A tribute to Charles Krigbaum

Let All the World in Every Corner Sing: The Yale Institute of Sacred Music Celebrates Fifty Years

The Yale Institute of Sacred Music (ISM) is an interdisciplinary graduate center for the study and practice of sacred music, worship, and the related arts. Its students pursue degrees in choral conducting, organ, and concert voice with the Yale School of Music, or they engage in ministerial or academic studies in liturgy, religion and literature, music, or visual arts with the Yale Divinity School. The ISM is essentially a sequel to the School of Sacred Music at Union Theological Seminary (New York City), which lost its funding in the early 1970s and closed its doors. Robert Baker, then organist and dean of the School of Sacred Music at Union, relocated three faculty and one administrator from the Union school to Yale in New Haven, Connecticut, after securing funding from the Irwin-Sweeney-Miller foundation of Columbus, Indiana. This family foundation was headed by Clementine Miller Tangeman, whose late husband was a musicologist at Union, and her brother J. Irwin Miller, who was serving as senior trustee of the Yale Corporation. With its strong programs in divinity and music, Yale was deemed the perfect place to reconstitute a school or institute of sacred music. In 1973 inaugural director Robert Baker, together with chaplain and liturgical scholar Jeffery Rowthorn, musicologist Richard French, and administrator Mina Belle Packer, migrated to New Haven. After a year of intense preparation, the Yale ISM welcomed its first class of students: five in music and five in divinity. In 2024 the ISM celebrated the fiftieth anniversary of that momentous occasion.

The School of Sacred Music at Union Theological Seminary

The roots of the ISM begin with Union Theological Seminary. Music was an important component of the curriculum at Union since its founding in 1836. That this ecumenical Protestant seminary held such value for music and the arts can trace some of its inspiration to Anglican and Roman Catholic instantiations of liturgical renewal stemming from the Oxford and Solemnes movements. Church musicians were regularly appointed to the theological faculty at Union to teach music history, hymnody, and related musical subjects to complement the theological education of seminarians.

In 1928 Clarence Dickinson (who had been teaching music to the seminarians at Union since 1912), together with his wife, Helen Snyder Dickinson, met with seminary president Henry Sloane Coffin to discuss establishing a separate entity at Union: a school of sacred music. This school would specifically train church musicians within the context of the seminary. Since the “joining of music and theology, of divinity students and music students, did not seem at variance with the Seminary’s history,” Union began admitting musicians into the seminary, granting them the degree Master of Sacred Music. One sees similarity of vision with that of the Schola Cantorum in Paris, founded by Dickinson’s teacher, Alexander Guilmant.

Clarence and Helen Dickinson were the quintessential interdisciplinary couple. Clarence was an organist, choir director, composer, and teacher whose profound influence earned him the moniker “Dean of American Church Musicians.” His wife Helen, the first woman to graduate with a Ph.D. from Heidelberg University, was an art and liturgical historian who taught alongside her husband at Union. Together they envisioned a curriculum in which the church musician would acquire not only musical skills, but also the theological and pastoral skills needed to successfully navigate the complex ministry of church music. The Dickinsons also understood the benefits of having musicians and clergy interact with each other at the seminary: “In such an atmosphere, the church musician . . . and the minister meet and train together in much the same way as they will work together in actual parish situations.” Interdisciplinary study and collaboration between clergy and musicians were hallmarks of the School of Sacred Music at Union, and it is upon this foundation that the Yale Institute of Sacred Music was built.

Early years at the Yale Institute of Sacred Music

The 1975 Bulletin of the Yale Divinity School includes a succinct description of the ISM: “The curriculum will lay particular stress upon organ playing, choral conducting, historical aspects of the church’s musical development, the liturgical framework of religious worship of all faiths, and practical musical techniques, and will be of a highly participatory nature.” Three early graduates of the program, however—Steven Roberts, Patricia Wright, and Walden Moore—paint a broader, more colorful picture of the nascent ISM and its early years. Steven Roberts was an organ student in the first class that arrived at the ISM in 1974; he later taught organ at Western Connecticut State University and was music director at Saint Peter Church in Danbury before retiring to Bolivia. Patricia Wright was also an inaugural organ student at the ISM, receiving her Master of Musical Arts degree in 1976 and Doctor of Musical Arts degree in 1982. An adjunct organ professor at the University of Toronto, Wright was director of music at Toronto’s Metropolitan United Church, where she played Canada’s largest pipe organ for thirty-five years before retiring in 2022. Walden Moore came to the ISM in 1978. Not long after graduating in 1980, he was appointed organist and choirmaster of Trinity Church on the Green, New Haven. Although Moore retired from Trinity in 2024 after forty years of distinguished service, he and composer/organist Mark Miller continue to teach service playing to organists at the ISM. These three remarkable church musicians share common threads in reminiscing about their time at the ISM in the 1970s: the importance of interdisciplinary study, the emphasis on church music, and the benefits of studying at one of the great research institutions of the world.

Interdisciplinary study in the 1970s primarily involved the study of worship and liturgy. Wright and Roberts both highlight the importance of Jeffery Rowthorn’s liturgy class, Wright going so far as to describe the course as “life changing.” In many ways, it is this study of worship and liturgy—that is, the church at prayer—that unites the musician, seminarian, and scholar. Liturgical studies has become a part of the very DNA of the ISM; it was inherited from the School of Sacred Music at Union, and continues to play a seminal role in the work of the ISM today.

When director Robert Baker brought the ISM to Yale, the School of Music already had an established and prestigious program in organ performance led by university organist Charles Krigbaum. Baker added to the mix an emphasis specifically on training organists for work in the church. Roberts recalls that “Dr. Baker taught me about being a church musician, not just an organist.” Wright remembers Baker teaching conducting from the console. Students were taught the art of leading congregational song and accompanying anthems. Moreover, Baker encouraged students to learn this craft from multiple experts. Moore recalls the director sending him to observe Vernon de Tar on a Sunday morning at Church of the Ascension in New York. Moore was so impressed with this experience that he always welcomed ISM students to observe his program at Trinity.

Yale added a more rigorous academic vision to what had been offered at Union, says Moore, and organists took full advantage of all that Yale had to offer. Roberts took courses on Scarlatti and Couperin with harpsichordist Ralph Kirkpatrick; Wright studied Schenkerian analysis with Allen Forte. Trips to the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library were commonplace. With a profusion of courses and resources at their fingertips, organists were able to tailor their education to their specific interests while acquiring a solid grounding in church music. “It was up to us organ students to take advantage of the myriad of opportunities Yale afforded us,” says Wright. The opportunities have only increased over time.

The Institute of Sacred Music today

The ISM has grown exponentially over the past fifty years; the original community of three faculty and ten students now numbers well over a hundred individuals. Successive directors have expanded the program. John Cook (1984–1992) created a robust program in religion and the arts at the ISM, a development that undoubtedly would have delighted Helen Dickinson. Under Margot Fassler (1994–2004), the music program expanded from organ and choral conducting to include a major in early vocal music and oratorio (James Taylor, program coordinator). Current director Martin Jean (2005–) has fostered a fellowship program in which international scholars and practitioners join the ISM community for an academic year to further their work while collaborating with the ISM community. Together with the Divinity School, Jean also launched an interdisciplinary program in Music and the Black Church (Braxton Shelley, program director).

An abundance of courses awaits organ students admitted to the ISM. In addition to weekly instruction in organ performance from Martin Jean and/or James O’Donnell, students are invited to lessons and masterclasses with visiting artists. Church music skills, originally taught by Robert Baker during lessons, now include courses in choral conducting (Felicia Barber), liturgical keyboard skills (Walden Moore and Mark Miller), and improvisation (Jeffrey Brillhart). Musicological study has expanded to include both historical musicology (Markus Rathey) and ethnomusicology (Bo kyung Blenda Im). Offerings in liturgical studies comprise courses in historical and contemporary issues taught by an expanding and increasingly diverse faculty. Students wishing to broaden their knowledge in religion and the arts can take courses in religious poetry, architectural history, and other related arts.

Ten concert and liturgical choirs are supported by the ISM, the newest of which is the Yale Consort, a group of professional vocalists who sing evening liturgies (Choral Evensong or Vespers) in local parishes under the direction of James O’Donnell. Organ students accompany these services, acquiring liturgical service playing skills in a unique pedagogical setting from one of the world’s finest and most recognized church musicians.

International study tours, typically every other year, take the entire ISM student body around the globe to study the ways in which sacred arts are manifested in areas of the world not our own. The organ faculty often extend the study tour for their students, to allow them to visit and play the significant organs of the region.

In recent years the ISM has offered a week-long summer Organ Academy, in which advanced undergraduate organ students study with some of the nation’s top organists. Participating students receive daily lessons and attend workshops and recitals, all while interacting with their peers from around the country.

What began as Robert Baker’s humble continuation of the noble interdisciplinary program at Union has blossomed into an extensive program of sacred music, religion, and the arts at one of the world’s leading research institutions. As the ISM celebrates fifty years at Yale, Robert Baker’s stately anthem on the hymn text “Let all the world in every corner sing” provides an apt motto. The interdisciplinary, ecumenical, and expansive vision of the ISM, shaped by faculty, students, performers, and fellows, is indeed one in which all the world in every corner sings. May this glorious vision continue for many years to come.

Organ professors at Yale, 1973 to the present 

Charles Krigbaum had already been at Yale for fifteen years when the Institute of Sacred Music arrived in 1973. His legacy at Yale includes acquiring the Rudolf von Beckerath organ for Dwight Chapel (1971), premiering the newly discovered Neumeister Chorales of Bach in Battell Chapel (1985), and recording the organ works of Widor and Messiaen on the Newberry Memorial Organ in Woolsey Hall.

An advocate of the organ reform movement, Krigbaum was well versed in all organ music, his seminars covering composers from Titelouze to Tournemire. He promoted well-roundedness, so that students who came to him with a solid background in the North German Organ School left with an admiration for Widor, and those with knowledge of the Romantic schools left with appreciation for Scheidt.

A student of Clarence Dickinson at the School of Sacred Music at Union Theological Seminary, Robert Baker was the quintessential church musician. In addition to teaching the standard organ literature, he instructed students in the practical skills of the church musician. Baker loved the Newberry Memorial Organ and enjoyed teaching in the Romantic style. He would tell his students to always include a “gum drop” (something sweet that people will enjoy) in every recital. Baker’s arrival at Yale complemented the organ performance program directed by Charles Krigbaum.

Thomas Murray came to Yale in 1981 from the Cathedral of Saint Paul in Boston. An organ student of Clarence Mader at Occidental College, Murray became one of the most renowned and field-changing organists of the second half of the twentieth century. He is best known for his interpretation and transcriptions of the Romantic repertoire. He has concertized around the globe, and his multiple recordings have earned him universal acclaim.

On the Newberry Organ at Yale, Murray taught students the art of registering exhilarating crescendos and dramatic diminuendos. His transcriptions often required manipulation of two enclosed divisions at the same time to gracefully bring out a melody. The Newberry Organ, however, was not merely a symphonic organ for Murray; his teaching of the other Romantic repertoire, whether Rheinberger or Mendelssohn, was most authoritative. Indeed, he brings integrity to every musical style and period.

Martin Jean joined the Yale faculty in 1997. A self-professed generalist, Jean brought with him particular expertise in the north and central European Protestant organ repertories but also sustained a love for the French symphonists. With an earnest interest in historic performance, Jean led the project with Thomas Murray and Margot Fassler that resulted in the meantone organ (Opus 55) of Taylor & Boody in Marquand Chapel. Jean accrued some formal training in theological studies, which made him a natural partner at the ISM.

James O’Donnell came to Yale in 2022 after a forty-year career leading two of the most prominent London choral foundations. As organist and master of the choristers at Westminster Abbey, he presided over such state occasions as the wedding of Katherine Middleton and Prince William, which was broadcast to millions. One of his final acts in London was to lead the music for the funeral liturgy of Queen Elizabeth II, which 4.6 billion people were said to have heard, comprising arguably the largest single broadcast audience in history for an event featuring classical music. An internationally acclaimed concert artist, O’Donnell is a model for many students at the ISM: organist, conductor, liturgical musician.

The pipe organs at Yale

The Newberry Memorial Organ in Woolsey Hall ranks among the finest symphonic organs in the world. The original instrument was built by the Hutchings-Votey Organ Company in 1902. Expanded in 1915 by J. W. Steere & Sons, it was rebuilt and expanded again in 1928 by Skinner Organ Company, all through the generosity of the Newberry family. University organist Harry Jepson, who played in the inaugural recital of the original build (it is reported that there were 3,000 people in attendance despite a drenching rainstorm) as well as both rebuilds, curiously programmed Franck’s Pièce Héroïque in all three recitals.

The final Skinner rebuild is a glorious four-manual Romantic organ with 142 stops, 197 ranks, and 12,641 pipes. While Romantic organs fell out of favor in the decades that followed, many such organs falling victim to replacement or alteration, the Newberry Organ remains in its original condition to this day, a stunning instrument lovingly maintained by the A. Thompson-Allen Company. (The Woolsey Hall organ is featured on the cover of the November 2016 issue of The Diapason.)

The 1951 Holtkamp organ in Battell Chapel is a fine example of the mid-twentieth-century Orgelbewegung. The main three-manual transept organ is complemented by a two-manual apse organ (one organ, two consoles). This organ was designed by university organist Luther Noss together with Walter Holtkamp. Yale’s organ curator, Joe Dzeda, recalls that during Sunday services at Battell Chapel, Noss would often play the prelude and postlude from the transept while assistant university organist H. Frank Bozyan would accompany the choir from the apse console. Built on the principles of low wind pressure, balanced registers, and exposed pipework, this three-manual organ has 71 ranks and 3,740 pipes.

In his History of the Yale School of Music, 1855–1970, Noss, who was later dean of the Yale School of Music, wrote: “With the availability of the Newberry Memorial Organ in Woolsey Hall, an outstanding example of the 19th- and 20th-century ‘romantic design,’ and the classic Holtkamp instrument in Battell Chapel, organ students at Yale would now have the rare and valuable opportunity of studying the organ literature of all periods on the appropriate instrument.” (The Battell Chapel organ is featured on page 1 of the June 1950 issue of The Diapason.)

H. Frank Bozyan was appointed instructor in organ in 1920 to assist Harry Jepson in teaching an organ class that averaged twenty-five students. At the time of his death in 1965, he was university organist and organ instructor emeritus. The three-manual, 54-rank Beckerath in Dwight Hall is named in honor of Bozyan’s forty-five years of dedication to the organ program at Yale. Charles Krigbaum, who followed Bozyan as university organist, had Rudolf von Beckerath design and build this colorful tracker. Notable stops include the Terzian, Trichterregal, and Rankett. Krigbaum adored this organ, presenting a series of five Bach recitals after its installation. Some fourteen years later, on March 21, 1985, Krigbaum, along with nine other organists from Yale and New Haven, performed an all-day Bach marathon to celebrate Bach’s 300th birthday. (The Dwight Chapel organ is featured on page 1 of the December 1971 issue of The Diapason.)

Thomas Murray, Professor Emeritus in the Practice of Organ, likes to speak of Yale’s collection of pipe organs as the “goodly heritage.” The most recent addition to this goodly heritage is the Charles Krigbaum Organ in Marquand Chapel. Martin Jean was the impetus behind this three-manual tracker in meantone temperament built by Taylor & Boody. Modeled on the 1683 Arp Schnitger organ in the St. Jacobi Kirche, Lüdingworth, this instrument is ideal for teaching early organ music. Its seventeenth-century design, however, does not preclude it from playing contemporary organ music; indeed, the ISM commissioned Matthew Suttor to compose a new work, Syntagma, which was premiered by Martin Jean in 2007 as part of its year-long celebration to welcome its newest pipe organ.

For further information

To explore the many opportunities at the Yale Institute of Sacred Music, visit ism.yale.edu. For information about the various degree programs, contact admissions manager Loraine Enlow at [email protected]. For information about long- and short-term fellowships,  contact assistant director Eben Graves at [email protected].

—Glen J. Segger, Yale ISM ’95

Lecturer, Yale Divinity School

Andrew Schaeffer

Andrew Schaeffer holds degrees from St. Olaf College, Yale University, where he was a student of Thomas Murray, and University of Oklahoma. He currently serves as the director of music at Luther Memorial Church in downtown Madison, Wisconsin, and as editor-at-large of The Diapason.

Andrew Schaeffer: Let’s begin by hearing a little bit about your formative years in California.

Thomas Murray: I must begin with the single most important thing, which is that my mother and father were unsparingly supportive of my musical interests. I had piano lessons early and was fortunate to be a member of the Pasadena Boy Choristers when it was still directed by its founder, Dr. John Henry Lyons.

When it came time to think about a career, my parents were fully aware of the risk of trying to make a living in classical music. American culture doesn’t support that at all well! I was a keen organ student during high school years with a dream of being a performer both in concerts and in the church. My family wanted me to have a liberal arts education, in part to act as a safety net in case my passion for playing burned out! Very wise! Fortunately I was admitted to Occidental College in Los Angeles—a perfect choice, because that’s where Clarence Mader taught organ! He was one of the very finest teachers of his time, especially in the West. It’s important to note that, as a liberal arts institution, Occidental was not a place where you had the option of living in a practice room ten hours a day. But I was inseparable from music, and to be honest, I’m not sure if my aptitudes would have led me successfully down any other path. 

Where did you land after your years at Occidental?

When I was preparing to graduate, Mader asked me where I hoped to go to graduate school. I didn’t want to move on directly to graduate study, at least not right away. I yearned to be active in the profession, have a church and develop my ability in choral conducting. I have a feeling he privately shook his head with dismay, because the prevailing thought back in 1965 was that graduate degrees acted as secure passports to great jobs. What we didn’t know at the time was just how saturated the church music field would become with people who had advanced degrees.

The single most important thing was that my parents did not try to prevent me from pursuing my dream. As far as events are concerned, a pivotal one occurred in 1966, when I was awarded first place in what is now referred to as NYACOP. The judges that year were Mildred Andrews of the University of Oklahoma, Vernon de Tar of Julliard, and my future senior teaching colleague at Yale, Dr. Robert Baker. A small world!

Tell me a bit about Clarence Mader as a teacher. Is there any contemporary pedagogue that you know of who embodies his style today?

I studied with him prior to the rise of performance practice as a dominant orthodoxy. Mader stressed making the best musical use of whatever instrument one was playing for those there “in the present” to listen. He was deeply influenced by his teacher, Lynnwood Farnam, but was also “tuned in” to many of the contemporary composers of that time. I am certain he was disappointed in me because I had an aversion to much contemporary music of that period. I can embrace dissonance when it has an expressive purpose, but too much music of the late twentieth century I found acerbic and irritating. Dissonance is wonderful as a “spice,” but not when it becomes the “main course.”

When I studied with Mader he was not performing much, except on Sunday mornings at Immanuel Presbyterian Church. He had discovered that he loved teaching—just loved it—once telling me he had taught ten lessons in a day without a break! He was a gifted and avid composer, and I regret that the 2004 American Guild of Organists national convention in Los Angeles did not make a special effort to feature his music, because that year was the centennial of his birth.

What instruments were available to you during your time at Occidental? Did they make an impact on you?

The Schlicker in Herrick Chapel was installed after I graduated, so my time was spent on the 1930 Skinner organ in Thorne Hall. It was built for a Methodist Church in San Francisco that was forced into bankruptcy during the Great Depression. Occidental acquired it in 1938, installing it with the pipes in the back in a space probably intended for balcony seating and a projection booth. The console was located in an orchestra pit at the front. As you can imagine, it was not a comfortable arrangement, and additionally, reverberation was, and still is, non-existent. That organ, Skinner’s Opus 819, fell into disuse but has now been removed and will be restored for the Episcopal High School in Belaire (Houston), Texas.

Occidental had a fine reputation for high caliber organ instruction. Not many remember now that David Craighead taught there for several years before his appointment at Eastman in about 1955. It was Craighead who encouraged Occidental to hire Mader to succeed him. When the administration noted Mader’s lack of any college degree, Craighead, to his everlasting credit, told them “that doesn’t matter!”

Speaking of organs, what were some of the first ones you were exposed to in Los Angeles, and did any of them cultivate your love of the symphonic style of building?

O yes! When I was growing up in Los Angeles, there were still fine pre-World War I instruments built by Murray M. Harris, and there were E. M. Skinners, Kimballs, and pre-World War II Casavants as well. Harris’s organs were characterized by English-type ensembles and a few had imported Tuba stops from England. All Saints Church, Pasadena, and Second Church of Christ, Scientist, Los Angeles, are two that I was familiar with.

And there were some romantically trained organists who were really inspiring to watch and hear. I had the pleasure of knowing Anita Priest who played at First Methodist in Pasadena on their four-manual 1923 Skinner. Like many Skinners of his early period, it only had three general pistons, but Anita magically coaxed twelve out of the instrument! How? When she played a service, she could start with three generals for the prelude. (No one in those days would waste a general for the hymns!) During the invocation she reset them to accompany the professional quartet or the choir. Following that, she would reset them during the scripture readings in preparation for the offering, and finally reset them once more for the postlude. Presto! Twelve generals!

The choir occasionally did major choral works, one of which was an abridged version of Elijah. There was no orchestra involved, but Anita manipulated the organ so creatively that the music sounded thoroughly satisfying and natural. In the 1950s and 1960s, I witnessed the tail end of that style of accompanying, and in later years her style nearly became a lost art.

Now back to your career trajectory. After Occidental, where did you go?

Clarence Mader, who had been at Immanuel Presbyterian for nearly forty years, felt increasingly that he wanted to have his Sunday mornings free. I was enormously fortunate that he recommended me to follow him, and fortunate that the church acted on his suggestion. This led to my playing my first service there in January of 1966.

After some years, however, there appeared new incentives to think of a move from California. The first was the discovery—through the Organ Historical Society—of the old nineteenth-century Boston-built organs, especially those of E. & G. G. Hook. I was determined to experience New England first hand and was discouraged by the overdevelopment, congestion, and smog in Los Angeles. The idea of being surrounded with so much history and living in a brisk four-season climate was irresistible.

During my first trip to Boston, I became acquainted with the Hook organs at Immaculate Conception on Harrison Avenue, the Cathedral of the Holy Cross, and others, and I also met Barbara Owen, one of the great advocates of saving these amazing instruments. After that trip, I was convinced that New England, with its four seasons and historical riches, was where I wanted to live.

You recorded on the organ at Immaculate Conception shortly after that trip, correct?

Yes—in 1971, before leaving California. The first was a recording of Franck’s Grand Pièce Symphonique and the Fantaisie in A. Immaculate Conception, which had originally stood in a very Irish neighborhood, was run by the Jesuits who founded Boston College adjoining the church. That organ was so fantastic—almost French in nature, with bright chorus reeds, singing Diapasons, and delicious flutes, all in sumptuous acoustics! It’s in storage now, but all of us who knew it pray it will be heard again in a noble building like the one it left. 

As a complete beginner in the recording field, there was no assurance whatsoever of releasing any recording on a commercial label, so I hired recording engineers Stephen Fassett and David Griesinger, paid for the editing, and afterward marketed it myself to Sheffield Records in California. They had previously released a disc of Anthony Newman’s (it may have been his first), so I figured they were not averse to organ music! Thanks to great good fortune, they liked it and released it to a favorable reception. By the way, I’ve always been grateful to Robert Schuneman, then editor of The Diapason, for a very favorable review of that first disc. One other thing to note—E. Power Biggs had produced a disc on Columbia called The Organ in America with various light pieces by early American composers. But I believe our Franck recording made at Immaculate Conception can claim to be the first commercial recording of any major works on a significant nineteenth-century American organ, and a magnificent instrument it was, too.

So, when did you finally “bite the bullet” and make the move to Boston?

I left Immanuel Presbyterian in 1973 and was appointed interim organist-choirmaster at Saint Paul’s Episcopal Cathedral in Boston. The Dean, the Very Reverend Charles Henry Buck, had re-established a choir of boys and men a few years before. I was appointed interim because the choirmaster was suffering from poor health and recruitment for the choir had lapsed. Developing and maintaining a choir of men and boys with only after-school rehearsal time is work, as anyone who has done it will tell you! But the dean supported the work of rebuilding the choir, and in due time I was appointed to the permanent position. 

Things then changed considerably in the year after Dean Buck retired in 1978, because the new clergy “management” did not want to continue the choir and yet was unwilling to spend money on starting a choir for girls. But during my years there, before conditions became unfavorable, it was a really exhilarating time for us all!

We managed to take the choir on tour in 1978 to England. I wanted them to hear the best English choirs, so we went the last week of July, which afforded the opportunity to hear some fine London choirs for a week before beginning our own residency at Saint Alban’s Cathedral. We also sang services at Saint Paul’s, London, Christ Church Cathedral, Oxford, and, because we were from Boston, we traveled by coach to Boston in Lincolnshire to sing choral Evensong in the splendid medieval parish church there.

We shouldn’t leave this subject without noting that one of the boy trebles in that choir was Jonathan Ambrosino, now very well-known as an organ consultant and writer on all things organistical, and that Jonathan was influenced by the 1952 Aeolian-Skinner organ at Saint Paul’s, Opus 1207, another organ that has now been removed to make room for an elevator. One of the men of the choir on that trip was Stephen Kowalyshyn, inventor of the “Kowalyshyn Servo-Pneumatic Lever” used on large mechanical-action instruments, and another notable name from the organ world is Robert Newton, for decades the head of Andover Organ Company’s restoration department—he was a fine bass with us at Saint Paul’s.

I know that you were making recordings during your time at Saint Paul’s. Tell us about some of those projects.

Soon after moving in the summer of 1973, I made the first of two LPs of Mendelssohn sonatas on the 1854 E. & G. G. Hook organ at the Unitarian Church in Jamaica Plain. Because of the enormous frequency range of organ sound and the power of organ bass, one disc allowed only about twenty-four distortion-free minutes per side in those days. Sonatas 1, 3, and 4 were on that first disc. The acoustics in the church were so dry that we carried out the pew cushions and stacked them in the narthex. I also brought two blankets from home and built a tent on a 2 x 4 framework so they could be draped behind and above the console to keep the clatter of the worn key action out of the recording. It is a fascinating instrument that has recently received fine conservative restoration work by Scot Huntington. 

To complete all six of the sonatas, we recorded a companion album with numbers 2, 5, and 6 on the 1857 William B. D. Simmons organ at Most Holy Redeemer Catholic Church in East Boston, another rare survival among our pre-Civil War organs. The adventure there was dodging the noise from the Boston airport!

So, how were these instruments perceived when the recordings were released? Were they in fashion? Out of fashion? Or simply forgotten?

Most of them had been forgotten except among Organ Historical Society people. And as I said before, the only comparable record had been made by E. Power Biggs with his album of early American keyboard pieces. For that reason, I am confident these early discs of ours broke entirely new ground in establishing the integrity of our American instruments.

Through your recordings and work at St. Paul’s, you were firmly establishing yourself in the New England organ scene. How did your association with Yale come about?

Charles Krigbaum invited me to do a program in Woolsey Hall in about 1976. Not long before, Robert Baker had left the Union Seminary School of Sacred Music to be the first director of the newly established Yale Institute of Sacred Music. I remember devoting that first program to three sonatas, one each by Rheinberger, Hindemith, and Elgar. It must have left a favorable impression with both Charles and Robert, because late in 1980, Charles called me to say that Yale was creating a junior instructor position in organ and that the search committee would welcome an application! 

So I applied and was interviewed for that in the spring of 1981, playing a lecture-recital on the Beckerath organ in Dwight Chapel. I was enormously fortunate, yet again, that the audition was well received, resulting in the invitation to teach at Yale in the fall of that year. In retrospect, I suspect the new junior position was planned in preparation for Robert Baker’s retirement, because he taught only a few years after that.

When I started, my job consisted of teaching a few organ students, directing the Marquand Chapel Choir at the Divinity School and playing some weekday services there. A little later on Charles Krigbaum stepped away from playing at the University Church (Battell Chapel), and I assumed those responsibilities as well. Around the same time, Fenno Heath, the revered long-time director of the Yale Glee Club decided to give up the Battell Choir so I took that on for about five years. When Charles Krigbaum decided to retire from Yale in 1995, I left all choral commitments to focus on the organ department.

I remain enormously grateful, not only to Charles Krigbaum and Robert Baker, but to Martin Jean, who came to join me on the faculty in 1997. Martin, now director of the Institute of Sacred Music, though under great pressure in his administrative role, has been a cherished colleague, an outstanding coach for his students, an excellent advocate for the organ here, and a dear friend. 

When you arrived in 1981, the Romantic School of organbuilding and playing was still largely out of fashion, and I recall hearing that the organ in Woolsey Hall was not universally appreciated. Could you provide some insight into that? 

That’s true. For several decades, especially after the arrival of the Holtkamp organ in Battell Chapel in 1951, the organ in Woolsey, properly known as the Newberry Memorial Organ, was dismissed by many as a decadent, categorically flawed instrument from a “bad period.” Some give me credit for raising awareness of the worth of this wonderful instrument, but it was really Charles Krigbaum who laid the groundwork for its return to favor. Though he played a wide variety of literature and believed in being a “universalist” about repertoire, Charles had a particular fondness for Widor and the music of Messiaen. He recognized the organ in Woolsey as a persuasive vehicle for that music, and he recorded much of it there—including all ten Widor symphonies!

So, interest was already brewing by the time I arrived. We should all be thankful that during the “dark years” when there was a lack of interest among the students, the organ was conserved in its original form by Aubrey Thompson-Allen, the Yale Curator of Organs. Our current senior curators Nick Thompson-Allen and Joseph Dzeda, and now the younger members of their staff, Nate and Zach Ventrella, keep that legacy alive. Interestingly, as a student at Kent State University, Joe Dzeda had a framed photo of the Woolsey instrument in his dorm room!

Little did he know that his name would eventually be synonymous with its care!

Exactly! He’s admitted that during college, he wondered if he’d ever get the opportunity to see the instrument in person! Not only has he spent his career in it, but upon his demise, he will rest in the Grove Street Cemetery across the street, as he says, “to keep an eye on ‘The Newberry’!”

Speaking of Woolsey’s care, it must be gratifying, at the end of your time at Yale, to see the organ completely restored. Tell us about that process.

Yes, over many decades, the curators made timely repairs to the instrument to keep it in reliable working condition. But as years passed by repairs became more frequent and more urgent. In 2006, Martin Jean and I decided that the time was right to press for the first-ever comprehensive restoration, to be funded entirely by the Institute of Sacred Music. Readers may be surprised to learn that, until recent years, many of the 1915 Steere chests and 1928 Skinner chests were still operating on original leather! Due to the magnitude of the project, it was decided to undertake the work in stages over seven years, a division at a time during the summer months, to keep the organ in use during the academic year. The result is magnificent, and we are greatly relieved now that Skinner Opus 722 is poised for another century of service.

Back to recordings. So far, we’ve focused on your early work, recording historic instruments in Boston. I’d like to hear more about your recordings of orchestral transcriptions. I think its safe to say that you were one of the first to champion transcription playing.

Well yes—and you could say I took risks in doing that, but I don’t think I could have resisted the temptation! There are responsibilities we can’t ignore when playing original literature, particularly where composers are specific about registration. With transcriptions, it’s not that way. The philosophical question a player faces is whether to be faithful to arrangements as devised and published by a transcriber or to be as faithful as possible in translating the original score. I take the second approach, in part because the organs we have now offer flexibility and versatility not dreamed of in Edwin H. Lemare’s day. So I don’t take published transcriptions, even those written by Lemare, to be “holy writ,” though existing arrangements can often be useful as a “working score.”

Over the years, I’ve adapted several piano pieces for the organ. I really enjoy trying to get into the mind of the composer and posing the question: if I were Liszt, how would I orchestrate this piece? Do the figurations on the keyboard suggest an orchestral color? There may be no single right or wrong answer, but we must make a piece sound as convincing as possible in the new medium, the organ. There are two CD anthologies of transcriptions from Woolsey Hall: The Symphonic Organist and The Transcriber’s Art. One is on the Gothic label and the other on Priory. It’s the style of playing that I love, more than the fact that such pieces are transcribed ones. Of course, there is original organ music that invites the same approach as well.

Do you generally write your own transcriptions?

I’ve done only one transcription “from scratch” worth mentioning. Elgar wrote a major piece in the late 1920s, commissioned as a band competition piece called Severn Suite. No surprise that it’s in B-flat major! He must have sanctioned a proposed organ version by Ivor Atkins, his friend and Worcester Cathedral organist. That was published as the Second Sonata but, regrettably, Atkins eliminated a whole movement—the “Minuet”—adding an entire page of his own music in its place! 

Later on Elgar rewrote the piece for full orchestra and transposed it to C major. I decided that I wanted to play this version—the definitive one—in the worst way! It is a superb multi-movement work and every bit as wonderful as Elgar’s original Organ Sonata, opus 28. It was released by Joe Vitacco on JAV Recordings, no longer available on a “physical” CD, but can be downloaded from i-Tunes. Just look for Elgar’s Severn Suite, and you can have it for 99 cents per movement!

In addition to your work as an educator and recording artist, you’ve been a prolific recitalist all across the globe. Care to share some highlights?

I’ve been grateful for many invitations to play programs over the years, many for American Guild of Organists and Organ Historical Society conventions. In fact, there was a time when I was receiving an OHS invitation nearly every year, which led me to worry about folks becoming weary of me! There is such a thing as “too much of a good thing!”

I’ve been fortunate to do many performances in North America and Western Europe. An especially memorable tour was to Buenos Aires, organized by my former student Ezequiel Menéndez. From Australia came an invitation to play one recital in Sydney and two in Melbourne, and there was a recital at Suntory Hall in Tokyo when their Rieger organ was new.

My recital activity has been far from all consuming, though, and entering retirement, I’m happy to retreat a bit from that aspect of my activity. There are so many talented students I’ve had the pleasure of coaching. Not all have their heart set on concert playing, but for those who do I’d like to see them getting opportunities I had earlier.

Though you’ve stepped away somewhat from your recital career, you continue to serve as a church musician. Tell us about your responsibilities at Christ Church, New Haven.

For twelve years now I have been artist in residence and principal organist there, enjoying the spacious acoustics and playing a very satisfying English-sounding instrument. I’ve also mentored organ students from the Institute of Sacred Music who serve as organ scholars. Christ Church adjoins Yale’s campus and is one of America’s finest examples of Gothic Revival architecture anywhere. In my time we have had two fine rectors and a very appreciative congregation. It is a very happy association.

One final question. As you look at the profession, what are the challenges, concerns, and opportunities you see moving forward.

While there is certainly reason to be pessimistic about many trends we see in church music, I remain hopeful for a future that continues to support the music we love, music that nourishes because it is enduring! Churches supporting organ and choral music will not disappear, but they are becoming fewer and resources are diminishing. Too many think of “traditional” music and ceremonial as something stuck in the past. “Museum Church” they sometimes call it. People need to see that it really means being in the tradition—being a part of an ever-continuing creation of music and art that enriches the human spirit. My advice to students is to make sure they spare no effort to become as fine a musician as possible. If you’re among the best, you will have a far greater chance for success. 

Also, if you’re an Episcopalian or Roman Catholic, don’t be lured into thinking that the best jobs are in cathedrals! Good parishes are often better motivated and better equipped to support robust music programs.

Beyond that, we must learn to be far more effective at being advocates for what we do, for its enormous worth in society. I wish more academic professional programs would provide students with the strategies—the tools for advocacy! Every branch of music education, especially the “classical” branch, must rise to meet this need in our time.

Thank you so much for your time, and best wishes for a tranquil retirement!

Hearty thanks to you for this opportunity—my pleasure! But “tranquil?” I don’t anticipate that! It’s more a transition from employment to “self-employment,” happily with more freedom to enjoy many things, extra-musical and musical alike.

Photo: Thomas Murray, Luther Noss, and Charles Krigbaum in front of Woolsey Hall, Yale University, New Haven, Connecticut

Jennifer Lucy Bate, 75, born in London, UK, November 11, 1944, died March 25. She was the daughter of H. A. Bate, organist of St James’s Muswell Hill from 1924 to 1978. An international concert organist, she was considered an authority on the organ music of Olivier Messiaen, having befriended him within the last twenty years of his life as his organist of choice. In 1986, she gave the first British performance of his Livre du Saint-Sacrement at Westminster Cathedral and later made the world premiere recording of the work under the personal supervision of the composer, winning the Grand Prix du Disque. He also endorsed her earlier recordings of all of his other organ works. Bate owned scores that contain many personal markings and references made by Messiaen. In 1995, Bate opened the Messiaen Festival at l’Église de la Sainte Trinité, Paris, France, where his complete organ works were performed and recorded. Among numerous awards for her CD were the Diapason d’Or (France) and Preis der Deutschen Schallplattenkritik (Germany).

Bate performed and recorded a broad repertoire spanning several centuries, including English organ music, the complete organ works of César Franck, and the complete organ music of Felix Mendelssohn. A frequent performer at organ festivals, she often played works written for her. She also presented numerous masterclasses and lectures. She was instrumental in the formation of the annual Jennifer Bate Organ Academy, a course for young female organists, and she was the lead patron of the Society of Women Organists.

Bate was briefly married (as his second wife) to George Thalben-Ball. She received an honorary doctorate from the University of Bristol in 2007. In 1990, Bate was recognized with the Personnalité de l’Année award by the French-based jury, only the third British artist to achieve this distinction, after Georg Solti and Yehudi Menuhin. In 1996, Bate was granted honorary citizenship of the Italian province of Alessandria for her services to music in Northern Italy over 20 years. In 2002, she was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society of Arts, and in 2008 was appointed Officer of the Order of the British Empire.

In 2011, M. Frédéric Mitterand, minister of culture and communication, awarded Jennifer Bate the rank of Officier de l’ordre des Arts et des Lettres, stating that this honor is awarded to renowned artists and writers who have promoted French culture throughout the world. Subsequently, President Sarkozy appointed Jennifer Bate to the rank of Chevalier in the Ordre National de la Légion d’Honneur, stating that this honor was awarded in recognition of her skill as an organist and her contribution to making Olivier Messiaen’s organ works more widely known throughout the world. She received both awards in 2012.

 

Marillyn Ila Freeman, 85, musician and teacher, died March 24. Born in Marion, Wisconsin, February 23, 1935, she grew up in New London and Appleton, where she began playing the organ for local church services at the age of twelve. She graduated from Appleton High School in 1953 and the Lawrence College Conservatory of Music, Appleton, earning a degree in music performance in 1957. While at Lawrence, she met her future husband Ralph Freeman, and they were married in 1958. Following graduation Freeman taught music at Lawrence and worked in the president’s office at Princeton University, eventually returning to Wisconsin and settling in Green Bay, where she taught piano and played organ in the Moravian church.

In 1965 the Freemans moved to Neenah where a year later she began a 54-year career as organist for St. Paul Lutheran Church. In addition to playing organ and piano, as director of music ministries she planned worship services, directed youth choirs, accompanied the adult Sanctuary Choir, presented church musicals, and guided the church in purchasing a new Dobson organ in 1986. She earned an associate certificate of the American Guild of Organists in 1995 and an associate in music ministry certificate in 2000.

Throughout her career Freeman continued to teach piano and organ, organizing piano recitals, judging piano competitions, and mentoring young musicians in the Fox Valley. She was a member of the Fox Valley Music Teachers, a member of the Sigma Alpha Iota International Music Fraternity, served as treasurer of the North Eastern Wisconsin chapter of the American Guild of Organists, and was active in the Hymn Society of the United States and Canada. For many years she and her husband Ralph, a pianist, violinist, and published author of hymn texts, performed organ and piano duets each August as part of the Lunchtime Organ Recital Series in the Fox Valley region.

Marillyn Ila Freeman is survived by her husband Ralph Freeman, five children: Rebecca Freeman (Stephen Fusfeld) of Neenah; Jennifer Timm (Terry) of Neenah; Robert Freeman (Robin) of Darien, Illinois; Jon Freeman of Whitefish Bay; and Paul Freeman (Nicole Berman) of Stow, Massachusetts; twelve grandchildren, and several great grandchildren.

Memorial gifts may be made to the music ministry program at St. Paul Lutheran Church, 200 N. Commercial Street, Neenah, WI 54956, or to either the Melanoma Research Fund or the Surgical Oncology Outcomes Research and Awareness Fund at the University of Wisconsin (supportuw.org/give).

 

Josephine Lenola Bailey Freund, 90, died February 8 in Carlisle, Pennsylvania. A lifelong musician, she was a professional organist for almost 70 years and taught piano and organ. She performed organ recitals and directed choirs throughout the United States, as well as in Swaziland and Papua New Guinea.

Josephine Bailey was born April 8, 1929, in Indianapolis, Indiana. She began piano lessons at age six and started studying organ at age thirteen. Among her first professional jobs were playing the organ to accompany silent movies and substituting as an accompanist and organist in local churches.

Following graduation from high school in 1946, Bailey attended Wittenberg College, Springfield Ohio, later transferring to Peabody Conservatory of Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, Maryland. There she earned a teaching certificate in organ and bachelor’s and master’s degrees. In 1952, she was the first female graduate of Peabody to earn a master’s degree in organ performance.

During the 1950s Bailey played at various churches in Maryland, Virginia, and the District of Columbia, including serving as music director for First Baptist, Washington, D.C., which President Truman attended; and St. Anne’s Episcopal Church, Annapolis, Maryland, where she was honored to play for a royal visit by Elizabeth, the Queen Mother. From 1956 until 1961, she was associate professor of music at Longwood College, Farmville, Virginia. She was also organist of First Presbyterian Church, Farmville, and taught music in local public high schools.

In 1963, Bailey became the first full-time director of music at Trinity Lutheran Church, Camp Hill, Pennsylvania. She later returned to Indianapolis to teach in public schools and was the organist and assistant choir director at First Presbyterian Church. In the early 1970s, she moved to East Lansing, Michigan, to work on her doctorate in music theory at Michigan State University. She also was associate professor of music and organist and choir director of Martin Luther Chapel at Michigan State. It was there that she met her future husband Roland Freund who was an Australian agricultural missionary working on his master’s degree. They married in July 1971 and moved to the Highlands of Papua New Guinea.

In 1976, the family moved to Carlisle, Pennsylvania, where Josephine taught piano and was organist at Grace United Methodist Church. The family spent 1982–1984 working on a U.S. AID and Penn State University project in Swaziland, Africa. There she taught music in several schools and directed the largest choir in the country for a performance of Brahms’s Requiem.

Upon returning to Carlisle, Josephine Freund served as organist and choir director at St. John’s Episcopal Church and Gettysburg College Chapel. She was adjunct professor of organ for Dickinson College and an active member and officer of the Harrisburg Chapter of the American Guild of Organists. Freund played her final organ recital in 2010, but continued to teach piano and organ and to substitute and support church services, weddings, and funerals for a few more years. She was a lifetime member of the national honors fraternity for women in music, Sigma Alpha Iota.

Josephine Lenola Bailey Freund is survived by her husband, Roland Paul Freund of Carlisle; her nephew, Matthew Freund of South Australia; and her son, Colonel Ernie Freund, daughter-in-law Megan Sayler Freund, and granddaughters, Amelia Rose and Adelaide Pearl, all from Burke, Virginia.

Funeral services were held February 15 at Trinity Lutheran Church, Camp Hill, Pennsylvania. Memorial contributions may be made to Residential Hospice, 100 Sterling Pkwy #110, Mechanicsburg, PA 17050 or the Traditional Music Fund at Trinity Lutheran Church, 2000 Market Street, Camp Hill, PA 17011.

 

Eleanor Marie Fulton, organist and music educator, died February 23 in New Haven, Connecticut. Born August 9, 1939, in Morristown, Tennessee, she earned her Bachelor of Arts degree from Bennett College, Greensboro, North Carolina, in 1961, and continued her education at the Manhattan School of Music, New York City; the Haydn Conservatory, Eisenstadt, Austria; and the University of Ghana’s International Center for African Music and Dance.

She served as the longtime organist and director of music for Center Church on the Green, New Haven, and was a music teacher for New Haven Public Schools, director of the New Haven Children’s Chorus, assistant organist and director of Christian education for Battell Chapel, Yale University, New Haven, consultant to the New Haven Symphony Orchestra, and a private piano and music instructor. She was the featured performer on a CD released by Raven, performing on the 1971 Beckerath organ of Dwight Chapel, Yale University, with works of Bach, de Grigny, and Mendelssohn (Eleanor Fulton, Organist: Dwight Chapel, Yale University, OAR-810).

 

Odile Pierre, French liturgical and international concert organist, professor, and composer, died in Paris, France, on February 29, shortly before her 87th birthday. Born in Pont-Audemer (in Normandy) on March 12, 1932, she decided to become an organist at age seven, inspired by a recital by Marcel Dupré on the Cavaillé-Coll organ at St. Ouen Abbey in Rouen. After taking lessons with Madeleine Lecoeur, organist at St. Nicaise Church in Rouen at age fifteen, she served as organist and choir director at the St. Martin Church in Barentin (in the Seine-Maritime region of Normandy). From 1950 to 1952, she studied harmony with Albert Beaucamp and organ with Marcel Lanquetuit at the Rouen Conservatory. She then entered the Paris Conservatory, where she was awarded first prizes in the classes of Maurice Duruflé (harmony), Noël Gallon (fugue), Norbert Dufourcq (music history), as well as organ and improvisation with Marcel Dupré and Rolande Falcinelli. At the age of 23, Odile Pierre became the youngest Marcel Dupré student to win a first prize in organ and improvisation at the Paris Conservatory. She won this prestigious prize the same year as Éliane Lejeune-Bonnier (1921–2015), with the unanimous approval of the jury, which included Jeanne Demessieux.

From 1955 to 1957, Odile Pierre officially substituted for Jean-Jacques Grunenwald, then organist at Saint-Pierre de Montrouge Church in Paris. She then studied organ performance with Fernando Germani at Saint-Cecilia Academy in Rome and at Chigiana Music Academy in Sienne, and with Franz Sauer at the Mozarteum in Salzburg. In 1969, she succeeded Jeanne Demessieux as titular organist of the gallery organ of the Madeleine Church and remained in this post until 1979. By coincidence, on the day after she died, Olivier Périn began his functions as the official assistant to François-Henri Houbart, her successor at the Madeleine.

Well known for her mastery of organ repertoire from early to contemporary masters, Odile Pierre performed at least 2,000 concerts throughout the world, including appearances in Japan, Korea, the Philippines, Canada, Iceland, Russia, Germany, Turkey, Italy, Spain, Austria, and the former Czechoslovakia, including twelve tours in the United States and six in Asia. In 1977, she represented France at the Third International Organ Congress in Washington and Philadelphia. She performed organ concertos under the direction of conductors such as Lorin Maazel, Pierre Dervaux, Antoine de Bavier, and Georges Prêtre.

Odile Pierre recorded for RCA, Mitra, Motette, Festivo, Editions Lade, and IFO. At least two of the recordings were made at the Madeleine Church in Paris: Camille Saint-Saëns’ Preludes and Fugues (1972, RCA LSB 4088) and The Great Romantic Toccatas (1978, RCA/RC 8108). In 1991, she recorded (for SCD 814) Jean-François Muno’s reconstitution of Jean de Joyeuse’s 1694 organ at the Auch Cathedral, which she had inaugurated in 1988 with André Isoir. Her Poetic Symphonic Organ Music (Vierne, Debussy, Duruflé, and Odile Pierre) on the Cavaillé-Coll of the Trinity Church in Fécamp and at St. Godard in Rouen (1988, MP/FR 51190 C) calls upon her Normand origins; her record of Widor, Vierne, and Guilmant at the Orléans Cathedral (1993, Motette 11251), reminds us that she lived nearby, in Tigy, in the Loiret department, at the end of her life.

As professor, Odile Pierre taught organ and music history at the Rouen Conservatoire from 1959 until 1969 and then organ and improvisation at the Paris Regional Conservatoire from 1981 until 1992. Among her students were Michael Matthes, Léon Kerremans, D’Arcy Trinkwon, Kristiyan Seynhave, David Di Fiore, and Lionel Coulon (titular organist at the Rouen Cathedral since 1992, he substituted for her at the Madeleine for four years). In 1991, she gave organ classes at the Scuola Internationale d’Alto Perfezionmento Musicale in Perugia, Italy, and gave masterclasses in numerous colleges and universities. She also served on the juries of international organ competitions. In 1977, she was appointed as a member of the Commission on Organs in Paris.

Her organ works were published as early as 1955: Chorale and Fugue on the first antiphon of the Second Vespers for Christmas (1955, Procure du Clergé), and Chorale and Four-Voiced Fugue (1955, republished by Europart-Music in 1988), Four Pilgrimages at the Virgin Mary for four hands, opus 1 (Leduc, 1988), Variations and Fugue on three Christmas Carols (Leduc, 1990), The Martyr of St. Thomas Becket, op. 4 (Bergamo, Carrara 1994), Chorale and Fugue on the Name of Charles-Marie Widor, op. 5 (Mayence, Schott, 1994), and Canonic Variations and Fugue on Two Christmas Carols from Naples, op. 6 (1955). Her edition of some of Alexandre Guilmant’s organ works was printed by Bornemann in 1983 and 1984. In addition, she wrote about Marcel Dupré’s improvisation exams in 1953 and 1954 (Leduc, undated). Odile Pierre received three awards for her contributions to French culture: Officer in the French Legion of Honor, Commander in the French Order of Merit, and the Silver Medal of the City of Paris.

Odile Pierre is survived by her husband, the historian Pierre Aubé.

—Carolyn Shuster Fournier

 

Philip Astor Prince, 89, of New Haven, Connecticut, died February 5. Born January 5, 1931, in Evanston, Illinois, Prince attended the Taft School before entering Yale University with the Class of 1952. He earned his Bachelor of Arts degree in Latin, subsequently studied musicology in the Yale Graduate School, but completed a Master of Music degree from the Yale School of Music in organ performance under H. Frank Bozyan in 1959. Prince was drawn to the Anglo-Catholic liturgy celebrated at Christ Church, New Haven, and became associated with the music program there, succeeding Richard Donovan as organist and choirmaster in 1966. He became respected among colleagues for his English-language arrangements of Gregorian chants and psalmody and for his hymn accompaniments.

Prince published scholarly articles on Max Reger’s organ music (see “Reger and the Organ,” The Diapason, March 1973) and a performing edition of a sonata da chiesa of Johann Gottfried Walther. He also taught organ students at Wesleyan University, Middletown, Connecticut, where he served as university organist for nearly 30 years and played annual recitals. In 1988, he joined the choirs of St. Mary Church, New Haven, and the St. Gregory Society and continued singing with them well into his 80s. Prince became an associate fellow of Ezra Stiles College in 1974. He was a longtime member of both Mory’s and the Elizabethan Club in New Haven, and the American Guild of Organists and Association of Anglican Musicians. Prince was a supporter of the Yale swimming team, and for many years he refereed at swimming matches and tournaments.

Gavin Black

Westminster Choir College: memories and reflections

This column marks my return from a seven-month break—a sabbatical that I took to catch up on various things and to think about and plan for the future direction of this column. I return quite eager and feeling relaxed and energized.

During these seven months a lot has happened in the world—not surprisingly. But a few things that have occurred during my break are of particular interest to organists and of some relevance to this column. In early June, Rider University of New Jersey announced various cuts in programs. These cuts were university-wide, but they had a particular effect on Westminster Choir College since they included the elimination of the organ performance and sacred music degree programs. The organ department and its performance program constituted my professional home for many years, and even though I have not had much direct connection to Westminster for the last twenty years or so, this change feels momentous to me. It occasions most of the reflections in this column.

Also during these same months, two former longtime Westminster organ professors passed away: Robert Carwithen on May 11 and Donald McDonald on August 5 (see McDonald’s obituary in this issue). I did not study with either of them, but I knew them and would see each of them a few times most weeks for decades. I would not be the right person to write a thorough tribute to either of them. But I want to mention here that I got a lot of joy from knowing each of them and had deep respect and admiration for their knowledge and insight, as well as their kindness to me as a student and later as a young colleague.

I should mention that I do not intend to analyze or discuss the whole arc of the changes that have taken place with respect to Westminster Choir College over the last several years, which are massive in nature and extent. I share the visceral sadness that many friends and colleagues experience at the thought of the Westminster campus in Princeton vacant and void of college life. This sadness is especially vivid and present for me since the Princeton Early Keyboard Center studio is across the street from that campus, and I see it most days. I am not privy to much real information about what has been going on at Westminster, and I have no idea how things will evolve going forward. Nonetheless, I have used the announced end of the Westminster organ program as an occasion for me to look back on some of what that program meant to me over the many years when I was closely and deeply involved with that program as a visitor, student, and teacher.

In a recent column I described how my then-teacher Paul Jordan helped me find a new teacher in Princeton as I was about to head off to college from my home in New Haven, Connecticut. He did so by speaking to Helen Kemp of the Westminster faculty, whom he knew and had worked with. As far as I recall, this was the first time I had heard of Westminster Choir College. What I get from this memory now is a reminder that I was somewhat insular in my approach those days. I am pretty certain I had never heard of Gustav Leonhardt or Virgil Fox, to name two examples from different corners of the world that I hoped to inhabit. The performers whom I happened to encounter I delved into deeply—Helmut Walcha, E. Power Biggs, Marcel Dupré—but my overall approach was one of an innocent lack of curiosity. I believe that it is also at least tangentially related to something that is probably a strength, a well-developed lack of interest in being buffeted about by fashion or influence. That youthful lack of curiosity (or laziness about looking into things and expanding horizons) might be related to my insistence on working things out for myself. This is something I believe in very strongly and commend urgently to students.

As I have also recounted elsewhere, I started studying privately with Eugene Roan shortly after I started at Princeton University. We had our lessons at the university chapel, so the first time that I set foot on the Westminster campus was at a recital that Professor Roan gave in the fall of 1974 on the Casavant organ in the basement of Dayton Hall. That building was a dormitory above ground, but below the surface was the central venue of the organ department. The recital hall was at one end, and along various corridors were faculty offices and practice rooms. One thing that I get now out of remembering that first visit is an awareness of how long that space indeed stayed much the same. I am fairly sure that the offices housed mostly the same faculty members, and the practice rooms the same organs, for about twenty years after that day.

But the Westminster organ department was a place. I care a lot about the sense of place.

The place that was the Westminster organ department was labyrinthine. The basement that I mentioned was the hub. But corridors connected that space to other basement spaces where there were also practice organs. There was even an organ in a small room that was located in a corridor between buildings. The web extended to other buildings—a couple of other dormitories, nearby though not connected, where there were practice rooms; the chapel building, where there was an organ in the upstairs chapel space itself, and other organs in smaller rooms on the ground floor level, and, if I remember correctly, a closet for the organ maintenance department. This is the kind of interconnected and spread-out space that I love.

With so many practice rooms and students, faculty members, and visitors, one had to expect practicing to be overheard as a matter of course. During the time when I was a student at Westminster in the 1980s this sense of being overheard helped me to overcome or at least to manage performance anxiety and a general kind of shyness about playing and about artistic expression. These are indeed two separate things. There is the stage fright sort of anxiety, the fear of making mistakes, even falling apart, or of being judged a “bad” player by someone who hears you play. I had been consumed by that fear at least all the way through high school and well into my college years. I got a great deal of help in this department from Professor Roan in lessons and discussion, and from simply making myself perform. I also got a lot out of the particular Westminster approach to teaching performance, which I wrote about in these terms in February 2018 issue:

With pieces that we were working on there were levels of performing that were pretty carefully stepped up. First there were two informal ones: the awareness that everything that went on in any practice room could be heard pretty easily by anyone who walked by, and the customary practice of students playing informally for their friends. The next step was studio class, where the atmosphere was relaxed, where all of the other people in the room were in exactly the same boat, and where you could play a given piece more than once as the weeks went by and get more comfortable with it. Then some pieces would be brought to performance class, the same sort of thing, but department-wide, with the ever-present possibility that some people from outside the department might be there. Then on to various recitals . . . .

This starts with the awareness of being overheard. That awareness also exists to be ignored—doing so is good concentration practice.

The practice organs at Westminster exhibited a great deal of variety. The two very small two-manual Flentrops were the instruments that interested me the most. They were of the same design—upper manual featured only a 4′ flute, the lower manual consisted of 8′ + 2′, the pedal consisted of a lone 8′, and there were the usual couplers—but sounded and felt a bit different. Those of us who focused on these instruments tended to have one of them that was our favorite. They both had an extremely sensitive action along with flexible (or what some would call “unsteady”) winding. The action was sensitive in that the shape and nature of the attacks and releases varied a lot with different sorts of touch. Each of these organs could sound like a different instrument based on the minutiae of how they were being played.

A certain small Noack practice organ in a nearby room also had a very sensitive action, but in a different way: the action was light enough that it was painfully easy to make notes sound by barely brushing up against them from the side. This made it an ideal instrument for drilling notes and in general for developing accuracy and straightforwardly clean playing habits. I should probably have spent more time than I did in that room.

The Flentrops, however, had the shortest pedal sharps that I have ever encountered. That, combined with the sensitive wind supply, made them really intense training tools for pedal accuracy, in particular for those who wanted to play on flat pedalboards. The presence of a variety of pedalboards—flat, American Guild of Organists standard, other sorts of concave and/or radiating with various levels of sensitivity—helped train me not to care very much about pedal differences. Sometime in the course of my student days I realized that I could go back and forth among pedal keyboards as different as they come without any trouble. This led to some of the specifics of my approach to teaching pedal playing, in particular conceiving of the physical act of pushing down pedal keys as being a point rather than a line.

In addition to being a place, the Westminster organ department was also a community. Everyone who was a member of that community had their own feelings about it at the time and subsequently has their own memories of it. I have no sense that mine are the same as others. I also know that school is difficult, and that students and faculty members can experience tensions arising out of overwork, competitiveness, envy or jealousy, fear about career prospects, and so on. However, my own experience of the department as a community when I was a student and later as a faculty member was that it was relaxed, friendly, nurturing, conducive of cooperation rather than conflict, and in general a social and academic environment in which I could thrive. I do not mean this as boilerplate, but rather as something quite specific. As I have written before from time to time, I was a “late bloomer” as a practical musician. I was deeply interested in music from a very early age, but it took me ages to develop the focus and discipline to practice particularly well or indeed very much at all. When I was ready to go to college, I was not a developed enough player to consider applying to music schools. During my undergraduate years at Princeton I spent a lot of time and mental effort on remedying this with help from Professor Roan via the private lessons that I took with him. When in due course I was ready to apply to graduate school, I had reached a stage where I could play some music very well. But I was not anything like a polished virtuoso as I had a small repertoire and was an atrocious sight reader. I was subject to lapses in concentration that made it pretty much hit-or-miss whether I would play anything like my best any given time. The atmosphere of graduate school could easily have been crushing to my spirit. Among the older musicians I knew there were several who advised me not to put myself into that kind of situation. At Westminster I found a kind of infectious joy in whatever each member of the community could do well, a sense that not everyone had to be good at or even involved with the same things, and an awareness that there is plenty of time to learn whatever you still need to learn. This was exactly what I needed to thrive at that point in my life, rather than wither away or shrivel up. These ideas form one of the cores of my own approach to teaching.

I picked up a lot of “little random stuff” while at Westminster. I know that there are many pieces that I first became interested in because I walked by a room in which someone was practicing something that was unfamiliar to me and that intrigued me. I believe that I became interested in Messiaen that way. There was a time when a fellow student whom I did not particularly know opened the door of his practice room as I was passing by and asked if I would come in and listen to him play the Buxtehude Praeludium in D Major and give him my feedback. I did not know why at the time—I probably filled in the “why” with the assumption that he thought that I was a great Buxtehude expert. Just as likely he just wanted to practice playing under the pressure of someone’s listening. Maybe he was asking for feedback just to be polite. This was a significantly more skilled (advanced) player than I was at that point, so I was rather stunned that he wanted my help. It was a small thing, but it actually contributed a little bit to my sense that I could be an effective teacher someday.

One day Gene Roan and I were walking along the corridor chatting when he stopped near a practice room door. He told me to listen, and then after a couple of minutes said, “even his very slow practice has a sense of direction.” I did not know who the practicing student was. I think that I was shy about actually peering through the little window, or maybe it was papered over. But that was a significant lesson to me. I have tried to make sure that my slow practicing has a sense of direction ever since! And as that happens to tie in with what I will be writing about next month, I will leave it at that for now.

Lorraine S. Brugh and Richard Webster

Lorraine Brugh is senior research professor of music at Valparaiso University, Valparaiso, Indiana. Richard Webster is interim director of music at Saint Paul’s Choir School and Church, Harvard Square, Boston, Massachusetts, and music director of Chicago’s Bach Week Festival.

The celebration

“These people will be your friends for life,” Karel Paukert pronounced to his organ class at Northwestern University in the mid-1970s. Looking around, we students likely smirked, unable to imagine this motley crew being lifelong friends. Almost exactly fifty years later, on November 17, 2023, many of those former students along with colleagues, family, and church members gathered to celebrate Karel’s life of teaching, leading, and performing.

Saint Paul’s Episcopal Church in Cleveland Heights, Ohio, named Karel Paukert artist-in-residence on August 2, 2023. He has served at Saint Paul’s since 1979, first as organist and choirmaster, and now continues as organist for their Sunday early service. Most days he is there, practicing and working on a memoir he is writing at the request of two colleagues in the Czech Republic.

Kevin Jones, director of music at Saint Paul’s since June 2022 and a former student of Karel’s, organized an evening of celebration and tribute. Attended by more than 200 people, the evening opened with a recital by five of Karel’s former students. The rector, the Reverend Jeanne Leinbach, welcomed everyone to the recital. Performers were former students of Karel’s from Northwestern University—James Higdon, Richard Webster, and Lorraine Brugh—and the Cleveland Institute of Music—Brian Wilson and Kevin Jones. The recital displayed evidence of the wide range of Karel’s teaching and influence with works of Jehan Alain, Paul Hindemith, César Franck, Nicolas de Grigny, Richard Webster, Petr Eben, and Maurice Duruflé.

A gala reception followed the recital. Wine flowed freely, complemented by delicious canapés and desserts. The Reverend Leinbach again greeted and thanked all who came from near and far to attend. Lorraine Brugh, James Higdon, Richard Webster, and Kevin Jones all gave tributes, as well as a bit of roasting to Karel. Karel then closed the evening by recalling his love for Saint Paul’s and the staff and parishioners who continue to be a source of great love and support for him, his family, many of whom were in attendance, as were his former students. It was a grand evening of sharing across many decades and places where Karel continues to inspire with his music and wit. All shared admiration for his humanity. Indeed, we students had remained friends for life.

An interview

On November 17, before the festivities, Lorraine Brugh and Richard Webster interviewed Karel, focusing on his early life in Czechoslovakia (thereafter the Czech Republic and now Czechia), his escape to the West, and passion for lifelong teaching 
and learning.

Lorraine Brugh: You have been a lifelong mentor to so many students, including the two of us. Would you talk about that role and then tell us who your mentors were?

Karel Paukert: This is very interesting, because I never thought of you two as teenagers. I don’t think I treated you that way. You were both seventeen when you came to Northwestern. I simply saw two young people, extremely gifted; it was oozing from you. I was as excited as I used to be as a child when I was cultivating herbs and flowers. As a kid I loved to grow plants. This was fantastic for me.

I was first teaching young students as a young person myself when my teachers J. B. Krajs in Prague and then Gabriel Verschraegen in Ghent asked me to work with certain students while they were absent. I like to deal with people, especially young people. You two were very eager, like sponges. It was just a pleasure from the very beginning.

Richard Webster: It’s significant that you mention your love of people because many teachers don’t have that love as you do.

I really feel strongly about the role love plays in our lives. It surpasses language, racial, and geographical barriers. Also, good will. I felt it in abundance as soon as I left my oppressed native country and began my life in the West. It instantly changed me, and I became more trusting and harmonious within myself.

During my second week in Iceland, I was entrusted with the role of an oboe teacher in the music school. In my own mind I had no business being a teacher of oboe, but as a member of the Radio Orchestra and being one of the very few oboe players on the island, I fulfilled my task. My student Kjartan became the oboist of the Iceland Philharmonic a few years later.

I think that my positive instincts in that field are in my DNA, as most of my forefathers on one side of my family were teachers in the Sudetenland (frontiers drawn after the First World War in 1918–1919 and in 1938 appropriated by Adolf Hitler). Consequently, I have the need to share good things with other people.

LB: Which side of your family was that?

My father’s family. My grandfather just happened to come to my hometown Skuteč as the new postmaster. He married there. The object of his admiration was my grandmother Hedvika. He ate in a restaurant for ten years watching this young woman, the daughter of the owner, before he asked her to marry him. He had a dignity about him and thought we teenagers were rude for welcoming girls without shirts on, even though it was a hot summer. I was twelve, my brother eight, and he considered us loose, with no manners. He gave us an example of a time he was mortified when his teacher in elementary school took his class to the river and requested them to take their shirts off before swimming. His shyness did not allow him to do it. He was tearing up, sharing this episode with us. I would definitely say I got my love of teaching from his side.

LB: Can you talk about some of your mentors outside of your family?

There was a Catholic priest, Monsignor Jiri Sahula, who, though poor as a church mouse, had a great assortment of musical instruments. When I was about ten years old and was his acolyte for morning Mass in the local Church of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin, he lent me books to read. They were way over my head, but I just perused them to please him and then brought them back. For a change he started to talk about the beauty and nobility of the church organ. That was before it began to mesmerize me. In the same context he talked about a composer, František Musil, a priest, who composed a beautiful sonata.

Many years later, when I played the sonata, I was often in tears, recalling Monsignor’s poverty and humility. You could see him from afar. He walked by our house to the next village, probably to visit ailing folks. Walking through the neighborhood, he would carry a huge leather bag, and village folks often offered him goods. “Just baked, Monsignor.” People loved him and took pleasure in feeding him.

Monsignor Sahula was well known as a published historian, rather conservative, but enlightened. It was moving to see him play a variety of instruments, including a musical saw, a zither, and a one-key flute. When I came home for a visit from the conservatory in Prague, he wanted us to make music together—violin and piano. I was pleased to oblige. Often it was painful because he did not practice and his intonation was painful. In the winter, around Christmas, his huge room with a high ceiling was atrociously cold. It was touching to see him tear up playing or talking about music. (I learned from him and others how much music moves people.) I loved those times with the Monsignor, nevertheless.

RW: Would you tell us about your teachers?

My organ teacher at the Prague Conservatory, Jan Bedřich Krajs, was the nephew of the composer and organ virtuoso, Bedřich Antonín Wiedermann. He was like a father to me, in part because he had the same kind of view on present-day government policy and was opposed to the Communists, as my father was.

Our discussions in the organ studio were without boundaries. At a certain point, perhaps in my second year, a recording line was installed, so that we could record our playing. That was a pretext, and what we did not think of was that they also could tape our conversations. We didn’t realize that when we talked politics, even students among ourselves, someone could record us, and they did. It was brought to the attention of the conservatory authorities, and they threatened to close the department if professor Krajs did not dismiss me.

I seemed to have been the chief culprit. My standing was magnified by an anonymous letter from my hometown Skuteč about my class origin: petit bourgeois. This indicated that I was not worthy to be part of the cadre, the working class in the new Socialist state, but should first prove myself in a factory.

Fortunately, the man who installed the telephone was our instructor of acoustics and the son of Comrade Prchal, a leader of the Revolutionary Movement of the Trade Unions (ROH). He was a friend of my teacher, who, among other maintenance tasks, oiled our organ motors. He asked Professor Krajs with urgency to dismiss me, to prevent the closing of the department of organ. On ideological grounds, Krajs said he was not going to do that. What followed was a search of the apartment of the Krajs family. Professor Krajs was a friend of Jan Masaryk, the son of the first president of the Czech Republic, Tomáš Garrigue Masaryk. He “died” in Czernin Palace [in Prague] in 1948, by suicide or was possibly thrown out of a window. To this day it isn’t certain how he died.

My father listened to Jan Masaryk and other Czech dissidents on regular shortwave radio transmissions from London on the BBC (London Calls) and from New York (Voice of America) during the War. Broadcasts were in the Czech language, received on our Telefunken radio. This was considered to be illegal activity and could be punishable by prison or even death, as the required orange tag on the dial indicated.

Before leaving the country, Masaryk left Professor Krajs his famous hat, books, letters, and other memorabilia. One day the secret police came to check his apartment, probably to look for objects that could compromise him so that they could take action against him. The Krajs family lived in Malá Strana, in a centuries-old house, below the Prague Castle in Thunovská Street. Upon hearing the doorbell, the professor peeked down from the upper floor and saw men in leather coats, a typical attire of the secret police. Before he opened the doors downstairs he took the things that might be compromising and threw them all into an oven, a ceramic stove that went up all the way to the ceiling in the large room, which housed a small two-manual organ. Unfortunately, later in the day when the professor was at the conservatory, Mrs. Krajs came back and lit a fire in the stove, not knowing what all the papers were about. She burned it all up. There were notes, letters, enough incriminating evidence that almost certainly would have resulted in incarceration.

The early 1950s were tough times after a few peaceful years following World War II. It was the “dictatorship of the working class on the way to Socialism and Communism.” In many ways it mirrored the German occupation and their beastly deeds.

RW: What year would this be?

It began after the February 1948 Revolution with the confiscation of properties of the rich and the nationalization of industry, and climaxed in the last years of Stalin. The years 1952 and 1953 were terrible, because any Soviet doctrine would be copied by the Czech Communists. It was the art and culture of social realism; everything had to be optimistic, with positive depictions of the Russians. Whatever it was, it had to be in agreement with the party line. This was the reign of Socialist realism. So we couldn’t play music that wasn’t relatable to the working classes, especially anything with religious titles. Music that named Jesus Christ or mentioned anything religious was prohibited, with a few exceptions. If a piece was called “Meditation” it might have passed the ideological control.

My colleague, Jan Hora, retired professor of the conservatory and the Academy of Musical Arts, often played in the concert halls of the Soviet Union. He said that there were never printed programs in the Soviet Union. The works would be announced from the stage so that any religious connotations would be erased.

Thanks to Jan I got to know Professor Verschraegen. Jan was my best friend from the conservatory years. He was a fine organist and was allowed to travel abroad. While still in school he won several competitions. In fact, Jan met Professor Verschraegen when he was taking part in the J. S. Bach competition in Ghent. He always brought back organ scores of contemporary composers published in the West. This was music that we never had access to in the “Czechoslovak Socialist Republic.” I was able to borrow and copy some of them.

I also told you about Paul Hindemith and copying his Sonata I. When he came to Prague, I asked him if he would be so kind as to sign it. That much I could say in German. He was very upset—I might say furious. I must have been in a tearful disposition, as his kind wife, Frau Gertrud, had mercy on me, took me by my hand, and invited me to sit with her in the loge at Smetana Hall during the second half of his rehearsal with the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra. After I explained to her in broken German our situation, vis-à-vis new music from the West, she took me after the rehearsal to the green room. I could tell that she was explaining the predicament of music students to Hindemith. He obviously changed his mind, because he did sign the sonata (“With thanks to the copyist”!!). He also requested my address, and during one of the ensuing summer months I got a package from Schott in Vienna, addressed to my parents’ house in Skuteč, with all three of his sonatas.

Back to Professor Verschraegen. It happened that he was allowed to concertize in the Czech Republic. I was in military service between 1957 and 1959 in Pisek and Tabor. It was in 1958 that I met him. Mr. Palasek, who was the minister at the prayer house of the Czech Brethren, had for our circumstances a nice, small two-manual organ, and allowed me to practice there whenever I had permission to leave the barracks. He told me about an upcoming Verschraegen concert there and asked if I could assist him during his recital.

There was a youngish lady named Vera who was translating for him. The two seemed to have been affectionate with each other. She was a Jew and had spent several war years in the concentration camp. I could tell because she had a tattoo on her arm.

Later in Ghent, I realized that her story fascinated Verschraegen from the very beginning, and he was attracted to her. She asked me if I liked his playing; I said, yes, very much, and she asked if I would like to study with him. She talked to Gabriel about me, and the next time he came to Prague I played for him. He came there to premiere his Concerto for Organ and Strings with the Prague Chamber Orchestra in the Rudolfinum.

He loved Prague and stayed for several days. I tried to communicate with him in my elementary German. He spoke his native Flemish, French, and German. Afterwards, Vera convinced me that I had to improve my German to communicate with him. I listened to her and took private German lessons, making fairly rapid progress.

The Pragokoncert housed him in the Hotel Alcron, a hotel for guests from the West. One evening he invited me there for supper. As we spoke a waiter came to us and silently pointed above his head, toward the chandelier. That indicated to me that there was a recording device. Fortunately, I had not said very much. But I was so grateful, so grateful to the waiter for warning us.

The next day, through the help of Vera, I got to play for him. Later when I was in Belgium, he told me I was like some other Czech organists, who were so rhythmically undisciplined. (He had heard them in various competitions as a juror.) He said I had to buy a metronome and reached immediately for his wallet to give me money, but I did have some money. After two lessons with him I did what he asked me to do—to write in all the fingerings and pedaling in Bach’s Toccata in F (BWV 540i). Thereafter, I passed his requirement.

RW: Just like you, he was very generous to his students.

Thank you. Anyway, so then after two or three lessons, he said that he would like me to teach his son, Dirk. “You can play as you want, but I want you to teach him to use the metronome and note the fingerings.” Obviously, he wanted me to instill discipline in him.

After that I didn’t get many lessons from him. He would listen to me and make a few, always helpful comments. We discussed interpretations away from the organ as well. He was a deep thinker and liked to talk a lot about himself and life in general. I lived nearby, and he would often ring my doorbell in the evening and ask if I wanted to have coffee or a beer chat. We might also meet in the square at a brasserie in front of the cathedral where I was playing weekday Masses, Sunday morning Masses, and other important offices. Or we would talk and walk through the old town. He would talk politics, the world, and Vera in Prague, and I would comment here and there. He loved his city and was a proud “Vlamink” (Flemish citizen).

RW: Last year you received an honorary doctorate from the Academy of Musical Arts in Prague, and a week thereafter the Prize of the Ministry of Culture. What was it like for you to be there and to receive the award?

It was like a dream. My entire U.S. family and Czech relatives came to support me. When I legally left Prague in 1961 I had a suitcase containing some music scores and my oboe for a one-year engagement in the Iceland Symphony Orchestra. By not returning for the obligatory summer military training and disregarding all the letters from the Czech authorities, the military court issued me a ten-year prison term. I did not think that even a short visit would ever be a possibility.

I never thought I would be going back. But things changed. The Velvet Revolution was a miracle. I told you about my mother. When I took a train to Skuteč to say goodbye before leaving for Iceland and told her I might not be coming back, she was standing in front of the armoire and was so startled she dropped a mirror on the floor. “You cannot do it.” I didn’t even say goodbye to my father because he was working in an ammunition factory and could only come home on the weekend. I didn’t know myself if I could get to the point where I could divorce myself from my past and never be back again.

Playing in the Iceland Symphony Orchestra in Reykjavik, existing modestly, I had saved some money, made some more in Oslo with the recording of Czech organ music in the cathedral in Oslo for the Norwegian Radio. I kept my savings in my shoes, believing that with a little bit of luck I could survive two to three months.

In Oslo I put my suitcase into a railway depot before embarking by autostop to the west coast. I splurged on a pair of blue jeans (my first ones), a small backpack, and a navy t-shirt. Then in the harbor I was trying to find work. I did find it on a packet boat servicing Kristiansand and Bergen. I meditated about my future under the starlit sky when the boat moored at night in one of the magic fjords. The sailors would leave me on the boat alone, sleep somewhere on the shore, and would come back in the morning. I was to clean the kitchen and the deck. After I was finished I watched the stars and made my plans. My kingdom was the deck of the smallish boat.

On the way to Prague in 2022 I was again replaying in my mind the circumstances of my leaving in 1961. It took me many months in Reykjavik to tackle the parting step with my past. The final decision, the realization that I had to leave my past in order to at least touch my dreams, was made during my journey in 1962, hitchhiking from Bergen back to Oslo. After a nap in a haystack in the Telemark region of Norway, awakened by the scent of hay and hearing singing from a beautifully carved chalet (there must have been more than a dozen of them, scattered in the valley), I made the decision to stay in the West. I bought a ticket to Ghent, checked my suitcase, boarded the train, and was on my way to Belgium.

In Sweden there was no passport control from Norway. When we reached Denmark, however, there was a casual passport control at the border to Germany. The officer selected me and said I needed a valid visa. I told him I had one. He stated I needed a visa for each country since my passport was from a Communist country. He said I had transgressed Scandinavian rules. I explained what I was contemplating—to ask for asylum. He said he would let me go to Germany, and there I would need to ask for asylum.

The German border police got me off the train. The realization came to me too late that my suitcase, a “Mitgepäck,” was going to Ghent. Out of fear that I could be apprehended, I had left in it the letters from Verschraegen that could prove he had invited me to come to study with him, plus anything else that would reveal my intentions not to return home. This was August, and I didn’t get to Ghent until November. Meanwhile, I had to exist. The Germans said it would be possible to stay in Germany because I was a musician. But I would have to change my name and go to a camp for refugees, because I didn’t want to become a German citizen.

I was sent back to Denmark on the next train. The same officer, Mr. Poulsen, waited for me at the Padborg station and brought me to a small police station directly in the railway station. There he interviewed me and wrote a protocol. I was jailed overnight and taken with two men, obviously criminals, to Copenhagen by rail and boats. Today the bridges make that part of the voyage a delight.

They brought me to the officer for refugees. I deposited my Czech passport and the return airline ticket to Prague. His office would help me apply for a visa to Belgium. In the meantime, I was required to find housing and periodically report to his office. I was terrified that I would not have enough money to stay in the city while I waited for the visa.

I wrote a desperate letter to a friend in Iceland, Didda Gudrum Kristinsdottir. She was a pianist who studied with Bruno Seidlhofer in Vienna and was at that time the best pianist in Iceland. I gave her the address of the rented room where she could write to me.

Instead of receiving a letter, one day a Danish woman came to my door, introduced herself as Hanne Poulsen, a friend of Didda from Vienna, where she had studied broadcasting. She already knew that I needed help here and offered me the use of her apartment. “I am leaving my apartment and going on vacation. I will be with my mother for six weeks. I would like you to use it.” I just couldn’t accept it. She said she would come in the afternoon and would show me Copenhagen. She drove me all around the city in her beautiful Saab. We ended in Nyhavn with a glass of delicious Tuborg beer. During our sightseeing I decided to accept her kind offer. That helped me to survive in Copenhagen because I had no job. For many years thereafter, whenever I would be nearby, I would meet her for dinner.

I would go to the Belgian embassy to check on my visa almost every day, wearing sunglasses so that I would not be recognized. That feeling of being pursued stayed with me for a long time. It finally disappeared in 1964, when I arrived in the United States.

During my waiting time for the visa I was able to take advantage of the musical life in Copenhagen. Tickets were inexpensive. In Tivoli, the famous amusement park, I heard amazing concerts of all sorts, including Danish avant-garde composers, conductor Zubin Mehta with the Tivoli orchestra, even a piano recital by the seventy-five-year-old Arthur Rubinstein.

One day, in a cafeteria, I met a young man who looked at me quizzically and addressed me in English. By that time I could speak some English. He was a Fulbright student from the USA, Raymond Harris, studying with Finn Viderø. I knew the name of his teacher as he was well known as a prophet, specializing in the works of Buxtehude. Mr. Viderø didn’t mind if I came to his lessons. I learned a lot by observing him and listening to the beautiful Marcussen organ on which he taught. I summoned the courage to visit other organ lofts and was received cordially. Many of the organists were also composers. I could not believe the clarity of those instruments!

Then one day at the Belgian embassy, a kind consular officer, a distinguished older Jewish woman told me, “Do not despair. It will happen.” It wasn’t happening fast enough. I was writing desperate letters to Verschraegen, “Please, please, Herr Professor.” I got no answer. He needed to attest that he was inviting me to Belgium. We had made the agreement in 1961 that he would send me a Christmas card with his signature and an asterisk if the invitation was still valid. Shortly thereafter I received it and still have it. It’s a Christmas card, more than half a century old, with a landscape painting of an old Flemish master, and on the reverse, his signature and the asterisk.

After coming to Ghent I found out that Professor Verschraegen traveled during the summer with the whole family in Europe and was also giving concerts. His mail was collected by one of the sextons, Roger Van de Wielle, a musicologist and author, who was also one of the organists.

LB: Tonight you will be honored for another award, artist-in-residence at Saint Paul’s. Share some of your thoughts about this celebration.

The rector, in her generosity, and Kevin Jones, director of music here, made it possible for me to stay on. I treasure the office I have, because I can hopefully finish my memoirs. I also have a resting place here in the columbarium for Noriko [Fujii-Paukert, Karel’s wife] and myself. She agreed to be buried with me.

Look at this beautiful space. I’m often here until 8:00 p.m. working on details of the remembrances, making sure all the details are correct. Sometimes I come to pleasant, even stunning discoveries. Today, for example, I was reading about two musicians who concertized at the Cleveland Museum of Art in their early careers, Christine Brandes and Joshua Bell. Christine, a sought-after soprano in early music, shone in several of our concerts thirty years ago, and Joshua, now a world-class violinist, was scheduled for one of our summer concerts when he was thirteen or fourteen. He was the first winner of the Stulberg International Competition for string players under age twenty.

This competition was founded by the friends of Julius Stulberg, professor of violin in Kalamazoo [Western Michigan University], a year after his death. It was a stroke of luck, and it happened because of my skiing accident. I found out about Joshua from my orthopedist, Dr. Stulberg, whose father was a German immigrant and the famed violinist. The good doctor, who apparently frequented our concerts, raved about Joshua and put me in contact with his mother. I was fortunate in that regard; so many good things happened to me.

LB: How did the invitation to write your memoir come about?

It was the editor of Prague Radio, Eva Ocisková, who recorded a series of talks for her program Pameti (“Memories”). It was a successful program in many installments on Radio Vltava Prague. From that she must have gleaned some inspiration and asked me to consider writing the story of my life. Her husband, my close friend, renowned organist Jaroslav Tůma, supported it.

LB: They are planning a publication in Czech?

Yes, and there is support for the Czech edition from official circles. What happens further, with the English edition, I don’t know as yet.

LB: What accomplishments are you most proud of, or satisfied with, in your long professional arc?

Well, here in the church I am pleased with the acquisition of instruments. We acquired an Italian organ by Gerhard Hradetzky, the Italian harpsichord by Matthias Giewisch, and the positiv of Vladimir Slajch. Of course, we have the iconic Holtkamp organ.

At the Cleveland Museum of Art (CMA) procurement was one of my chief preoccupations from the very beginning. I wanted to acquire instruments that would enable us to present a variety of musical styles. Those instruments included harpsichord copies for French, Italian, and German repertoire, an organ positiv, an original Broadwood fortepiano, a copy of Mozart’s Walter clavier, and a clavichord. We used them in the auditorium and in various galleries for concerts. This gave the musical arts also a visual artistic presentation. In both instances it required patience and perseverance to obtain the necessary funds from private individuals and foundations.

Unfortunately, the CMA instruments are now in storage and are not played. That situation pains me very much. Even more, the human capital we assembled through the many activities is no longer nourished by the CMA as it was for almost 100 years. You cannot measure such things with a yardstick, but you can see and feel the respect people paid to music over the years. I was not the first one. I simply continued in that trajectory of the first curators, following in the footsteps of my predecessor, Walter Blodgett.

There are many instrumentalists and composers who were studying here at the Cleveland Institute of Music (CIM) and students at other institutions who, even now after many years have passed, acknowledge how much the CMA program enriched their professional lives through the concerts, listening to rehearsals, and meeting with the artists. We wanted it to be precisely that: a supplemental music laboratory for as many as possible. The young professionals who studied with Donald Erb at CIM got to meet William Bolcom, William Albright, Jacob Druckman, Messrs. Carter and Crumb, and dozens of others. Imagine the young organist to be a few steps away from such legends as Jean Langlais, Pierre Cochereau, Madame Duruflé, Olivier Messiaen, or Yvonne Loriod. There is something sacred in meeting great artists.

It was the same with masterclasses. If we had harpsichordist Gustav Leonhardt or Edith Picht-Axenfeld playing fortepiano, students would come from CIM, from Case Western, Cleveland State, or the Oberlin Conservatory, just to experience their artistry. It was the education tangent that I valued very much. What is heartwarming to me now are the occasional encounters with folks I meet in the street or a store, or musicians who participated in our endeavors, age-wise all over the spectrum, expressing gratitude for our musical mission.

LB: Was the new music direction your own, or had it been already established?

I was following Walter Blodgett. He was interested in new music. The CMA juried exhibitions of local artists. Walter complemented this with May festivals, mostly performances of new music. He had people like Karlheinz Stockhausen here before I came. I could not believe it.

So I felt very safe in pushing the envelope. Among others in programming music of different nations, I also wanted to promote Czech music. The general manager of CMA, Beverly Barksdale, previously assistant to George Szell, assured me that because Szell presented Czech music often [with the Cleveland Orchestra], programming Czech music would not be objectionable to Clevelanders. On the contrary, we would frequently combine resources from CMA, the choir from Saint Paul’s, as well as local instrumentalists, and present concerts in the CMA, the Bohemian National Hall, and elsewhere in the city. During the oppressive regime, ending with the Velvet Revolution (Prague, November and December 1989), local folks were unable to visit the homeland and enthusiastically supported our programs of Dvořák, Smetana, Janáček, and others.

RW: What are your regrets?

As humans we all sin. Perhaps I sinned more than others. Feeling guilty helped me do good things and helped me, in part, to overcome my guilt. I should have loved more. I should have spent more time with my family. I should have been more understanding of some of my students. I should have worked harder from the beginning.

RW: What advice do you have to young musicians, particularly organists, composers, and church musicians who are at the beginnings of their careers?

I just really think that, in today’s market, it is necessary to be multi-faceted, to be capable of stepping into diverse situations, in order to earn enough for the basic necessities. I am speaking now as the father of a family. The brilliant ones and those who are hard working will most likely make it. [Young musicians] do not need any advice from us. They just need to find a mentor and continue to love music and know what and why they are doing it.

LB: Well, there aren’t even enough church jobs to go around anymore.

I think you have to follow your call, whatever it is. My teacher at the conservatory, Mr. Krajs, said, when he taught me privately,

Darling, you are ready to take the exams at the conservatory. Think it over. You have to be sure you love music enough. You know how the government treats the church, and it may not change in your lifetime. You may have to play for free in the church, if they are even open, and be employed in a radio station as a sound engineer. But you play oboe; you will be okay.

The satisfaction of being a musician is enormous, especially in religious realms. I was fortunate to have a dream position at the museum (CMA), not in terms of financial rewards but in being an unofficial musical missionary in the city. To that end was added another dimension, serving people in the church, first [at Saint Luke’s Episcopal Church] in Evanston and now in Cleveland Heights. I was fortunate to work under great rectors—in Evanston, Tom Ray, and in Cleveland Heights, Chave McCracken, Nick White, Alan Gates, Jeanne Leinbach, and a host of wonderful musical colleagues. I learned from all of them, and I am still learning.

RW: It’s a calling.

Yes.

Postscript by Karel Paukert

I wish Frank Cunkle were still alive. Thanks to him I made it all the way to the U.S. In 1963 Gabriel Verschraegen asked me to take care of an American music journalist, Mr. Cunkle, who was planning to visit the Festival of Flanders to see diverse organs and attend as many recitals as possible. I agreed to be his guide, not realizing that this encounter would change my life forever.

Frank was the editor of The Diapason, based in Chicago. As I quickly found out, he had an encyclopedic knowledge of the U.S. organ scene. He let me know right away that he disliked certain organists, but did like very much the playing of Catharine Crozier and also Robert Noehren. I proudly told him that I met both in Haarlem and that they recommended me to come to the U.S. Frank did not promise me anything but indicated that he would contact a few acquaintances in churches and schools for a possible recital or a class on Czech organ music. It all became reality when I landed in Chicago on December 19, 1964. I was welcomed by Frank, organ builder John F. Shawhan, and two doctoral students at Northwestern University, Benn Gibson and James Leland. They brought me to Frank’s house (he did not drive) in Oak Park.

The Chicago Chapter of the American Guild of Organists invited me to play a recital for their midwinter conclave, undoubtedly, thanks to Frank’s recommendation. It was announced in the December 1964 issue of The Diapason.

In 1968 I returned to the Chicago area to teach at Northwestern University in Evanston and reconnected with Frank. Upon his retirement in 1970 he moved to our small house on Noyes Street and became a frequent babysitter of our children. He eventually fulfilled his plan to retire in Mexico. After he found the experience disappointing, he returned to the U.S. to live close to his sister in Chula Vista, California.

A child of the Great Depression, he was born in Arkansas and was accustomed to living frugally. In his younger years he earned his living in music as an organist, pianist, composer, and arranger. He possessed absolute pitch. His music education was broad. I am his grateful mentee, for imparting to me the skills of American life I would need for the rest of my life.

Special thanks to my friends, Lorraine and Richard, and also to Stephen Schnurr and The Diapason, for allowing me to share my memories.

 

Karel is currently receiving treatment at the University Hospital’s Seidman Cancer Center in Cleveland, Ohio.