In the wind . . .

Leonardo Ciampa is currently Director of Music at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Brookline, Massachusetts. During his twelve-year tenure in Jamaica Plain, he documented the now-destroyed Hook organ on two compact discs for AFKA Records, No Room at the Inn and No Room at the Inn, Vol. II. First Baptist Church vows to rebuild, and Mr. Ciampa is chairing their committee to find and restore another historic instrument.

"We Americans can make our most significant
contribution to the history of the organ if we just remember that, above all,
the organ is expected to be a musical instrument. If its sound can attract and
increase the interests of the general public as well as that of musicians and
composers, it will have fulfilled its purpose . . ."

--John Brombaugh1

Posthumous panegyrics--there's something
suspicious about them. I once attended a funeral of an aunt, whose grandson got
up to the pulpit and offered a eulogy brimming with praiseful ooze. In my pew I
overheard a relative whisper to another, "He didn't call her twice
in the last five years." It's easy to gush over what is gone.
It's harder to praise what is still here.

As I write this it is January 20, less than 48 hours after
that indelible, abhorrent moment--the moment when I heard the appalling
news out of Jamaica Plain. My emotions right now? Melancholy. Unfillable void.
Grief. I don't want to write from those emotions.

Instead, I offer you words I wrote before January 18, when
the organ resided tranquilly, as we thought it would forever.

Only twenty hours before the fire started, I wrote Brian
Jones that switching church jobs in 2001

was definitely an adjustment for me. I think in a sense I
was in "mourning." The Hook just had that silvery sound, every pipe
of it.2

In the 1994 program notes to Volume I of No Room at the Inn,
I wrote

In terms of the beauty of individual ranks, this organ is
without rival in Boston, the other Hooks included.

A strong statement, considering that within one square
kilometer of Jamaica Plain there are two other three-manual Hooks from the
1850s. One of them, at the Unitarian Church, Thomas Murray made famous by his
Mendelssohn recordings. Though that Hook is freestanding and boasts a Pedal
Trombone, Susan Armstrong shared my opinion. "Sure, everyone likes the
Unitarian Hook, because it's louder and has the Trombone. But your Hook
is a lady."3 Still, I thought Susan and I were alone in our preference
for Opus 253. But no less than William T. Van Pelt was quoted by the Boston
Globe as saying, "Though cherished in their own respects, the other Hook
organs in Jamaica Plain could not match the sound of the one at First
Baptist."4

There may have been a reason for this. Starting around 1881,
many of the area Hooks were entrusted to a Canadian immigrant named Erasme
Lahaise (1851-1949), who worked for the Hook firm and personally met one
or both of the Hook brothers. He, his children, and grandchildren cared for
Opus 253 until its demise. During the 1920s and '30s, Eddie
Lahaise--son of Erasme, brother of Henri, and uncle of Robert and Richard--lived
down the street from First Baptist.

[Then-organist] Merton Stoddard [also] lived very close to
the church. The two met nearly every Saturday, and what little fiddling that
was done to Opus 253 was carried out during that period. The pitch was lowered
from A-448 to A-440, the Swell Tremulant was slowed to its present, rather
luscious rate, and the Great-to-Pedal Reversible . . . and new Balanced Swell
Pedal were installed. The only other known alteration was the slight revoicing
of the 17 Stopped Bass pipes on the Great. The mouths were raised a bit so as
to match the Clarabella Treble in power.5

Some say the Clarabella was revoiced as well. No matter:
that was a flute that no one could stop talking about. Said Dick Lahaise,
"It's like pouring cream."6 

Could it be that those years of expert maintenance by Eddie
Lahaise--who, like the other Lahaises, had direct Hook knowledge--had
something to do with the smooth, silvery sound that Opus 253 emanated, that je
ne sais quoi that the other two Jamaica Plain Hooks lacked?

Six years passed before the release of Volume II of No Room
at the Inn. The passage of time in no way diminished my fascination with the
instrument.

December of 2000 [marked] my twelfth Christmas at First
Baptist. The organ still teaches, still inspires. . . . [Regarding the
console,] no one was thinking about comfort in 1859. . . . But for all the
discomfort, for all the crashing of the stopknobs and clicking of the keys, all
it takes is a few notes to remind me of why I'm still in Jamaica Plain.
The sound! I still say that, in terms of beauty of sound, this is the best
organ in Boston. I never play it without feeling transported.7

On 18 June 2003, I wrote an article for my website entitled
E. & G. G. Hook: "International" Organbuilders. I'd long
felt that (a) the Hooks were the greatest organbuilders of their time in the
world (not just in America); and (b) the Hooks achieved more eclecticism
without trying than the American builders 100 years later who actually tried to
build eclectic instruments. In the article I defend both arguments:

The Organ Revival in America came slightly later than the
analogous Orgelbewegung in Germany. The radio broadcasts and recordings of E.
Power Biggs had an incalculably strong influence on everyone--organists,
organ builders, organ audiences, and organ composers. Suddenly German Baroque
sounds (that is, what we thought were German Baroque sounds) were the only ones
anyone wanted to hear.

While the international respect for contemporary American
organbuilders and organists rose, the work of 19th-century builders like Hook,
Hutchings, Woodberry, Simmons, Johnson, Stevens, etc. plummeted into even
deeper oblivion. Countless Hooks were replaced or irrevocably changed during
this period. Subsequently, the Organ Historical Society was formed (again, with
Biggs as a prime instigator), and at least Americans started to realize the
value and incredible beauty of these instruments.

But what about the Europeans? Several of my [American]
colleagues [including Barbara Owen8] agreed with me that what Hook was building
in the 1850s was as good as, if not better than, what Walcker et al. were
building in the 1850s. Of course, that was impossible to prove: the two
builders' organs were an ocean apart.

Until now.

Woburn, Massachusetts, is a city twelve miles (less than 20
km) north of Boston. In 1991, the First Unitarian Church closed its doors.
Meanwhile a buyer was sought for its precious organ, E. & G. G.
Hook's Opus 553, built in 1870. Then the stunning news came: the buyer would
be a church in Berlin! It would be the very first American organ in
Germany.9 

The degree to which the Berliners have taken Hook Op. 553
into their hearts is a source of great joy and pride for us. But it is not a
surprise. Hooks were the best organs we ever built. And they were also the most
eclectic. We Americans spent the better part of the 20th century striving for
"the eclectic organ," an instrument that could play the
"whole repertoire." The results of this striving can today seem
embarrassing. Electro-pneumatic instruments from the 1930s to the 1950s could
"sort of play" the whole repertoire. Yet on them Franck sounds
inauthentic, Mendelssohn sounds inauthentic, and to today's ears, Baroque
music is unlistenable. The only thing that really sounds "right" on
a typical American Classic organ is--not surprisingly--20th-century
American music. Eclecticism among trackers built in the 1960s, '70s, and
'80s fared no better. It is appalling to revisit some of these organs
today. Builders thought nothing of combining strident plenums and chiff with
huge Romantic reeds and celestes--and then tuning the whole organ to
Kirnberger or Werckmeister! These issues were much on my mind when I was an
organ student during the 1980s. But in 1989 everything changed. I discovered E.
& G. G. Hook. Quickly I realized that beautiful eclectic organs, with
tracker action, slider chests, and low wind pressure, had been achieved long
before the Organ Revival.

[ . . . ]

[T]he home of [Hook's] Opus 253 (1859) [is] the First
Baptist Church [in Jamaica Plain], where I was the Music Director from 1989 to
2001. Of the three Jamaica Plain Hooks, Op. 253 is in some ways the least
altered. Though it lacks the freestanding gallery placement and Pedal Trombones
of the other two Jamaica Plain Hooks, the Baptist Hook has arguably the most
distinctive voicing of the three. Individually or ensemble, there is not a
pipe--flue or reed--that you could imagine could be more perfect or
beautiful. I had the honor of making the first commercial recordings on this
instrument, No Room at the Inn (1994) and No Room at the Inn, Vol. II (2000),
both for AFKA Records. I chose an extreme variety of repertoire, aiming to show
the widest possible spectrum of tone colors. I included soloists and guest
artists as well, to demonstrate the organ's amazing adaptability as an
accompanist.

No one will dispute that Mendelssohn sounds ideal on these
organs, with that perfect combination of Germanic and English flavorings. The
big surprise is how beautifully everything else sounds. The Great plenum seems
beyond reproach and gives perfect contrapuntal clarity for Bach (though the
Pedal can be insufficient) and other Baroque music (though the magnificent Open
Diapason is a bit too large-scale for, say, Frescobaldi). As for Franck, I
found the overall mid-19th-century color to be perfectly appropriate. Hook
reeds have that amazing quality of being perfect as solo reeds and chorus
reeds. And unlike on modern trackers, one can play Romantic music without
having to cringe, wondering what will happen when the Mixture comes on. The
Hook Mixture seems to do just what a Romantic mixture should do: crown the
ensemble. In many Hooks the Seventeenth (Terz) is actually a component of the
Mixture. It lends a reed color which blends perfectly, not at all unbecoming in
Romantic literature.

Perhaps the biggest surprise of all is how well contemporary
music (well, some contemporary music) sounds on the Hook. The Jamaica Plainers
often heard the music of Charles Callahan, which organists tend not to play on
instruments without celestes and octave couplers. But ultimately, the primary
requirement of this music is warmth. That is something the Hook possesses.

I myself began to compose during my tenure in Jamaica Plain.
The instrument was a constant and inexhaustible muse. Why? Because the sound is
beautiful. I once remarked to Lois Regestein (a former organist of the church)
how it had to be the furthest thing from the Hooks' minds how well Bach
or 20th-century music would sound on their instruments. As Lois so perfectly
responded, "They just built good organs." That simple statement is
so true. When you do nothing more than to build a beautiful instrument, in
which each pipe is beautiful--and without trying to "prove"
anything--there is no limit to the music that can be made.

The recent fire was not the first one in First
Baptist's history.

On 30 October 1975, First Baptist Church was arsoned by two
delinquent youths, who set four fires in the lower church. They kindled the
flames with Bibles, religious books from the Christian Library, and baptismal
robes. One of the four fires raced through the crawl space under the pulpit,
where in the 1800s a pump boy would hand pump the organ bellows. Another fire
raged in the choir loft, right in front of the organ. On the scene as quickly
as, if not before, the firemen were Bob and Dick Lahaise and a parishioner
named William C. Latham. Mr. Latham directed the firemen where to point and not
point their hoses. Meanwhile, the Lahaises narrowly prevented the firemen from
breaking a boarded-up window on the outside wall behind the organ chamber.
These three marvelous men saved this organ, for had the firemen succeeded in
their actions, the entire organ would have become one large torch and not a
pipe would have survived. Though a corner of the bellows and some other
mechanical parts were charred, not one pipe in the organ was harmed. Photos
reveal that the rest of the church was in ruins. Only the most hardened atheist
would fail to see the miracle in this. I am mindful of this miracle every time
I lay hands and feet upon E. & G. G. Hook's Opus 253.10

Both sanctuary and organ were painstakingly restored to
their previous splendor. But in 1976, as the Lahaises were immersed in their
work, the firemen sprayed a powdery chemical throughout the organ [as well as
the ceiling of the whole church] to eliminate the charred smell which,
especially in the summer, would have been prevalent in the sanctuary. This
caused Bob and Dick a great deal more work, and when I arrived on the scene 13
years later (1989), the Great and Swell reeds were still dirty from the powder,
which had even chemically reacted with the brass of the reeds. Thus, until my
two-year series of 25 organ-and-piano recitals (1989-1991) raised the
four-digit figure necessary to finance their repair, these three reeds were
very unstable and unpredictable.11

At the end of the Volume II program notes, I wrote:

Throughout 141 years of dramatic changes and challenges . .
. the organ has remained a constant, emitting the same remarkable sounds to
which our congregation joined voices in the days before Abe Lincoln and the
Civil War.

Then came a sentence that I reread painfully:

As each new generation lifts its praises to God, there is no
sign that the melodious tones of Opus 253 will be silenced any time
soon.12 

Sanctuary and organ were both dedicated on Thursday, 25
August 1859. The next day, the event was front-page news in the Boston Daily
Evening Traveller. Astute observations about the tone of the organ were made,
special praise being reserved for the "clarionet, that speaks as though
filled by the skilful [sic] breath of Thomas Ryan." The article concluded
with a sentence that would remain true for 146 years:

[W]e are confident that any impartial judge will agree with
us in saying that a finer organ of the same capacity cannot be named.

I want to keep to my promise and not eulogize out of my
present mourning. However, I cannot close without stating an indisputable fact.
My tenure at First Baptist Church was from 1989 to 2001. However, I was born in
1971. When I was hired, I was 18 and still in high school. When I left I was 30
and dating my present wife. My transition from student to professional, child
to adult, occurred at First Baptist. Into the fabric of who I am as a musician
and a person were woven the tones of that Hook organ! The Great Open Diapason
that on its own sounded like full organ. The aforementioned
"creamy" Clarabella. The perfectly scaled and voiced plenum. The
Great Trumpet whose sound, alone or with the plenum, was beyond the reproach of
the most persnickety critic. The Swell Gamba, located high above the Choir
Dulciana--together they were the perfect celeste. The Swell Hautboy with
the tremolo--or the Stopped Diapason with the same tremolo, in the high
register. The 4¢ Chimney Flute in the Choir, as beautiful as any chimney
flute I've ever heard on either side of the Atlantic. And saving the best
for last: that Clarionet! Because there was no room in the chamber for the
bells of a traditional clarinet stop, the Hooks put in a French Cremona
instead, without the bells. Forget Thomas Ryan; Stoltzman himself would have
been jealous of this Clarionet! 

These are the sounds--the otherworldly
sounds--that entered me during my most permeable years as a musician. The
fire burned not only the church and the organ but also a hole in my heart that
will never be refilled.

Is there really no such thing as bad publicity?

I had my first real job in an organbuilder’s workshop during the summer after my freshman year in college. I’ve often told the story of my first day--I was stationed outside in the parking lot by myself with the façade pipes of an old organ, sawhorses, a garden hose, and a gallon of Zipstrip®. I can imagine the previous week’s production meeting: “save it for the new kid!” It was a tough start, but it quickly got better. I remember that summer as a series of adventures as we worked on projects throughout New England, and I’m still at it.

Along with many other firsts I experienced that summer was my first exposure to media coverage of the pipe organ business. We were working in a church building installing a rebuilt instrument and a reporter from the local newspaper came to do a story that was published under a front-page photo that showed a colleague “voicing” a large organ pipe. I knew that what he had in his hands was a dummy façade pipe (one of those I had stripped)--it was both amazing and amusing to see how serious and erudite an organ builder can look while raising a virtual languid. (Remember “The Emperor’s New Clothes”?)

Five minutes of fame

Since then I have read many such stories in local newspapers. They often get some important technicality wrong, giving us a chance for a knowing snicker, but they have great value in raising public consciousness about the instrument. Many an organbuilder has been made a local celebrity by a photo and story published in a home-town newspaper. Alan Laufman, my predecessor at the Organ Clearing House, was notorious for seeking out the press whenever he went to work in a new town. He wasn’t looking for personal notoriety, he was spreading the word. 

On a wider stage, Craig Whitney, veteran foreign correspondent and assistant managing editor of the New York Times as well as organist and organ-enthusiast, has published a number of excellent and informative articles in the Times in recent memory. In his articles, Mr. Whitney’s compelling writing focuses the interest of the layperson, and his reporting skills produce content profound enough to educate the professional. His contribution to our field is immeasurable. I have had countless conversations with people who respond to hearing what I do for a living by saying, “Pipe organ builder! I didn’t know there were any of you left.” But whenever one of Whitney’s articles is published in the Times, friends and family from around the country call to be sure I know about it, and for the following couple weeks, daily conversations with new acquaintances invariably lead to, “I just read a story in the Times about that.” It’s a special pleasure to be able to respond by saying that I agree it was a good story and he really got it right. For those few days, people seem to be aware of the organ business.

This subject is on my mind these days because of a story broadcast recently on WBUR, “Boston’s NPR News Station.” On January 18, 2005, the First Baptist Church in Jamaica Plain, Massachusetts was destroyed by fire. The church’s organ was lost that night, robbing the neighborhood of the distinction of being home to two pre-Civil War three-manual organs built by E. & G. G. Hook. A month or so ago, I was approached by Keith O’Brien, a local freelance writer who was preparing a story for The Boston Globe about the loss of that organ. In the course of his conversations with church officials and members, he had learned about the work of The Organ Clearing House and asked me for an interview during which we discussed the preservation of nineteenth-century instruments, their artistic and historical value, and their relevance to modern music making. 

Working on that story Mr. O’Brien became aware of the Organ Historical Society convention about to begin in southeastern Massachusetts, and began preparing a subsequent story for NPR. He asked me for another interview and I looked forward to hearing what seemed to be a well-conceived story. It was to be broadcast on NPR’s Morning Edition so I knew I’d hear it first thing in the morning on the bedroom radio. There it was, the pleasure of hearing organ music on the radio news. But there was that familiar theme: “I didn’t know there were any of you left.” 

Most organs don’t burn up

On the surface, the story was just fine. It was nice that the Organ Historical Society’s convention was noticed and mentioned so prominently in the press. The center of the story was the “resurrection” of an organ built in 1876 for Trinity Church in Boston by Hilborne Roosevelt, now installed in Our Lady of Guadalupe in New Bedford. The organ had been little used, seriously damaged by water due to leaks in the church’s roof and tower, completely silent for decades, and made playable again by heroic volunteer efforts on the part of OHS members. I’m certain that those listening to the story were compelled by the idea of a group of enthusiasts working hard to preserve a slice of antiquity. But I doubt that a listener would understand that there is any good reason for preserving antique organs. Following several comments that included phrases like “fumbling with the keys . . . “ that did little to impress the listener about the skills of an organbuilder, the clincher for me was when O’Brien said with reference to the Jamaica Plain fire, “most organs don’t burn up--they just fade away.” Yikes! I hope I’m never inside an organ when it fades away.

Who am I, and why am I here?

The story missed the point. Or as I reflected after hearing the story, I should have made a point of making the point: We are not a small sect of aficionados preserving antique organs to satisfy our own interests. Rather, we recognize the beauty and historicity of these instruments for their relevance to modern worship and modern music-making as well as for their antiquity. It’s special to realize that a century-old instrument is durable enough for regular use. But we must be sure to point out that it’s amazing that the instrument keeps its place in our modern society on its artistic merits as well. The pipe organ is not a relic from an earlier age--and neither are we who devote our lives to it.

The website of the Organ Historical Society, <www.organsociety.org&gt;, is worth a visit. It will keep you current with the Society’s activities, and it’s a terrific place to shop for music and books. As I thought about the story on WBUR, I remembered that the Society’s bylaws are published on the website and I took a look to refresh my memory. Here’s the relevant excerpt:

2. PURPOSE. The Society is an international organization for friends of the organ. The purpose of the Society is:

(a) To encourage, promote, and further an active interest in the organ and its builders, particularly those in North America . . .

I think some words are missing--or perhaps a better way to put it, I think some missing words are implied. I doubt that the bylaws’ authors intended that the active interest we are to further should be limited to the “friends of the organ.” I believe that it is our responsibility to our art to broadcast its relevance, its beauty, its majesty whenever and wherever we can. If the organ world is considered arcane, mysterious, or worse irrelevant, how can we assure its future?

The cost of building a new pipe organ has increased dramatically since my introduction to Zipstrip®. When I was first in the organ business a new twelve-stop organ built by a premier builder was installed in my home town for about $36,000. Today, that sum will purchase somewhere between one and two stops. Imagine a hypothetical random survey of modern organists, asking them to write down an “ideal” stoplist. I bet most of them would show more than 50 stops. That hypothetical 50-stop “ideal” organ certainly costs more than a million dollars today. Put enough of those pesky 32s in the stoplist and you will exceed $1.5 million. That’s the equivalent of at least fifty or sixty years of the salary of many of the organists I know.

Any monumental public art work is the product of vision and ambition. It’s easy to underestimate the appropriate scope of the vision. The newly hired organist of a church can play on a tired old instrument for a few weeks and mention casually during coffee hour that the church needs a new organ. That’s an observation, not a vision. The vision--the credible, mature, thrilling vision that involves a new organ necessarily includes an understanding of the capabilities and priorities of the community. Does this mean that a vision has to be realistic? Perhaps a vision is realistic only to the visionary. Everyone else sees it as a fantasy until they are persuaded that it’s possible--until they can share the vision.

Seers have everything!

Cyrus Curtis (1850-1933) was a visionary. He founded the Curtis Publishing Company which brought him fame and fortune principally through the success of The Ladies Home Journal and The Saturday Evening Post. Our culture would still be the richer if Curtis’ contribution was measured only by Norman Rockwell’s nearly half-century (1916-1963) of cover illustrations for The Saturday Evening Post. (Now that’s an important patronage!) Curtis grew up in Portland, Maine where Hermann Kotzschmar, organist of the family’s church, was one of his father’s closest friends, a friendship that was close enough that the son’s full name was Cyrus Hermann Kotzschmar Curtis. The young C.H.K. Curtis was so fascinated and inspired by Kotzschmar’s playing that he taught himself to play the organ well enough to master four-part hymns. As he achieved fantastic financial success, he installed instruments built by the Aeolian Organ Company in his home in Wyncote, Pennsylvania. Aeolian’s Opus 784 was built for Curtis in 1896 and enlarged by five ranks in 1903 as Opus 943. Opus 1374 was installed in the house in 1916, incorporating Opus 943 as the Antiphonal Organ.1 But the lasting proof of Cyrus H.K. Curtis’ devotion to the pipe organ is the grand instrument he gave to the City of Portland, built by the Austin Organ Company, dedicated to his father’s friend, and known to this day as The Kotzschmar Organ. Today the Friends of the Kotzschmar Organ (www.FOKO.org) oversees the maintenance of the instrument and presents a popular series of concerts each year.

Was it Cyrus Curtis’s vision that the organ he named for his father’s friend would still be in prominent public use, a beloved fixture of a small city nearly a century later? (It’s a safe bet that without the municipal organ, we would not remember that Hermann Kotzschmar was the organist of the First Parish Unitarian Church in Portland for 47 years.) Was he challenging people he would never meet--those people who formed The Friends of the Kotzschmar Organ when a fiscal crisis ended the city’s financial support for the organ? How often do we take such grand public fixtures for granted? And let’s take a step back. Was it Cyrus Curtis’s idea to place the organ in City Hall, or did some enterprising bureaucrat approach the wealthy native son?  

Portland is the largest city in Maine with a population of only 64,000 people. The population of the metropolitan area is about 230,000.2 If five percent of American cities that size had hundred-rank municipal organs, there would be a lot more people subscribing to The Diapason. And why not? It’s simply a matter of public relations. Is there a visionary in your town? I know where to find the organs!                        n

Former glories

I love visiting church buildings. I love experiencing all the different forms these buildings can take, reading bulletin boards to try to understand what’s going on in the place, meeting with church officials, hearing organs, imagining what organ from our lengthy list of available instruments might best suit a given church. I love the vitality of an active church—gaily decorated classrooms, purposeful rooms for the rehearsing and production of music, busy offices chattering and clattering away. I love the sense that all that activity and dedication of treasure is focused on the public worship of a faith community. And I love meeting with the committees charged with the task of acquiring a new organ for their church, discussing the various forms of the pipe organ, and helping them focus on how to conceive a plan and present it to their superior committees.

Around 2000 when I had just joined the Organ Clearing House, I visited a church building and was greeted by the organist who recognized me and asked, half in jest, “What are you doing here?  We love our organ!” I guess my reputation preceded me. It was the first time I realized that I might be considered the Grim Reaper of the pipe organ. I like to think that what I do is bring beautiful vintage organs into church buildings, but I realize how likely it would be that I would be known for the reverse—taking organs out of buildings.

There’s a church in suburban Boston that I’ve known for more than 25 years. In the early 1990’s, my firm, the Bishop Organ Company, renovated the organ. We installed new pitman windchests replacing poorly designed and sluggish ventil chests, releathered fifteen reservoirs, and installed a solid-state combination action and relay. It’s a big organ, more than 60 ranks with nine 16′ voices. It’s a big church building—the sanctuary seats 1,200. But when we did this extensive project, there were only 75 pledging units—church-finance-speak for “families.” The job cost more than $250,000. Do the math.

Elsewhere in the building there is a dining hall that is served by a big commercial kitchen, all fitted out with the latest restaurant-style appliances from about 1952. Adjacent to the kitchen is a pantry lined with elegant oak-and-glass cabinets filled with what must be a thousand place settings of china, all monogrammed with the church’s initials. It must be 40 years since they had a really big dinner, but all the stuff is there and ready to go. This church is doing pretty well. There’s a relatively new pastor who is attracting new people, they have a good organist who is inspiring people to join the choir, and in general they are doing quite a bit better than holding their own.

There are many buildings like this around the country. Great big places originally built and furnished to serve huge congregations are now being operated by dwindling groups of faithful who struggle with fuel oil bills approaching $10,000 per month, and 80-year-old roofs that are starting to fail. It’s increasingly common for a congregation to worship in a chapel, parlor, or low-ceilinged fellowship hall during winter months to reduce the heating bill. And it’s common for these churches to close. 

§

We at the Organ Clearing House have had many experiences with people who are losing their church. We organize the sale of an instrument, and arrive at the building with scaffolding, crates, and packing supplies to start the dismantling of the organ, and an elderly church member comes to us with a photograph of her parents’ wedding taking place in front of that organ. Her parents were married and buried, she and her husband were married, her husband was buried, and her children were all baptized, confirmed, and married with that organ. 

It’s a regular and poignant reminder of how much the church means to people. There have been a number of occasions when people have wept as we start to dismantle an organ.

Last year I was invited to assess the pipe organ in a church building in New Jersey that had closed. It was a grand building with mahogany-fronted galleries surrounding the sanctuary, sweeping stairways, and an organ with more than 80 ranks. This place was unusual in that there had apparently been no planning for the closure. It was two years since the last worship service, and the place looked like a ghost town. It was as if the organist finished the postlude, the ushers turned off the lights, the sexton locked the doors, and no one came back. The last Sunday’s music was still on the console music rack. Stuffed choir folders complete with lozenges and Kleenex were piled on the choir room piano. Half finished glasses of water were on the pulpit, there was unopened mail on the secretary’s desk, and the usher’s station at the rear of the nave was still stocked with bulletins, attendance records, and the neat little packets of biblical drawings and crayons for little children. All it needed was tumbleweeds being buffeted down the center aisle.

Some churches form a “disbandment committee” that is charged with the task of emptying the building, divesting of furnishings, and archiving parish records. I contact the chair of that committee when I want to bring a client to see and hear the organ. There’s a myth that says that the nominating committee is the worst duty to draw in a church (or in any non-profit institution) because you get rejected so regularly, but I think the disbandment committee must be worse. Pageant costumes, Christmas decorations, hymnals, folding chairs, classroom supplies, communion sets, Styrofoam coffee cups, choir and acolyte robes, and all the other gear it takes to run a church are piled in corridors, destined for dumpsters. People leaf through it all thinking there must be uses for it, without registering that there are a hundred other churches in the state going through the same thing. You’d think you could sell a nave full of pews in a heartbeat, but more often, a nave full of pews is heartbreaking.

There’s a positive side to all this. Often we can save the organ, and when we do it moves to another parish representing a spark from its original home.

Woburn (WOO-burn), Massachusetts is a suburb of Boston with a population of a little under 40,000, located about ten miles north of the city. During the nineteenth century Woburn was a center for the tanning of leather—the high school football team is still called “The Tanners.” It’s the next town to the north from my hometown, Winchester, and when I was in high school I was assistant organist at the First Congregational Church of Woburn, home of E. & G. G. Hook’s Opus 283 built in 1860, with three manuals and 31 speaking stops. I think I had an idea at that young age of how fortunate I was to be playing on such an instrument. William H. Clarke was the organist of that church when the organ was installed, and ten years later he was organist of the First Unitarian Church, just across the town square, when the Hook brothers installed their Opus 553 in 1870. (Note that Hook covered 270 opus numbers in ten years!) A few years after that, William Clarke left the Boston area to establish an organbuilding shop in Indianapolis, taking with him Steven P. Kinsley, the head voicer from the Hook factory.

Opus 283 is still in its original home. It is still playable, though the parish is not strong enough these days to mount a proper restoration. But Opus 553 is now in Berlin, Germany—widely referred to as “Die Berliner Hook.” When the Woburn Unitarian Church closed in 1990, the organ was sold to the church in Berlin, and the proceeds from the sale were saved under the stewardship of former church member Charlie Smith with the intention that they would be used when an appropriate opportunity came along. (See “Hook Opus 553 to Berlin, Germany” by Lois and Quentin Regestein, The Diapason, October 2001.)

Stoneham, Massachusetts is the next town east of Woburn, with a population of about 21,000. In 1995 the Stoneham Unitarian Church was closed, and the building was converted into a nursery school. A crew of organ lovers managed to get E. & G. G. Hook’s Opus 466 (1866) out of the building and into storage before the balcony was boarded up, and the organ was offered through the Unitarian Universalist Association to a “neighboring church that could give it a good home.”  

Lexington, Massachusetts is the next town west of Woburn (it also adjoins Winchester). It has a population of 30,000 and is home to the Lexington Battle Green, where the first battles of the American Revolutionary War took place. Facing the Battle Green is the stately First Parish (UUA) Church, home to a marvelous three-manual Hutchings organ. On the east end of Lexington on Massachusetts Avenue (Paul Revere’s Ride) is the Follen Community Church (UUA), a unique octagonal structure built in 1840. In 1995, the organ at the Follen Church was a hodge-podge affair that had been assembled from parts by an enthusiastic member of the church. It had a 48-volt DC electrical system, unusually high voltage for pipe organ action, and as the organ deteriorated, the console emitted puffs of smoke that unnerved the parishioners.

When members of the Follen Church heard through the UUA that the Hook organ from Stoneham (#466) was available, they pounced on the opportunity. Organ committee chair Wendy Strothman spearheaded a campaign that raised the funds necessary for the restoration and installation of the organ. The organ was first played in its new home on Easter Sunday 1997.

As the restoration progressed, Charlie Smith of Woburn got wind of the story, and offered the Woburn organ fund to the Follen Church to support the care of the restored organ, and to support regular organ concerts there. So Hook Opus 553 wound up supporting Opus 466 in its new home—and Wendy and I are married!

§

As I write, the Organ Clearing House is participating in another project that allows a redundant organ a fresh start. Christ Church (Episcopal) in South Barre, Massachusetts closed its doors last year after a long period of declining membership and dwindling funds. Their organ was Hook & Hastings Opus 2344, built in 1914, a sweet little instrument with three stops on each of two manuals, and a pedal 16′ Bourdon. The impeccable craftsmanship of its builders and its mechanical simplicity combined to make the organ a remarkably reliable and durable instrument. The Episcopal Diocese of Western Massachusetts contacted us about the disposition of the organ as the building was being offered for sale, but a few weeks later called again with a fresh suggestion. 

St Francis Episcopal Church is in Holden, Massachusetts, about 15 miles east of South Barre. Several of the parishioners from Christ Church in South Barre had begun worshipping in Holden, and some people wondered if the Hook & Hastings organ in Christ Church would be appropriate for installation at St. Francis. We compared measurements in the two buildings, and sure enough the organ would fit beautifully. The vestry of St. Francis put that project together in record time, and we are in the midst of relocating that organ now. It’s especially meaningful for the members of the former Christ Church to be able to bring their organ with them as they suffer the loss of their church and work to get used to a new worshipping life. As we came to town to start dismantling the organ, one of those members told me that she had been a member at Christ Church for 65 years. She lives across the street from the building. It’s personal.

§

Sometimes the relocation of an organ is an artistic exercise, taking an instrument from a long-closed building and seeing it through installation with little or no contact with the people who were its original owners. This is rewarding work, as we know we are preserving the craftsmanship of our predecessors, reusing the earth’s resources by placing an organ in a building without having been a party to contemporary mining and smelting, and refreshing our ears with some of the best organ voicing from a previous age.

But when the relocation of an organ can involve the people who worshiped with it in its original home, and especially play a role in the blending of two parishes, the process is especially meaningful. It’s personal. 

R. E. Coleberd is a contributing editor to The Diapason.

Introduction

Pipe organ building in America today, as portrayed in the music media, is described exclusively as the crafting of new instruments, some with mechanical action and nearly all with carved or gilded cases. This is understandable given the news value of new instruments, but it is nonetheless unfortunate because it ignores a vital segment of organbuilding today: the restoration, rebuilding, refurbishing, updating, and modernizing of existing instruments as well as the building of new instruments from recycled and new material. This activity is primarily the work of individuals and small firms, unsung heroes in the spectrum of organbuilding today. Their work is especially important for two reasons: it speaks to the ongoing primacy of the King of Instruments as the time-honored musical medium in a house of worship, and the determination of congregations, recognizing this fact, to preserve and promote the pipe organ for present and future generations.
In 1966 the author published, in these pages, “The Place of the Small Builder in the American Organ Industry.” His comment that the independent builder “may well assume increasing importance in the future of the pipe organ and the organ industry”1 was perhaps prophetic of the situation today. In many ways this narrative is a continuation and update of that article. Forty years ago the pipe organ industry was dominated by the major builders, whose work accounted for 80% of the new instruments in a market where the discarding and replacement of older instruments was a major portion of the work. Today the situation is vastly different. The market is now only a shadow of its former self. Several major builders have folded, unable to continue under greatly diminished factory production; buyers have welcomed the electronic instrument amid drastically diminished mainline church membership and budgets; and the academic market, with certain notable exceptions, is gone because colleges and universities are market-driven and direct capital resources to enrollment demand.
Yet, organbuilding continues, and pipe organs will always be built in this country and the world over. An important segment of this effort, now demanding recognition, is the work of talented individuals, working alone and in collaboration with other artisans, to craft instruments of singular artistic merit in accordance with public recognition today that a pipe organ is a work of art and the work of an artist. In a statement in 1966 prophetic of the situation today, Robert J. Reich, founder and now retired president of the Andover Organ Company, an early participant in the tracker organ revival in America, stated his philosophy of organbuilding as “the craftsman’s approach to construction and the musician’s approach to tone.”2 Musical interest and skill begin early and often with other instruments, while craftsmanship is acquired through formal and informal training.
This article describes the career of D. Steuart Goodwin: the experiences and individuals who shaped his philosophy of organbuilding, details of several instruments in his opus list, and his contemporary voicing and tonal finishing assignments. Steuart has won the admiration and respect of organ committees, organists, and builders as evidenced by his assignments across the country. Jack Bethards, president of Schoenstein Organbuilders, calls Goodwin a genius:

There is no other way to explain his brilliance in so many fields. Steuart combines the well-honed skill of a master craftsman with the cultivated taste and sensitivity of a fine artist. He has a real gift for design both visual and tonal. He is a musician through and through. His touch with pipes is magical. With ease and efficiency, he can bring the best musical quality out of just about any set of pipes.3

Said Manuel Rosales of Rosales Organbuilders:

My friend and colleague Steuart Goodwin is a rare individual, whose organ building talents combine great skill, good taste, and economy of resources. He is equally at home with visual design, tonal finishing, and hands-on organbuilding. His love of the craft is exemplified by the warm and inviting sounds of his new instruments and many revoicing projects. He and his work continue to be a source of personal and professional inspiration for me, his coworkers, and his clients.4

Early life and education

Donald Steuart Goodwin, Jr. was born on April 9, 1942 in Riverside, California, the son of a building contractor who sang in college musical productions, and a sometime public school teacher and housewife who taught piano privately.5 His grandfather, Phillip Goodwin, taught violin in Redlands, California, and played in a string quartet. Steuart’s folks met at the University of Redlands, a Baptist liberal arts college long known for its fine musical program. Arthur Poister taught organ there in the 1920s when a celebrated four-manual, 54-rank Casavant organ, recently restored and updated, was installed in Memorial Chapel. The organ program at Redlands is primarily associated with Leslie Spelman (1903–2000), a nationally known teacher and pedagogue who joined the faculty in 1937.6
Steuart’s musical interests began early; his 96-year-old mother recalls that he could carry a tune at the age of two. He began cornet lessons in the fourth grade and enrolled in the band at Lincoln School in Riverside. He recalls as a youngster asking his mother about the Estey pipe organ in the family’s Methodist church, but what really turned him on was when, at the age of fourteen, he and his father saw Disney’s 20,000 Leagues under the Sea and heard Captain Nemo play Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D minor. “I went home and played my older sister Jane’s recording over and over, checked out books at the library on organbuilding, and from that time on I was permanently ‘hooked’,” he says.7
Eager to study organ, Steuart approached Roberta Bitgood, organist at Calvary Presbyterian Church in Riverside, who had studied organ with Clarence Dickinson and who was later national president of the AGO. She suggested he begin with a year of piano instruction, which he did, before studying with her for two years, in the 11th and 12th grades.8 While in high school, his future organbuilding career began when he installed a three-rank Robert Morton theatre organ in his family’s garage. His theatre organ interest continued and became part of his work.
In 1959 he matriculated in the music program at the University of Redlands, majoring in composition under Wayne Bohrnstedt, having already written two chorale preludes for organ and a sonata for woodwind quintet. He sang in the University Choir his freshman year and played in the concert band all four years. In 1961, his sophomore year, he won the $800 first prize in the Forest Lawn Foundation Writing Awards Contest with an essay entitled, “The Organ Builder Finds His Place.”9 During Goodwin’s junior year, the band director persuaded three trumpeters to switch to French horn, which was a wise move for Steuart as he went on to play horn for 13 seasons in the University-Community Symphony—until it was converted to all union professionals.10 In recent years he has played French horn in a woodwind quintet and in the Redlands Fourth of July Band.
Goodwin studied organ at Redlands with Raymond Boese (1924–1988), who came to Redlands in 1961 to join his former teacher and now colleague Leslie Spelman in the music department.11 By his junior year, Steuart had become dissatisfied with the Wicks, Harry Hall (New Haven), and Robert Morton practice organs on campus, all dated and woefully inadequate for modern pedagogy and performance. He convinced the school that they needed a tracker instrument, having been listening avidly to recordings by E. Power Biggs playing and narrating tracker organs in Europe. Scouring classified ads in The Diapason, he found an 1870s George Stevens (Cambridge) instrument for sale by Nelson Barden.12 After months of negotiating with school officials, the parties reached an agreement, whereby the school would pay for the instrument and shipping, and Goodwin would install it in Watchorn Hall. In gratitude for this effort, the school awarded him three credits toward graduation.13 Steuart’s senior recital at Redlands, featuring his own compositions, included a Trio for horn, violin and piano, a Quintet for woodwinds, a Sonata for organ, and a Suite for brass.14 He graduated with a bachelor’s degree in music in 1964.
During this period he built a small organ with paper pipes on which he could play a Haydn clock piece (see photos). Then, in a remarkable coincidence, E. Power Biggs played a recital on the Casavant in the Redlands chapel. Goodwin showed him the paper-pipes organ, and Biggs, unprompted, played that particular Haydn piece on it. Recognizing Steuart’s interest and promise, Biggs suggested that he apply for a Fulbright scholarship to study organbuilding in Europe. In his letter of recommendation to the Institute of International Education, Biggs wrote:

Steuart Goodwin has the possibly-unusual wish to study organ building in Europe, preferably in the center of fine organs, old and new, which is Holland. . . . I cannot think of anyone who would be more qualified for a Fulbright grant than Steuart Goodwin, nor anyone who could make better use of the opportunity. Already at Redlands he has proved his theoretical grasp of the subject, and his ability to transform ideas into action, and practical results.”15

The choice for the Fulbright year abroad for Goodwin, 1964–65, was between Flentrop and von Beckerath. He chose Flentrop because most Hollanders speak English, and his German was very limited. His experience was mixed, probably unlike that of most Fulbright scholars, he comments. He was assigned to the pipe shop where he acquired pipemaking skills, but he had a brief run-in with Mr. Flentrop. Inadvertently interrupting a conference while trying to introduce himself, he was subsequently ushered into the maestro’s office and severely scolded. “If we had been Germans you would have been thrown out immediately,” Flentrop said, adding, “you can stay here if you will simply work in the pipe shop and keep quiet. Try to observe the Dutch boys and behave as they do.”16 This meant never asking questions—asking questions was unheard of for an apprentice. He was never allowed to see the company woodworking shop in Koog an de Zaan. He did, however, make several sets of pipes for the Rugwerk division of the large four-manual Flentrop instrument in St. Mark’s Episcopal Cathedral in Seattle.
At the end of his Flentrop sojourn, Goodwin met with Dr. Martin Vente, internationally renowned organ historian and scholar, who provided him with a map locating important Dutch organs nearby. He spent several days traveling by train and bicycle to see many of them. The one that deeply impressed him and would greatly influence his emerging tonal philosophy and mark his work today was at the Oude Kerk in Amsterdam, ironically dismissed by Flentrop as too romantic.17 “I suffered something of a cognitive dissonance over this, since Flentrop represented the Neo-Baroque ideal espoused by Biggs,” Steuart comments. “I was supposed to like the Baroque, but found myself more deeply moved by the 19th-century voluptuousness of this instrument.”18
Returning from Holland, he opened a small shop in San Bernardino, soon welcoming an opportunity to move to a larger, well-equipped facility nearby, the former Fletcher Planing Mill, whose owner was retiring. There he built three small tracker organs and rebuilt two. Opus 1, a six-rank, two-manual tracker for the Fine Arts building at the University of Redlands, was originally purchased by the organ professor, Raymond Boese. He sold his interest to the university, which paid Steuart a nominal sum and traded him the Hall and Morton instruments. The stoplist comprised a Gemshorn 8' and Principal 2' on Manual I, a Gedeckt 8' and Rohrflute 4' on Manual II, and a 16' Bourdon and 4' Choral Bass on the Pedal, plus the usual couplers. His Opus 2, 1972, was an 11-rank, two-manual tracker for the Fourth Ward Mormon Church in Riverside. In 1973 he built Opus 3, a one-manual, four-rank rental organ. This instrument was used at the Memorial Chapel, University of Redlands, for the Feast of Lights one year, and has been rented by the Ambassador Auditorium and by the Los Angeles Philharmonic and Chamber Orchestras for use in the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion and Hollywood Bowl. It is now in a home in Altadena.19 Reflecting on Opus 1 and 2, he describes this period as his Biggs, Flentrop, Schlicker days and says:

In each of these first two small organs there was to be only one independent eight-foot rank on the Great. It needed to work as an accompanimental sound as well as the foundation for a small principal chorus. At St. Bavo in Holland, I had heard an unforgettably warm tapered hybrid stop called ‘Barpijp,’ which inspired me to use a Gemshorn instead of a less flexible Principal or Stopped Flute. I experimented with using Gemshorns in a Swell division, but soon grew out of that and came to greatly prefer real string tone.20

During this long period of apprenticeship including travel, reading, talking with organists and organbuilders, and perhaps most importantly listening—to records and instruments—his philosophy of organbuilding and tonal ideals were taking shape, and he made certain fundamental decisions about the direction of his emerging career. He determined that he wanted to work individually, expressing his own artistic concepts, free from the constraints of established large builders where opinions differ, compromises are often the rule, and mimicking some academic paradigm or current fashion is required. His primary goal became to achieve “a certain populist sensibility when it comes to providing what will please congregations and audiences.”21 “Many times I have wondered whether to stay [in Redlands], but if I were to work for a nationally known organ builder, I would lose the independence I have here,” he told the San Bernardino Sun-Telegram in 1978.22 And as he told columnist Nelda Stuck of the Redlands Daily Facts in 1987, “There is no area of music I can think of where there are so many factions and arguments about style,” referring to Baroque vs. Romantic pipe organs and tracker vs. electro-pneumatic action.23

Trinity Episcopal Church

Opus 4, an instrument in which he takes particular pride, illustrates the scope of Goodwin’s early work and evidences his talents in voicing and case designs: the 35-rank, 31 speaking stops, three-manual tracker in Trinity Episcopal Church, Redlands, California. Originally built in 1853 by the prominent New York City builder George Jardine for the First Presbyterian Church in Rome, New York, it was acquired by St. Michael’s Ukrainian Catholic Church in Rome in 1908, where it was rebuilt by C. E. Morey of Utica, New York. Meanwhile, Trinity Church in Redlands installed a three-manual Austin, Opus 111, in 1904.24
The Jardine-Morey organ was acquired through the Organ Clearing House, and over a period of 19 months was rebuilt, together with parts of the Austin, as an eclectic instrument combining 802 original and 838 new pipes for a total of 1640 (see 1975 stoplist). This project illustrates the amalgamation of older and new material into an instrument of singular artistic merit. Through a vision of what these two instruments together could and should be, Goodwin was able to “see” how the skilful blending of solo and foundation stops would produce vibrant and colorful choruses and ensembles. This organ fulfills Goodwin’s conviction that there has to be a visual-sonic relationship, i.e., a relationship between what you see and what you hear (see photos). “A pipe organ should be capable of choruses, amalgams of many tones from many pipes, producing a rich, subtly infused musical statement,” he told Dennis Tristram, a reporter for the Riverside Daily Press newspaper.25
In an arched nave opening three lancet arches were formed of oak and filled with 15 newly painted and stenciled dummy pipes retained from the Austin façade. Trinity Church has been described as an example of 19th-century Anglo-American architecture, which led to the chancel case design that Steuart based on the case at Peterborough Cathedral in England designed by Arthur George Hill (1857–1923), described as one of the great Victorian organ builders.26
During the construction of this organ Steuart joined the choir, and ultimately became confirmed as a member of the church. This has provided an unusual opportunity for the builder to repeatedly update and modify the instrument over many years, both tonally and mechanically. The large single bellows was replaced a number of years ago with individual regulators for each division, resulting in steadier wind and the possibility of divisional tremulants. More recently electric stop and combination actions were installed, several ranks were added and others moved around, giving the organ more scope and a more English flavor (see 2004 stoplist).

Tonal evolution

Goodwin’s work is especially noteworthy because it represents the crafting of instruments embracing the required resources in tonal families and pitches capable of performing the great music of antiquity as well as today’s requirements, but one that is free from the strident and narrow definitions of Baroque, Neo-Baroque, North German, South German, or American Classic stoplists, scales, wind pressures, and voicing. These eclectic instruments, beginning with the work of individual artisans and small shops, have influenced a new style of organs, free from the prejudices against stops that in the 1950s were considered “old hat” and indicative of an obsolete organ that should be replaced. Formerly verboten stops—the Melodia, Cornopean, Harmonic Flute, and Vox Humana, for example—are now recognized for their intrinsic musical content and are often embraced without hesitation by many builders who incorporate them in their instruments, confident of their ongoing musical value. This approach extends to the use of wooden flue work and open flutes, a defining characteristic of American organbuilding from the very beginning, but largely eschewed in the 1950s in favor of metal ranks and tapered, half-tapered, stopped, and chimneyed stops.
Steuart’s Opus 5 was a restoration for St. Mark’s Episcopal Church in Upland, California, of E. & G. G. Hook & Hastings’ Opus 734, 1873, formerly located in the First Baptist Church in Bloomington, Illinois. Opus 6 is a four-rank, two-manual house organ, featuring an ornate case and suspended action (see photo).27 This is an early example of an elaborate 18th-century case as built by the Dutch and Germans and pioneered by John Brombaugh in America at a time when the European builders were building modern cases in this country. In 1978, in a brief detour from mechanical action, Steuart built a two-manual, six-rank unit organ with electric action for the United Methodist Church in Yucaipa, California. “I never built another unit organ for a church,” he comments. “I am enthusiastic about the unit principle for a theatre organ, but you can easily overdo it in church work if you are concerned about good tone.”28
In 1978, David Dixon, who met Manuel Rosales at Schlicker in Buffalo and who became his partner in Los Angeles (and who later returned to Schlicker before his untimely death at an early age), approached Steuart about working for them, which he elected to do. He assisted in their introduction to tracker work, in designing cases, traded organ philosophy with Manuel, and acquired some refinements in voicing technique from Dixon.
Opus 8, a 13-rank, two-manual electropneumatic action organ for the First Baptist Church in Colton, California in 1979, marked a major milestone in Goodwin’s tonal philosophy, and contains elements that characterize his later work. In earlier years he was interested in tracker action, but over time came to believe that even 11 ranks (Opus 2, Fourth Ward Chapel, L.D.S. Church, Riverside) in a tracker aren’t very flexible. He became convinced of the value of a unit Gedeckt stop, which he first used in Colton and subsequently on several 12- or 13-rank instruments (see stoplists for Colton and St. George’s Episcopal Church). He began searching for a small, flexible church organ design, and the unit Gedeckt was part of the answer. “I hit upon it almost by accident while contemplating for Colton how to best use a couple of pitman chests incorporating one unit chest,”29 he comments, adding:
“The concept begins, as usual, with a complete principal chorus, 8' through mixture, on the Great. Next, on the Swell, I use a pair of strings (real string tone, not hybrids), a medium-bright Trumpet, and (where space and finances permit) a 4' Principal or Fugara. Budgetary concerns generally limit independent pedal ranks to the ubiquitous 16' Bourdon. The Great also contains an open metal flute, which, in the Colton prototype, was originally part of an Aeolian house organ. The pipes looked ridiculous to one brought up on Neo-Baroque ideals. The heavily nicked mouths were cut-up two-thirds in a half circle, and, yet, when you blew on them they were magically beautiful. I began to realize that you couldn’t depend on what other people said was good, you had to trust your own ears.
“The 85 to 97 pipes of a Lieblich Gedeckt are located on a unit chest in the Swell box. This rank is made available at three pitches on the Great, six on the Swell, and four to six pitches on the Pedal. Importantly, the Gedeckt stop tabs on each division are grouped together to the right of the straight stops and couplers, and they are not affected by the couplers.
“This arrangement makes the structure of the tonal design quickly apparent to an organist, while simultaneously making registration practically goof-proof. For instance, it is impossible to mix the derived mutations on the Swell with the principal chorus on the Great. I settled on the Lieblich Gedeckt for the one unified rank because it blends well at all pitches and because the pitch-beats caused by an equal-tempered rank used at mutation pitches are only barely discernible.
“In an organ of only 12 or 13 ranks, one can make dozens of useful combinations and build ensembles suggesting a much larger instrument. For instance, on the Pedal the 51⁄3' through 2' pitches—when used with the Great chorus coupled—reinforce the 16' line and create the impression that there is a Pedal mixture. A solo Cornet effect can be registered as follows: couple the string and celeste to the Great and silence them on the Swell using the Unison Off. Then set a solo combination of Gedeckt pitches such as 8', 4', 22⁄3' and 13⁄5' on the Swell (tremulant optional).
“The point of all this is to provide excellent sound and unusual flexibility in a small church organ design. To keep these organs even more affordable, we incorporate many used parts and pipes. A brand new console shell is hardly a necessity when so many are available used. I like to put the money where it counts the most—in careful voicing and tonal finishing, new electronic relays, and high quality visual designs.”30
The discovery of the Aeolian open metal flute, quixotically called Flute Piano (apparently for people barely musical and certainly not organists) was to mark a milestone in Goodwin’s career. Placed in the Great of his instrument in Colton, it proved to be of such great value as both a solo and ensemble stop that it led him to incorporate 8¢ open flutes on that division routinely. Most instruments, having a Chimney Flute on the Great and Gedeckt on the Swell, don’t have the flexibility of an open 8' flute, an important color in his judgment, adding, “I voice it quietly in the bass and midrange and somewhat ascendant from middle C up so one rank can be used three ways: as an accompaniment stop in the left hand, a solo stop in the treble and a lighter foundation than a Diapason in a Principal chorus.”31
Perhaps the most impressive example is found at Holy Cross Church in Santa Cruz, California. Built in 1889 on the site of one of the famous Spanish Missions, Holy Cross is an imposing neo-Gothic brick building with splendid acoustics. Starting with a 13-rank A. B. Felgemaker tracker obtained through Alan Laufman and the Organ Clearing House, Goodwin added 10 ranks including an open metal flute, two mixtures, two chorus reeds and a string celeste (see before and after stoplists above right, and photo on page 28).
In 1995, Steuart installed his Opus 15, a remarkably cohesive two-manual and pedal organ of 12 ranks, featuring the unit Gedeckt and the 8' open flute discussed above in St. George’s Episcopal Church, Riverside (see stoplist on page 26, and photo left). The striking white oak case is accented with bronze moldings and padouk wood stripes.32

Voicing and tonal finishing

In 1980 Steuart became associated with the Schoenstein firm in San Francisco, which marked still another chapter in his career, one that would grow and distinguish his work today. He worked closely with Jack Bethards, Schoenstein president, in the major renovation of the epic Aeolian-Skinner organ in the Mormon Tabernacle in Salt Lake City, where he did most of the flue voicing. Bethards does extensive consulting coast-to-coast, and when he concludes that the major problem with an organ is inferior tonal work, he often recommends Steuart, who, working with his assistant Wendell Ballantyne, has had nationwide assignments: New York, Georgia, Texas, and North Carolina. Reworking an older instrument almost always begins with a sensitive new organist, and one job leads to another. This work typically involves removing sizzle and chiff, increasing foundation tone, repitching a mixture with new breaks, and replacing unsuitable pipes. With his fine reputation as a voicer and finisher, when prospects hear his work, they want the same thing. For example, Steuart’s current work at the Covenant Presbyterian Church in Charlotte, North Carolina, is the direct result of his work at Myers Park Baptist Church there. Goodwin’s recent theatre work includes voicing, in collaboration with Lynn Larsen, a large theatre and romantic instrument in the home of Adrian Phillips in Phoenix, Arizona, and completing a mostly seven-rank Wurlitzer organ in his own home in Highland. His much admired tonal work on the epic four-manual, 26-rank Wurlitzer in Plummer Auditorium, Fullerton, led to his election to the governing board of the Orange County Theatre Organ Society.33

Summary

In a varied career marked by many accomplishments, Steuart Goodwin represents the individual organbuilder, working alone or in collaboration with others, a vital segment in the spectrum of organbuilding in America today. Long neglected but deserving of greater recognition, the work of these persons may well assume greater significance in the future of the trade and the instrument. Beginning with a rich musical background, often both instrumental and vocal, which continues, they acquire the knowledge and skills of building the pipe organ through travel, reading, observation and apprenticeship. In their deep commitment to the King of Instruments, they gladly sacrifice more lucrative occupations. Today and tomorrow, amid the manifold and far-reaching changes in our culture, the majestic pipe organ is recognized as a work of art and the work of an artist. There can be no better example of this truth than the life and work of Steuart Goodwin.
 

Steuart Goodwin & Co. Opus List

1. 1970. Two-manual, six-rank tracker practice organ. Now in home of Dr. Harold Knight in Dallas, Texas.
2. 1972. Two-manual, 11-rank tracker, 4th Ward, Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Riverside, California.
3. 1974. One-manual, four-rank portable rental organ. Now in home of Bruce and Mary Elgin, Altadena, California.
4. 1976. Three-manual, 35-rank tracker, Trinity Episcopal Church, Redlands, California. With components of an 1852 Jardine from Rome, New York, obtained through the Organ Clearing House.
5. 1977. Two-manual, 17-rank tracker, St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, Upland, California. Rebuild of E. & G. G. Hook & Hastings #734, 1873, obtained through the Organ Clearing House.
6. 1978. Two-manual, four-rank practice organ in the home of Frances Olson, Mount Baldy Village, California.
7. 1978. Two-manual, six-rank unit organ, now in St. John’s Episcopal Church, Corona, California.
8. 1979. Two-manual, 13-rank electro-pneumatic, First Baptist Church, Colton, California.
9. 1984. Two-manual, 13-rank tracker, Our Lady of the Rosary Cathedral, San Bernardino, California. Rebuild of Moller #1701, 1913, obtained through the Organ Clearing House.
10. 1988. Two-manual, 23-rank tracker, Holy Cross Church, Santa Cruz, California. Based on A. B. Felgemaker #506, 1889, enlarged and considerably modified visually and tonally.
11. 1991. Two-manual, 11-rank, electric action, Stake Center, Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Simi Valley, California. Incorporates many pipes and parts of Moller #5482, 1928, obtained through the Organ Clearing House.
12. 1992. Two-manual, 13-rank electro-pneumatic, Fontana Community Church, Fontana, California. Incorporates console and many pipes from the church’s 1920s Spencer organ.
13. 1993. Three-manual, 38-rank, electric slider chests, First Christian Church, Pomona, California. Extensive tonal revisions. Based on Hook & Hastings #2240 with prior modifications and additions by Ken Simpson and Abbott & Sieker.
14. 1995. Two-manual, 19-rank, electric and electro-pneumatic, St. Timothy Lutheran Church, Lakewood, California.
15. 1995. Two-manual, 12-rank, electro-pneumatic, St. George’s Episcopal Church, Riverside, California.

Other work

The tonal finishing team of Steuart Goodwin and Wendell Ballantyne has done extensive work on organs in California, Georgia, North Carolina, New York, Texas and Utah.
Steuart has worked on many case design and voicing projects with Rosales Organbuilders and Schoenstein & Co. For photographs and details visit .
For research input and critical comments on earlier drafts of this paper, the author gratefully acknowledges: Edward Ballantyne, Jack Bethards, Ken W. List, Albert Neutel, Donald Olson, Michael Quimby, Robert Reich, Manuel Rosales, Jack Sievert, and R. E. Wagner.

“Won’t you be my neighbor?”

Do you associate a tune with that sentence? The cardigan sweater, the sneakers, the catchy melody, and the slightly off-pitch singing are all icons for the children of baby boomers—those who grew up watching Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood. I picture a quiet suburban cul-de-sac with ranch houses, station wagons parked on concrete driveways, bicycles on their sides in the tree lawns, kids being sent next door to borrow a cup of sugar, and maybe a spinet piano covered with framed photos. Fred Rogers did his best to teach our children and us how to be good friends and neighbors over the airways of Public Television.
There’s an eight-rank Aeolian residence organ in my workshop right now, Opus 1014, built in 1906 for the home of John Munro Longyear in Brookline, Massachusetts. Mr. Longyear discovered huge mineral deposits in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, acquired vast tracts of land, and made a fortune bringing the ore to market. He and his wife Mary were devoted students of Christian Science, and they moved to Boston in 1901 where Mary Longyear became a close friend of Mary Baker Eddy, the founder of Christian Science. Following their deaths, their home was left to a foundation in their name that developed the building and grounds into a museum about Christian Science.1 After the museum closed in 1998, the estate was purchased by a developer who built a community of condominium residences on the site. The Organ Clearing House acquired the organ in the summer of 2005, helping the developers create space for a fitness center.
This is a terrific organ, complete with a 116-note roll-player, the famed automatic device that plays the organ using paper rolls. Spending a few months with an organ like this gives one great insight into the standards of a legendary company. In the last years of the nineteenth century, Aeolian began building a list of clients that reads like Who’s Who of the history of American corporations. Aeolian didn’t get such a good name by accident—their organs are beautifully made and uniquely conceived as the last word in personal luxury of their day. The idea that a pipe organ like this would be considered a must-have furnishing in a grand house has captivated me, and with the help of a smashing book I’ve formed a picture of a neighborhood that would knock Mr. Rogers’ socks off.
Rollin Smith’s The Aeolian Pipe Organ and Its Music was published by the Organ Historical Society in 1998 and is available through their catalogue. Go to and buy a copy or two. I took quite a bit of grief at home when my wife realized that the book I was chuckling over was about residence pipe organs, but when I read her a couple passages my point was made. Mr. Smith understands that the heritage of the Aeolian Company is something very special, and he has told us all about it. The book contains plenty of facts about the company’s history. The stories about the early twentieth-century organists who played on, composed for, and recorded on the Aeolian Organ form a fascinating picture of the styles and opinions of early twentieth-century virtuosi—many of whose names are familiar to us today. The importance of the Aeolian Organ as documentation of a school of playing is unequaled—remember that the phonograph was primitive in those days—and the Aeolian rolls are among the earliest accurate recordings of such masters as Marcel Dupré, Clarence Eddy, and Lynwood Farnam. An example of the accuracy of this musical documentation is found on page 227, where Mr. Smith provides a comparison of the first eight measures of the score of the Daquin Noël with a reprint to scale of the same passage as recorded on the Aeolian roll by Dupré. By looking at the length of the notes on the roll, an organist familiar with piece can see clearly that Dupré clipped the first note of the piece short and accented the second (fourth beat of the measure), that he added a low D in the left hand on the fourth beat of the fourth measure (not in the score!), and that he started his trills on the lower note. What a lot of historical information to get from a few dots on a page.
Mr. Smith emphasizes the importance of this documentation by quoting a statement made by Charles-Marie Widor in 1899:

How interesting it would be if it were possible for us to consult a phonograph from the time of Molière or an Æolian contemporary with Bach! What uncertainties and errors could be avoided, for instance, if the distant echo of the Matthäus-Passion, conducted by the composer, could still reach us.
Is it not truly admirable to be able to record the interpretation of a musical work with absolute exactitude and to know that this record will remain as an unalterable document, a certain testimony, rigorously true today, which will not change tomorrow—the quintessential interpretation that will not vary for all eternity?2

But enough about the organists—it’s the patrons that got me going. One of the book’s appendices is an alphabetical list of those who purchased Aeolian organs (page 384). Another is an Opus List that includes the street addresses of Aeolian installations (page 319). Published lists don’t always make good reading, but when I started flipping back and forth between these two I started humming Mr. Rogers’ neighborhood song while in effect reading the Manhattan phone book!
With the help of these lists, I’ve imagined a walking tour of some very special residences, all home to Aeolian organs. Let’s start on the corner of Fifth Avenue and East 92nd Street in Manhattan. Central Park is on the west side of Fifth. When we stand with our backs to the Park we’re looking at the home of Felix Warburg. Mr. Warburg was in the diamond business, and was one of New York’s most enthusiastic musical patrons, serving as a member of the board of directors of both the Metropolitan Opera and the Philharmonic Society. In the 1930s he rescued many prominent Jews from Germany and supported the emigration of musicians such as Yehudi Menuhin and Jascha Heifetz.3 Mr. Warburg’s Aeolian organ (Opus 1054, II/22) was installed in 1909.
We walk south to 90th Street to find the residence of Andrew Carnegie. Inside is Aeolian’s Opus 895 with three manuals and 44 ranks, built in 1900.4 Mr. Carnegie, founder of the Carnegie Steel Corporation of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, was an active philanthropist whose generosity resulted in what is now Carnegie-Mellon University. His foundation was responsible for the construction of 2,509 public libraries throughout the English-speaking world.5 And since Mr. Carnegie believed that “music is a religion,” the Carnegie Organ Fund gave millions of dollars in matching grants to help build more than 8,800 pipe organs.6 Walter C. Gale was organist to the Carnegie family for seventeen years, arriving at the house at seven o’clock every morning they were in town. Mrs. Carnegie kept a log book of their Atlantic crossings in which she wrote about their return from Liverpool on December 10, 1901, driving directly to their new home to find “Mr. Gale playing the organ and the garden all covered in snow.”7 One door south from Mr. Carnegie is the residence of Jacob Ruppert8, brewing magnate (Knickerbocker Beer) and owner of the New York Yankees. Unfortunately Mr. Ruppert’s was not the complete household—no Aeolian organ. Still heading south, we cross East 89th Street and pass the Guggenheim Museum. At 990 Fifth Avenue (at 80th Street—two blocks south of the Metropolitan Museum of Art) we find the residence of Frank W. Woolworth who nickel-and-dimed himself into prominence with a chain of stores bearing his name. Mr. Woolworth was one of Aeolian’s best customers. His first instrument was #874 (II/16, 1899). In 1910 the organ at 990 5th Avenue was enlarged to three manuals and 37 ranks (Opus 1144). But why limit yourself to just a city organ? Mr. Woolworth installed Opus 1318 (II/23, 1915) in his second residence, which he called Winfield (his middle name) in Glen Cove (Long Island), New York. Winfield was destroyed by fire in 1916 but fortunately for the local trades and for the Aeolian company, it was rebuilt at three times the original cost, and Mr. Woolworth bought his fourth and largest Aeolian organ, Opus 1410 (IV/107).9 Installed in 1918, this grand organ included the first independent 32¢ Diapason in an Aeolian residence organ.10
Frank Woolworth was one of Aeolian’s few patrons who could actually play the organ. He was wholly devoted to Aeolian organs, to the company, and to the music it provided. His contract for Opus 874 included 50 rolls of his choosing and free membership in the Aeolian Music Library for three years to include an average of twelve rolls per week.11 When mentioning Aeolian rolls, it’s interesting to note that in 1904 the price of the roll-recording of Victor Herbert’s Symphonic Fantasy was $9.25 and a worker in the Aeolian factory earned $11 per week.12 Frank Taft, art director of the Aeolian Company, was one of Woolworth’s close friends. It was Mr. Taft who played the organ for Woolworth’s funeral at his home at 990 Fifth Avenue (Opus 1144) in April of 1919.13
Our tour continues six blocks south to the home of Simon B. Chapin at Fifth and 74th. I wouldn’t have recognized Mr. Chapin’s name without having had an encounter with his “country organ” several years ago. Mr. Chapin was a successful stockbroker. Among other pursuits, he invested his immense personal wealth in large and successful real estate ventures. Most notable among these was his partnership with Franklin Burroughs in the development of Myrtle Beach, South Carolina into a popular resort. The firm of Burroughs & Chapin developed the Seaside Inn (Myrtle Beach’s first oceanfront hotel), and the landmark Myrtle Beach Pavilion. The new shopping district was anchored by the Chapin Company General Store, and to this day Burroughs & Chapin is a prominent real estate development company. He built a lakefront vacation home in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin in 1898, about 75 feet from the shore. The house presents a 115-foot façade that includes a 55-foot screened porch. Aeolian’s Opus 1000 (II/18) was installed there in 1906. He must have been pleased with the instrument because that same year he purchased a two-manual instrument with 15 ranks for his home on Fifth Avenue (Opus 1018).14 One block further south on Fifth Avenue and a couple doors east on 73rd Street we find the home of newspaper publisher Joseph Pulitzer where Aeolian’s Opus 924 (II/13) was installed in 1902. Edward Rechlin was organist to the Pulitzer family, playing from 9:30 to 10:00 each evening they were in town. He was paid $20 an evening and $25 for a family wedding.15
Keep going east on 73rd Street, turn right on Madison and walk one block south to East 72nd and you’ll find the home of Louis Comfort Tiffany. Now this guy knew something about quality of design, and the folks at Aeolian must have been very pleased when Mr. Tiffany contracted for Opus 925 (II/12) in 1902. And once again, a city organ wasn’t enough—Aeolian’s Opus 1146 (II/27) was installed at Tiffany’s second home in Cold Spring Harbor, New York in 1910.16
By the way, Mr. Tiffany’s appreciation of the Aeolian organ was shared by his clients. The Dodge brothers, Horace and John, started their career building automobile chassis for the Ford Motor Company. It didn’t take them long to realize that they would make more money building entire cars, and they formed the company that still bears their name. They each had large Aeolian organs in their Michigan residences. Horace’s first organ was Opus 1175 (II/15) and his second was Opus 1319 (IV/80). John’s only Aeolian was Opus 1444 (III/76). Perhaps Horace was threatened by his brother catching up because in 1920 he purchased Opus 1478. With two manuals and 16 ranks, this organ was not so impressive by itself, but its setting certainly was. It was installed in his steam-powered yacht, the Delphine. The Delphine was 257 feet long, had five decks and a crew of 58, and its interior appointments were designed by Louis Tiffany. The organ was installed across from the fireplace in the walnut-paneled music room.17 It’s fun to imagine Mr. Tiffany and Mr. Dodge sharing their appreciation of the Aeolian organs at Tiffany’s drawing board over snifters of cognac.
From Louis Tiffany’s house, we walk two blocks south on Madison Avenue, then back west to Fifth Avenue, to the home of Henry Clay Frick, another steel industrialist from Pittsburgh. The Frick family moved to New York in 1905 and rented the William H. Vanderbilt residence on Fifth Avenue at East 51st Street (no organ). During this period they built a vacation home at Pride’s Crossing, Massachusetts, and Aeolian Opus 1008 (III/44) was installed there in 1906. Once that house was complete, the Frick family started building their own home in Manhattan at One East 70th Street, on the corner of Fifth Avenue, opposite Central Park. This home was graced by Aeolian 1263 (IV/72), which was shipped from the factory in March of 1914. Mr. Frick also donated an Aeolian organ (Opus 1334, IV/64) to Princeton University in 1915, where it was installed in Proctor Hall of the Graduate College.18
We’ve walked 24 blocks, and I’d like to show you one other organ. It’s a little too far to walk so we’ll take a cab. Charles Schwab, the first president of U.S. Steel, built his West Side home to occupy the entire block between 72nd and 73rd streets on Riverside Drive. With 90 bedrooms it was the largest residence in Manhattan, but Mr. Schwab started small in the Aeolian department—Opus 961 (1904) had only two manuals and 33 ranks. Perhaps he was inspired by his steel colleague Mr. Frick when he ordered the enlargement of the organ (Opus 1032, 1907) to four manuals and 66 ranks.19 We might imagine that Frick’s response was to up the ante with Opus 1263 (IV/72). Do you suppose that the man from Aeolian was encouraging these guys to outdo one another?
Our little tour has taken us past some of Manhattan’s grandest sites. Many of the homes I’ve mentioned have been replaced by modern high-rise luxury condominiums, but it’s fun to imagine a day when Fifth Avenue was dominated by some of the grandest single-family homes ever built. What was it about the Aeolian organ that excited the interest of this group? What extravagant home furnishings are available today that can compare to a $25,000 or $35,000 pipe organ built in 1910 or 1920? However we answer those questions, the Aeolian Company got it right for about 30 years. Then came the Great Depression.

John Bishop is the executive director of the Organ Clearing House.

The seat of the Bishop
I’ve always been a sucker for construction equipment. The other day I was walking up Second Avenue in New York, where a new subway line is under construction, and although I was on a schedule moving between appointments I couldn’t help but stop for five minutes to watch an enormous crane lowering an electrical transformer the size of a UPS truck into a hole in the street. You can read about this massive project on the website of the Metropolitan Transit Authority at <A HREF="http://www.mta.info/cap
constr/sas/">www.mta.info/capconstr/sas/"</A>. (sas refers to Second Avenue Subway!) I’ve been involved in a consultation project in New York that has led me to learn something about the city’s utility system, and I’ve seen maps and photos that show an underground labyrinth of train, maintenance, and utility tunnels, and electrical, gas, and steam lines. It seems unlikely that there’s any dirt left under the streets of the city. Knowing something about that subterranean maze helps me understand just a little of how complicated it must be to create a new tunnel some four miles long, and sixteen new underground stations. And hundreds of thousands of cubic yards of dirt, stone, and rubble removed to create the tunnel has to be trucked across the city’s congested streets and river bridges to be dumped.
It’s a massive project that’s made possible by millions of dollars worth of heavy equipment, including my crane, tunnel-boring machines, payloaders, dump trucks, and heaven knows what else. Equipment like this has been improved immensely in the last 20 years by advances in hydraulic technology. The principal of hydraulics is that specially formulated oil (I know the root of hydraulic refers to water) is pressurized in cylinders, that pressure being great enough to lift heavy loads, turn rotary motors, or steer huge articulated equipment. Without these advances we wouldn’t have Bobcats, those snazzy little diggers with cabs like birdcages that can turn on a dime.
Sometime around the year 1250, the great cathedral in Chartres was completed. Nearly 800 years later it still stands as one of the great monuments to religious faith in the world. Tens of thousands of pilgrims and tourists visit there every year. The cathedral houses one of Christendom’s most revered relics, the Sancta Camisa, reputed to be the tunic worn by the Virgin Mary at the time of Christ’s birth. (Camisa and camisole come from the same root.) There is a labyrinth more than 40 feet in diameter laid in stone in the floor of the nave. The path of the labyrinth is about 13 inches wide and about 860 feet long (about a sixth of a mile), all twisted upon itself within the confines of the diameter. The towers are 300 and 350 feet tall, the ceiling of the nave is 121 feet off the floor, and the floor plan has an area of nearly 120,000 square feet, which is close to two-and-a-half acres.
Thousands and thousands of tons of stone lifted to great heights, and not a hydraulic cylinder in sight. The challenge and effort of building something like that with twelfth- and thirteenth-century technology is breathtaking. Most of us have been inside tall buildings, and most of us have been in airplanes, so we as a society are used to looking down on things. But imagine Guillaume, the thirteenth-century construction worker, coming home after a long day, flopping into a chair, taking a hearty pull from a mug of cider, and describing to his wife how that afternoon he had looked down on a bird in flight—the first man in town to be up that high!

§

On December 27, 1892, the cornerstone was laid for the Cathedral of St. John the Divine on Amsterdam Avenue in New York City, one of only a few twentieth-century stone Gothic cathedrals. Celebrated as one of the largest Christian churches in world—the overall interior length of 601 feet is the longest interior measurement of any church building—it serves its modern congregation, hosts hundreds of thousands of visitors, and as the seat of the Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church, it serves as a national centerpiece to the denomination.
While the full interior dimensions of the building have been completed, much of both the interior and exterior remain incomplete. The central tower, the transepts, much of the interior finish stonework, and the two west-end towers were never built, and the building carries the popular moniker, St. John the Unfinished. Given the staggering cost of this kind of construction, there are no plans for the completion of the building. Perhaps this stunning building stands as a metaphor for us who are all incomplete before God.
Two years ago the Organ Clearing House was privileged to work with the artisans of Quimby Pipe Organs installing the restored Aeolian-Skinner organ in the two chancel organ chambers, nearly 100 feet off the floor of the nave. We spent some three months in the building, working with humbling towers of scaffolding and an electric hoist that would have been the envy of those men in thirteenth-century Chartres. We had rare opportunities to see that grand building from angles not open to the general public—somehow a hundred feet seems higher indoors than out. And we witnessed some of the challenges of maintaining such a huge building. Fixing a roof leak is a big deal when you’re 150 feet up! That the cathedral’s administration can manage all this is hardly short of a miracle.
There’s a peculiar type of quiet present in such a building. The interior space is large enough that true quiet is probably impossible. When it’s very quiet inside, one is aware of the distant sounds of the city, and even of a kind of interior wind blowing. Sitting in the nave or the Great Choir in this special quiet, I imagine the hustle and bustle of construction: how workers managed 60-foot granite pillars that were quarried in Vinalhaven, Maine, transported to New York on barges, and hauled across the city by steam-powered tractors in 1903; how workers hoisted tons of precisely cut stones to form the fabric of the vaulted ceilings; how workers created stone spiral stairways inside the cathedral’s walls leading to such places as organ chambers; and how workers created the ornate spectacular 10-ton marble pulpit—festooned with such delicate carvings that during the installation of the organ we built a heavy plywood barricade around it so as not to damage it with a battering-ram in the form of a 32-foot organ pipe!
And let’s not forget what could be considered the real work—the evangelizing, preaching, persuading, and cajoling necessary to raise the money for all this, unfinished or not.

A house for all people
Why do we go to all this trouble? This cathedral has been host to countless extraordinary events, held there because of the extraordinary scale and dignity of the place. Twelve-thousand-five-hundred people attended the funeral of Duke Ellington in 1974. (I wonder how much the cathedral organist had to do with that.) In 1986 Philippe Petit, the high-wire artist who had walked between the twin towers of the World Trade Center, performed his work Ascent inside the cathedral, accompanied by the music of the Paul Winter Consort. Petit is listed on every service bulletin as one of the cathedral’s artists-in-residence. In the documentary film about his twin-tower feat, <i>Man on Wire</i>, Petit wore a “Cathedral of St. John the Divine” t-shirt.
In 1986, Archbishop Desmond Tutu preached an anti-apartheid sermon. In 1990, Big Bird, Bert, Ernie, and the rest of the Muppets helped celebrate the life of their creator, Jim Henson. In 1997, South African President Nelson Mandela preached at a memorial service for anti-apartheid activist Archbishop Trevor Huddleston. And in 2000, New York Mayor John Lindsay’s funeral packed the place. My wife Wendy attended that service and came home raving about how cathedral organist Dorothy Papadakos had played the crowd out at the end of the service with Leonard Bernstein’s tune, <i>New York, New York, It’s a Wonderful Town</i> (immortalized by Frank Sinatra), complete with fanfares from the State Trumpet under the west end rose window—perfect.
We need special places like that for events like those.

§

Wendy and I have been in New York for two months, living in an apartment in Greenwich Village we’ve borrowed from my parents’ next-door neighbors. While Wendy has been working with editors in publishing companies promoting the manuscripts produced by her clients, the Organ Clearing House has tuned a few organs, and dismantled a marvelous, pristine E. M. Skinner organ from a closed church building in the Bronx for relocation to the new worship space of an active Lutheran parish in Iowa, to be restored by Jeff Weiler & Associates of Chicago. Last year we renovated and relocated a 1916 Casavant organ to a church in Manhattan—the dedication recital is in a couple days, and we spent the last week tweaking and tuning it in preparation.
The Cathedral of St. John the Divine is on my mind because we attended Evensong there last Sunday evening. It was a beautiful service, loaded with music, prayer, scripture, and a moving sermon. We sat in the ornately carved oak pews of the Great Choir, surrounded by magnificent decoration and in the midst of a modest congregation. The choir’s singing was wonderful, the organ was played with true inspiration, and I was aware that we were participating in regular weekly worship in that place where so many of the world’s most powerful and revered figures have led and participated in worship. The sense that the place equipped to welcome thousands to a huge event is open and welcoming to us on an ordinary Sunday afternoon was moving to me. You don’t often sing hymns in the presence of an organ with 150 ranks.

A study in scale
Some months ago I brought a group of friends to see the cathedral. Organist Stephen Tharp was practicing in preparation for his presentation of the complete organ works of Jeanne Demessieux. As we listened, I told them a little about the size, resources, and complexity of the organ, and one asked me why you would need so many stops. I pointed out ornate decorations throughout the building—carved pews, filigreed lamps, Gothic arches and vaults, tiled stairways, wrought-iron gates, bronze medallions inlaid in the floor—and suggested that such a large organ complements a building with more than a dozen chapels and all this finery. We love the sound of a string celeste. It’s even better to have two celestes to choose from. But this organ has eight sets of celestes—unimaginable wealth, especially when you consider that all the celeste ranks except the Swell Unda Maris go all the way to low C! When an organist moves skillfully around this organ, the range of tone colors seems limitless—a kaleidoscope of tone color, with a range of volume from the roar of thunder to a barely audible whisper—exactly in scale with the size and decoration of the building itself.
And cathedral organist Bruce Neswick did just that in his improvised closing voluntary last Sunday—he morphed away from the tune of the recessional hymn into a harmonically and rhythmically sophisticated fantasy, gave a climactic fanfare on the State Trumpet, then melted seamlessly from the robust full organ to the whisper of that Unda Maris. You could hardly tell when the music stopped.
When the installation of the renovated organ was completed and the organ had been given a chance to “settle in,” the cathedral presented a series of dedicatory recitals by such distinguished artists as Daniel Roth, Olivier Latry, Gerre Hancock, Thierry Escaich, and Peter Conte. What a thrill to hear such programs on such an organ. But take it from me, Neswick shares that organ with the Sunday afternoon congregation as if the Queen was in attendance. Perhaps it’s his joy of sitting on the bench of such a distinguished and stunning instrument. Perhaps it’s his sense of the privilege of presenting music in worship in such a place. Certainly it made me feel like royalty to be so treated, the tariff being what I chose to drop in the basket during the offertory.

Party horn
Another example of the relationship between the scale of the building and the scale of the organ is the State Trumpet—a single eight-foot rank of trumpet pipes mounted horizontally under the rose window facing east down the length of the nave. This must be the most famous single organ stop in the world. It plays on wind pressure of 50 inches—something like the pressure of the air in a tractor tire, and nothing like the levels of pressure commonly used in organs. The pipes are shackled in place to prevent them from launching as missiles down the nave. And there’s an octave of dummy 16-foot bass pipes. They don’t speak—they’re there to make the rank of pipes look like something in that vast space. The thing is majestic. It’s almost 600 feet from the organ console—two football fields. It would take a little more than six seconds to cover that distance in a car traveling at 60 miles per hour. It seems as though you can draw the stop, play a note, and eat a sandwich before the sound reaches your ears. (No mayo on the keys, please.) The sound is broad and powerful, sonorous and thrilling. There can be no building better suited to enclose such a sound.
But here’s the problem. When the new State Trumpet was introduced in the cathedral as part of the 1954 expansion and rebuilding of the organ by Aeolian-Skinner, every ambitious organist wanted one. And too many organists got their wish. Today there are hundreds of modest parish churches cursed with the sound of a too-loud but not-too-good Trompette en Chamade, searing the airways six feet above the too-big hair of the bride and her attendants. The proud organist can’t get enough of it, but everyone else can. Just because St. John the Divine has one, the pretty church on the town square doesn’t need one.

It’s a matter of scale
All of us who have toiled in the vineyards of church music have experienced the “big productions” of our parishes—a Christmas pageant, the wedding of the pastor’s daughter, Easter Sunday with trumpets and timpani. Imagine the big production for the cathedral organist. The country’s president might be attending a memorial service. National television cameras are often present. And on a festive Sunday morning, 1,800 people might come to the altar to receive Communion. That’s a lot of noodling around with <i>Let Us Break Bread Together on Our Knees</i>.
Our two months in New York have brought lots of great experiences, dozens of subway rides, and the rich experience of getting familiar with all that a great city has to offer. I encourage and invite you to visit the city and to hear some of the great organs and great organists in some of the world’s great churches. Start with St. John the Divine, and work your way around town. The New York City Chapter of the American Guild of Organists has a fine website with a calendar of events.
And after Tuesday’s recital, I’m looking forward to going home next week where there really is dirt under the streets.

Photos of St. John the Divine courtesy Quimby Pipe Organs.