitors to the
building to experience the beauty and power of the splendid new organ. The
daily recitals have continued to the present day (daily during the summer and
weekly throughout the rest of the year), made possible by a volunteer staff
that now comprises thirty-five gifted musicians.

Bethel is survived by her husband of fifty-six years, Joseph
T. Knoche; her daughter, Anne McCracken of Jackson, Tennessee; her son, Joseph
K. Knoche of Independence; her sister, Shirley Elliott of Fremont, Nebraska;
five grandchildren; seven great-grandchildren, and a host of former students,
friends and admirers from all over the world. Plans are now being formulated
for an appropriate world church commemoration of the life and ministry of
Bethel Knoche.

--Rodney Giles

Ft. Lauderdale, FL and Cherry Grove,NY

Past Dean, Greater Kansas City AGO

Bigelow & Co. Organ Builders, American Fork, Utah

Fortieth Anniversary

Opus 42

Saint John’s Episcopal Church, Fishers Island, New York

From the builder

Forty years—and forty-two organs— ago Bigelow & Co. was born. Looking back, it has been quite a ride. After training with master organbuilder John Brombaugh in Ohio, I set up shop in Utah, married the girl of my dreams, and went to work. Dr. David Rothe in Chico, California, showed incredible faith by signing our first contract. His organ featured “either-or” registration whereby a stop can be registered on either manual, thus lending flexibility with just a handful of stops. I liked the idea of giving broader appeal to the small, less expensive organ. In fact, we’ve built a number of “either-or” instruments since then, including our most recent work featured in this article.

I recall as a youth drooling over pictures of the great organs of Europe such as St. Bavokerk, Haarlem, and St. Johannis Kirche, Lüneburg, I never dreamed that I would visit them someday, sketch pad in hand, recording their beautiful cases not only on paper, but also in my mind and heart. Their visual excitement was equaled only by their magnificent sound. I was in heaven then, and I continue to be in heaven each time I get to design an organ case or experience a finished instrument. Opus 42 is no exception. It incorporates the church’s original 1929 organ case by Skinner Organ Company, which we upgraded to display new speaking pipes. We also replaced the original grillework in the two flats with new treble pipes and matching pipe shade carvings for heightened visual appeal.

My wife says it is time to retire, but I do not think she would like me hanging around the house so much. Besides, it is pipe organs that I love to build!

—Michael Bigelow

From the vice president and tonal director

I consider it a great blessing to have been employed at Bigelow & Co. during my entire organbuilding career—over thirty of the forty years of its existence. During that time I have learned much, and I still enjoy the challenge of designing mechanisms and sounds to fit different, sometimes difficult, situations. Our Opus 42 at St. John’s Church, Fishers Island, was not our first chamber installation, nor was it our first experience in building a mechanical-action instrument into existing casework. It was, however, our first experience with an instrument speaking into the chancel, and the low impost of the historic case presented significant mechanical challenges.  

Like most of our smaller instruments, Opus 42 uses our “either-or” registration system, whereby most stops can be registered on either one manual or the other. The availability of some re-usable pipes (16′ Bourdon, 8′ Principal bass, and Voix Celeste from Skinner, the bass octave of an earlier string, and the more recent wood 8′ Gedeckt) made for a somewhat richer disposition than would have been otherwise possible within our budget. In lieu of our more typical mutation stop,  the open metal 8′ Treble Flute was chosen, as it seemed to be more in keeping with late nineteenth-/early twentieth-century tradition. The sub-octave coupler was a special request—no other Bigelow organ has one—which, besides the more obvious advantages, makes it possible for an incredibly rich ensemble of six flue ranks to sound together at 8′ pitch!

I honestly cannot think of a happier installation experience than this one: wonderful people, a beautiful and relaxing environment, and a delightful instrument coming together in a lovely place. 

—David Chamberlin

From the organist

I first stepped off the Fishers Island Ferry in June of 2014. After several conversations with colleagues who had served the church in the preceding years, I knew St. John’s to be a summer community that values worship and the role the church plays in the unique pattern of island living. At the time of my hiring, the vestry communicated their hope that I might help them discern the best path forward for their organ, which had become as much a financial liability as a musical one. Having spent considerably on the instrument just a few years earlier, they were rightly cautious about continuing to sink resources into stopgap measures. Several conversations were held in regards to the respective merits of rebuilding the old organ or replacing it with a new pipe or digital instrument. To their great credit, the members of the vestry did considerable diligence in researching each option, and after a short period of prayer and discernment, the decision was made to commission a new pipe organ for the church. 

In an effort to instill confidence in the project and to avoid saddling future organists with my own musical preferences, I encouraged the church to engage Jonathan Ambrosino as an independent consultant. Jonathan shepherded us through the process of soliciting and reviewing proposals, helped to communicate effectively with the congregation, and ultimately served as a liaison between the church and builder throughout the processes of design, construction, and installation. After reviewing compelling proposals from four builders, the unanimous decision was reached to engage Bigelow & Co. to build the new instrument. It was immediately evident to all that the proposal written by Mike Bigelow and David Chamberlin not only respected the understated beauty of the setting, but also addressed several of the challenges particular to an island organ that only sees full service for about sixteen weeks of the year. Their mastery of the “either-or” registration system resulted in an instrument that is uncharacteristically versatile for its size, while the added sub-octave coupler contributes an undeserved range of color and depth. 

Now having completed its first summer of service, it is clear that this instrument will be a lasting source of pride for the Fishers Island community and a testament to the artistry and craftsmanship of Bigelow & Co. A happier result surely could not have been possible.  

—Brent Erstad

From the consultant

Over the past fifteen years, I have been variously involved with the chapel organ at Saint Paul’s School in Concord, New Hampshire. Working there made me aware of Saint John’s Episcopal Church on Fishers Island, in Long Island Sound, a parish with a long connection to the school. A number of alumni are church members, and the current rector and many organists have served both institutions (the school term dovetails neatly with the summer service schedule). Colin Lynch and Brent Erstad are two Saint Paul’s chapel organists who also served at Fishers; Andrew Sheranian and Michael Smith have also served. While none of them ever raved about the organ, they all spoke warmly of the place and its people.

In July 2015, Saint John’s got in touch about how to proceed with the instrument. It had begun life in 1929 as a humble eight-rank Skinner, with much of the Swell duplexed to the Great, a lone Pedal Bourdon, and no reed. Its alcove location was about as enchambered as could be imagined. In the 1980s and later, Alan McNeely revised the instrument into a full-bore two-manual of 22 ranks, with additional Pedal, Antiphonal, and eventually a few memorial digital voices. But the organ’s environment spelled its doom. The blower and some mechanism lived in a basement rife with dampness; salt and moisture played havoc with key contacts; the disused 1929 Spencer blower stood in a corner, a pile of rust and humiliation. In its final years, Ed Odell and Scot Huntington serviced the instrument.

While a part of New York State, Fishers is reached by ferry from New London, Connecticut. My maiden visit, however, was by air. Patrick Aiken (organist-choirmaster of Central Congregational Church in Providence) kindly flew me down in his Cessna 172, and it made for a storybook introduction to the place: perfect weather, majestic island vista, corkscrew descent, a trim touchdown at Elizabeth Field. The senior warden’s smiling aunt met me in what Connecticut people call a “station car”—an old beater to take back and forth to the train. Saint John’s Church itself is a microcosm of the island: not fancy or ostentatious, a few dignified appointments of restrained beauty and appropriate scale, people of obvious class with nothing to prove. The grandeur of the island, the smart folk, the effort required to get there, a station car: here was a particular slice of vanishing old New England.

Later that morning, through a sea of intermittent notes and other issues, I heard Brent Erstad accompany two morning services. While twenty-two ranks is hardly large, still, this is a village church. The organ’s size had grown out of phase with the place, not merely the building but the congregation’s very sense of itself. These people clearly enjoyed singing hymns together. They needed only a solid and straightforward organ to lead them. A new tracker, flexible but in proper scale, seemed the thing. Once the vestry understood that a long-term solution did not need to be dauntingly expensive, four mechanical-action builders were invited to propose.

The church took this assignment seriously. Rather than dangle a prospect and see who would jump highest, the church gave each builder a stipend to cover at least some of the travel to Fishers and the warmest of welcomes. In place of a stern Request-For-Proposal, the church provided a statement of goals, outlining the vestry’s hope that each builder might be inspired to propose something as individual as the place itself. Ultimately, Bigelow & Co. was chosen, partly from their track record with appealing and flexible smaller organs, partly for a genuine enthusiasm to work with the original simple case-front.

In 2017, a Boston team of Joe Sloane, Amory Atkins, and Dean Conry took away the old organ, salvaging a few unaltered Skinner ranks. This set the stage for the church’s conscientious caretaker, Andrew “Ace” Ahrens, to prepare for the new instrument. The chamber was rehabilitated and shortened, and the rear portion sectioned off into a new blower room. Keeping the entire instrument out of the basement sealed it from the worst effects of dampness. In the church itself, floors were refinished, and a bit of new carpeting replaced a great deal of old. The organ arrived in April 2018 and was brought into use in May, the builders being beautifully seen to by Ace and other vestry members. Brent Erstad gave an opening concert on July 7, assisted by tenor Andrew Brown. He and Dan Moriarty have been playing this summer.

It is wonderful to work with a church that suffers no confusion of aims. Not even six months from the first email, Saint John’s had contracted with
Bigelow. Having decided what was right, they dove in headfirst, kept sharp at every turn, and celebrated in style. It is always a delight to work with such fine people and good builders. The best part comes in knowing that the people of Saint John’s now have a tasteful organ as timeless as their parish, their building, and their faith.

—Jonathan Ambrosino

From the rector

Over three years ago, when Saint John’s Church on Fishers Island was facing the challenge of replacing the failing ninety-year-old Skinner organ, installing another pipe organ was not the preferable option. In fact, the challenges of maintaining the current instrument, the weather fluctuations on the island, and the limited use of an organ in this seasonal summer chapel were all compelling reasons to go the digital organ route. However, St. John’s was also gifted with a plethora of accomplished organists who had visited the church over the summers, connected with our vestry and congregation, and encouraged us to consider another opportunity to install a new pipe organ in the church. 

We are a congregation that loves to sing, and we value an instrument that not only provides the backdrop to our voices, but also can join with us as a living presence in the worship space. Brent Erstad and Jonathan Ambrosino walked with us down the road towards another pipe organ and encouraged the welcoming of a new instrument. When we met Michael Bigelow and read his carefully prepared proposal, we knew that he was the one who would not only create a wonderful and appropriate instrument for the church, but also would do so in a way that honored our history and supported our future with a beautiful instrument. 

Over two years later, we were pleased this summer to share the voices of the W. Richard Bingham Memorial Organ, Bigelow Opus 42, in an inaugural concert played by Brent Erstad. The congregation is very appreciative of the new instrument and we have launched an organ concert series this summer that we hope to continue in the future, featuring not only organ recitals, but also silent films with organ accompaniment, spirited hymn sings, and a three-day choir camp on the island for students from a local independent school. We look forward to continuing these offerings as an outreach not only to our church community, but also to the community of Fishers Island and beyond. 

Saint John’s is immensely grateful to all those who contributed to this project: the many donors whose support made this a reality, especially the family of W. Richard Bingham after whom this instrument is named, the counsel and expertise of Jonathan Ambrosino and Brent Erstad who shepherded us through the process, the artistry and skill of Michael Bigelow and his team at Bigelow & Co., and the support of the vestry and members of St. John’s Church. We look forward to many years of enjoyment as this new organ adds its voice to ours in celebrating all of the moments of our spiritual journey for generations to come.

—The Reverend Michael Spencer

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