In the Wind: designing an organ for a space

John Bishop

Where it all begins

When I was growing up, my family had a summer home on Cape Cod where we grew enamored by a brilliant potter about five miles away. Scargo Hill Pottery was founded by Harry Holl, and over fifty years later his daughters still make the characteristic shaped dishes, mugs, and vases we grew to love. Harry worked with white porcelain that he accented with dark spots made by mixing the black sand from a specific nearby beach into his clay. He accented them with vibrant glazes. Our household and those of my siblings are rich with Harry Holl pieces; it is lovely to eat daily meals off such beautiful art and to have such ornaments on our walls and shelves.

From its beginning Scargo Hill Pottery has had a wonderful, almost spiritual side. There is a row of potter’s wheels in a sunlit spot with a translucent fiberglass roof and no walls, where you can stand and watch the artists create their products. I still think it is magical to watch a turned shape emerge from a lump of clay and become a useful vessel. From my earliest teenage years I have been in love with places where beautiful things were made. On many a summer evening, we piled into the car after supper to visit Harry and his troupe. The lovely outings were capped by a stop at Sea Breeze soft-serve ice cream conveniently located along the route.

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The 150-acre summer estate of sculptor Daniel Chester French (1850–1931) is a couple miles from where we live in Stockbridge, Massachusetts. French is perhaps best known for two iconic public sculptures, The Minute Man statue in Concord, Massachusetts, near “the rude bridge that arched the flood,” and the monumental statue of a seated Abraham Lincoln in the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C. He bought the property in 1896 and immediately commissioned the construction of a studio that became his principal workspace for the rest of his life. At that time there was train service from New York to Stockbridge; the Stockbridge station, long out of use, still stands just a couple miles from Chesterwood.

The studio is situated close to the house and has large glass windows providing plenty of natural light inside that feature broad views of Monument Mountain and the rest of the southern Berkshires. The principal work room is twenty-nine feet by thirty feet with twenty-six-foot-high walls allowing enough space for monumental equestrian statues. Since most of French’s work was to be installed outdoors, the design of the building included a working platform on railroad tracks with large doors that allowed him to move a massive work in progress outside so he could view it in natural light. He was so eager to work in the beautiful new space that he moved in two weeks before it was complete. The building included a reception room where he could receive potential clients and where his family had afternoon tea when the weather would not permit using the house’s grand south-facing porch.

The Minute Man was completed in 1875 for the centennial of the start of the Revolutionary War, before French acquired Chesterwood, but the Lincoln Memorial was completed in 1920. French designed Lincoln’s statue at Chesterwood, and a six-foot model is on display there. The full-scale statue was carved by the Piccirilli Brothers whose studio was on 142nd Street in the Bronx, New York. A four-foot bronze statue of a winged angel by Daniel Chester French, The Spirit of Life, stands in a portico at Saint Paul’s Episcopal Church in Stockbridge.

A visit to Chesterwood is an inspiration. It is thrilling to think of the wealthy and powerful people who traveled there to commission public art, and wonderful to imagine the brilliant and prolific artist toiling in the lovely studio in that bucolic setting, surrounded by family and friends.

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Another iconic artist’s studio is within walking distance of our house in Stockbridge. Norman Rockwell had been living in Vermont when his wife began treatment at a prominent psychiatric hospital in Stockbridge, and Rockwell moved his family there in 1953. His first studio in this town was behind a large plate-glass window in the central storefront of Stockbridge’s Main Street, directly above the Back Room Rest, familiarly known as Alice’s Restaurant of Arlo Guthrie fame. He later built a free-standing studio with plenty of natural light on South Street. When the present building of the Norman Rockwell Museum was opened in 1993, the studio was moved to the new site where museum visitors can go inside to see Rockwell’s easels, paints, brushes, props, and tools.

Many hundreds of Norman Rockwell’s large-scale paintings were featured on the covers of The Saturday Evening Post and are inscribed in the artistic minds of millions of people around the world. I have been moved many times by sitting on the bench and playing the keys upon which the giants of organ music sat and played—Widor, Dupré, Saint-Saëns, Fauré, and so many others. It is equally moving to see the stool on which Rockwell sat while painting his beloved three-dimensional self-portrait, his iconic Rosie the Riveter, and The Runaway.

Our place in Stockbridge backs up to the cemetery where every morning I walk Farley the Goldendoodle through the cemetery, past Norman Rockwell’s grave to the adjoining Naumkeag estate, a great place for him (Farley) to be off leash for his morning constitutional. Norman is there with two of his wives, his gravestone festooned with tubes of paint, paintbrushes, and little trinkets left in tribute to his marvelous career and influence on our cultural life. Our granddaughter has been swept up by Norman-mania, being sure to visit him each time she visits us.

That Ingenious Business

In 1990 the Pennsylvania German Society published a book by our late colleague, friend, and organ builder, Raymond Brunner about the Pennsylvania German organbuilders Philip Bachman and David Tannenberg, among many others. These were some of the first organbuilders active in the United States, and a few authentic examples of their eighteenth-century American-built organs are still extant. As the organ was the most complex device built by humans at that time, the phrase “that ingenious business” evolved around that local industry. Now we are surrounded by technological marvels—no eighteenth-century organbuilder could have imagined mobile phones, flat-screen televisions, or nuclear submarines, but the pipe organ remains one of our fascinating achievements.

Among my many pleasures of working with the Organ Clearing House is visiting the workshops where pipe organs are built. We have working relationships with many of the country’s fine organbuilders as we help them with their projects, providing truck transportation, rigging and hoisting, assembly and disassembly. I have been in dozens of organ shops both here and abroad, and I always marvel at the creativity and dedication of the people in them. My first shop visits were open houses at Fisk and Noack in the 1970s when I was in high school. Organbuilder George Bozeman was an early mentor. I sang with his wife, Pat, in the choir at my home parish, and they were generous, taking me to those magical places to see organs nearing completion and ready to be dismantled and shipped. My high school organ teacher John Skelton also shared those wonders with me.

My first experience working in an organ shop was the summer of 1975, between my freshman and sophomore years at Oberlin, when I spent those months in the workshop of Bozeman-Gibson & Company. The shop was in Lowell, Massachusetts, in a building previously occupied by organbuilder Rostron Kershaw, and I spent my first day as a nascent organbuilder in the parking lot with sawhorses, façade pipes, Zip-Strip, hose, bucket, and rubber gloves. Oh, the glory of it. The parking lot was shared with a guy who transported chickens on a flatbed truck stacked high with wooden coops. I do not think he raised the chickens. I guess you would say he was trafficking in chickens, but the truck clattered in and out, and he was always happy to take the sawdust from the dust collection system to line his coops. Once when the bin was empty, he asked if we would plane some wood.

That summer, the company was working on the restoration of the wonderful 1848 George Stevens organ in the First Church of Belfast, Maine, and the installation of a new organ in the Federated Church of Castleton, Vermont. What an adventure it was for a nineteen-year-old enthusiast to spend the summer driving around New England, staying in motels, eating with a meal allowance ($1.50, $2.50, $3.50 for breakfast, lunch, dinner), and having my first hands-on experiences with organs. I returned the following summer and helped install the Bozeman-Gibson organ on Squirrel Island, an exclusive summer community off the Maine coast near Boothbay Harbor, six miles as the crow flies from our house in Newcastle.

Nearly fifty years later, I still marvel at the magic. I have a sense that it is improbable that we would be allowed, even encouraged to make something as otherworldly as a pipe organ. The variety of skills involved seems endless. An organbuilder is an architect, carpenter, woodworker, steel worker, electrician, leather worker, metallurgist, sculptor, acoustician, and musician. A comprehensive workshop houses familiar machinery like saws, drill presses, and planers, milling machines, and welders, and equipment you are not likely to see elsewhere like the cauldrons for melting soft metals, and especially the tables for casting the long sheets of metal used to make organ pipes.

François-Lamathe Dom Bédos de Celles de Salelles (1709–1779, we know him familiarly as Dom Bédos) was a Benedictine monk and organbuilder who published a monumental treatise, L’art du facteur d’orgues (The Art of Organbuilding) in 1778. Its volumes are packed with elegant engravings showing all facets of the trade including tools, workbenches, mechanical actions, wind systems, windchest layout, and clever exploded views of the interior of a complete organ. The cauldron and casting table are clearly illustrated, just like those found in modern workshops. I imagine that Dom Bédos built lovely big bellows to help tend the fires under his melting pot. Of course, today’s organbuilders do not have to stoke wood fires to melt their metal; a gas burner does the trick in a trice. Flipping through the pages of the good monk’s treatise shows how little has changed in the craft in nearly 250 years.

But how much has changed

Aristide Cavaillé-Coll (1811–1899) is revered for the tremendous legacy of pipe organs his company produced for such churches as Notre-Dame and Saint-Sulpice in Paris, but along with over 500 instruments he was honored for the invention of the circular saw blade. How we take them for granted now. I still have the table saw I bought in 1987 when I started the Bishop Organ Company, and I have ten or fifteen circular blades for it, some of which have specialty uses. Most of them have carbide steel tips on the teeth that stay sharp through miles of cuts. Think of spending a day making thousands of wood trackers, maybe ten feet long with a cross section of 1.5 by 8 millimeters. You stand at that saw all day making cut after cut. It is monotonous, but you cannot let your mind wander because you really want precise cuts, and you want to keep your fingers. (I still have all mine after forty-nine years behind the saw.)

As repetitive and precise as that task is, besides the circular saw blade we have the added luxury of a shop-wide dust collection system. The good monk had none of that. He cut those trackers by hand. My mentor John Leek taught me to make long, straight saw cuts and to plane a board flat and parallel by hand before I was free to use the machines. It was a great learning experience. I hardly ever did that again, but that helped me imagine the time, effort, and concentration it would take to make an organ full of trackers by hand. Or think of making a keyboard by hand with sixty long straight cuts. When I worked for Angerstein & Associates in Stoughton, Massachusetts, in the 1980s, I built the four keyboards for the new console of a large organ in Corpus Christi, Texas, and I remember that the lowest few naturals of the bottom keyboard were a little wider than the others. I have not noticed anything like that in any of the historic organs I have visited. I recently had a fun exchange about that with the good people of the Red River Organ Company who maintain that organ now.

I had a root canal a couple months ago—not my first choice of how to spend a morning, but I had a good laugh with the endodontist when I told her that the smell of grinding my teeth reminded me of standing at a table saw cutting ivory or cow bone for keyboards. I was impressed by the array of teeny cutting tools she used with a compressed-air motor to drill so delicately into the roots of my teeth. She spoke softly to her assisting technician, “A 14, please,” “A 12, please.” Between gulps, I asked if those were bit sizes. Yes, but of course the numbers refer to length in millimeters, not diameter.

Drill sergeant

The art of organbuilding can be defined as the art of knowing where to put the holes. Each pipe in an organ needs at least two holes, a toehole to stand in and a rackboard hole that stands it up straight. In a slider chest, there are two more holes for each pipe, one in the windchest table and one in the slider. A ten-stop, sixty-one-note slider chest has 2,440 holes. Those in the windchest, sliders, and toeboards range from about ½ inch to 1¼ inches with some larger oval holes because the holes cannot be larger than the travel distance of the slider. The rackboard holes range from about ½ inch to 3 inches or more, with the largest pipes supported by felted “scallop” racks higher up on the pipe. Dom Bédos’s windchests did not have sixty-one note compasses, but he still had to drill thousands of holes just to hold up and blow the pipes. There are usually at least two holes in each key of a keyboard, one for a balance pin, and one for a guide pin. He built an organ with five manuals, each with fifty-six notes—that is 560 holes. He used a “bit-and-brace” drill with handmade bits. What skill, precision, and plain hard work 
was involved.

I have thousands of drill bits in my workshop—twist bits, multi-spur bits, Forstner bits (guided by the outside edge rather than a center pin), countersinks, and spade bits. To turn those bits, I have a little fleet of drill motors with rechargeable batteries and the drill press I bought with the table saw.

With your own eyes

If you have not already, I hope you all get to visit an organ shop sometime. Most companies that build new organs love to host open house events when an organ is ready to be shipped. Those events typically include food and drink, displays about how certain tasks and processes are accomplished, and the added excitement of visitors from the church where the organ is going. If you are planning a trip to an area that is home to an organ company, get in touch through their website or give them a call to ask if you might visit. At least they will put you on a mailing list for the next open house. There is an old gag about sausages—you might love to eat them, but you do not want to watch them being made. Watching the artisans at work in an organ shop will inspire your love of the instrument and will inspire your musicianship. It’s nothing like sausages.

Youthful fantasies

Saint John’s Episcopal Church in Westwood, Massachusetts, was founded as a mission in September 1953, and services were first held in the Deerfield Elementary School at the end of Deerfield Avenue. A new church building was dedicated next to the school in March 1955, and my father was appointed the first full-time rector in October 1956. I was seven months old. We lived in a rented house nearby while the rectory was built adjacent to the church. I know from personal memory and family lore that we were ensconced in the new rectory before I was two years old. My earliest memories of those days included the bulldozers that were grading the lawn and building the driveway. My wife and sons would quickly agree that must have been the genesis of my fascination with heavy equipment, admittedly alive and well today as my sixty-eighth 
birthday approaches.

The Convention of the Episcopal Diocese of Massachusetts established Saint John’s as a parish in 1959, and that year the church acquired C. B. Fisk Opus 31 (then the Andover Organ Company), a one-manual, six-stop, mechanical-action organ mounted on a platform with a detached, reversed console. I learned later (!) that the organ was planned as the Rückpositiv of a larger two-manual instrument that could be completed if the new parish succeeded. At three years old, I did not yet know about detached consoles, but my child’s eyes remember where it was placed in the simple new A-frame building, itself designed to accept future enhancement.

Ten years after its founding, the parish mounted a campaign to build a parish hall and complete the church interior with formal decorations and furniture. Two towers and a rear gallery were added. A full-height stained-glass wall was installed behind the altar, a chancel with steps and altar rail was added, and hardwood pews were installed replacing the metal folding chairs.

Having spent a lifetime moving pipe organs, I am amused by the memory of my first organ relocation—that tiny Fisk organ hanging from a crane, pipes and all, being lifted from the front of the original sanctuary to its permanent home in the new rear gallery before the roof was closed. If I saw that happening today, I would run toward the crane operator, arms waving like a semaphore, shouting “Stop!,” but there it was, an organ hanging from a hook on a sunny day. I was seven. That same year, when my parents were not at home, I thought it would be fun to climb the scaffolding surrounding the seventy-foot tower under construction. It was a lovely view from the top, showing my parents’ car turning on to Deerfield Avenue, heading home. I got back down before they reached the driveway, but the guilt on my face was enough to spill the story.

Saint John’s organist’s name was Donald McFeely. He had the parish on the cusp of the tracker revolution, buying an organ from Charles Fisk and the Andover Organ Company before the founding of C. B. Fisk, Inc., in 1961. The Andover Organ Company completed the twenty-three-rank instrument in 1991, including the original six-stop organ as the Rückpositiv as planned by Charlie Fisk.

I remember several of the families of Saint John’s as friends of my parents, and as I write I realize what a heady time that was for them. It must have been thrilling to start with meetings to incorporate a mission, transforming it to a parish, and taking on two building programs in ten years. Through their commitment, effort, and money, they created a church that continues to thrive over seventy years later. My father was a young priest in his second appointment, and it must have been mind-boggling and life-altering for him to be at the helm of that rocket ship. Dad has been gone almost ten years, so I will never get to chat about that with him, but the notion adds to my admiration. By the way, I attended the Deerfield School, next door to our house, from first through third grades.

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Since my first organ was a quasi-experimental dip into the early years of the Organ Reform Movement, it is ironic that the second organ in my life was built in 1905 by the Ernest M. Skinner Company at a time when Robert Hope-Jones (who grew into the genius behind theatre organs built by Wurlitzer) was working with Skinner. Dad was called as rector of the Parish of the Epiphany in Winchester, Massachusetts, in 1966, when I was ten years old. I was instantly pressed into the Junior Choir led by harpsichord builder Carl Fudge, the parish’s organist and choirmaster. As I think about it, the further irony is that Mr. Fudge as an early practitioner in the esoteric world of harpsichord building in the 1960s was saddled with an aging, wheezing, cadaver of an organ in such poor condition that my friends and I as ten-year-old choristers where well aware of its precarious state.

There was the Sunday when I heard my first cipher in the middle of a service. Mr. Fudge left the bench, crossed the chancel, reverenced the altar, returned with a ladder, reverenced the altar again, set the ladder against the impost, climbed up and pulled a pipe. He repeated the process to return the ladder, reverencing the altar twice more, wearing a black cassock through the entire sequence. I expect that his pious performance as the service progressed was calculated to draw attention to the organ’s failings, and it was only five or six years later that my father was involved in purchasing another organ from Charles Fisk, Opus 65, which was completed in 1973.

When I was twelve, I had my first organ lessons on the gleaming ten-year-old, three-manual Holtkamp organ in Saint John’s Chapel of the Episcopal Theological School (ETS) in Harvard Square, later the Episcopal Divinity School (EDS), now defunct. Though it has electro-pneumatic action, that organ was in the vanguard of experimental design with low wind pressures, classical choruses, and a Rückpositiv division (on a pitman chest) along the gallery rail. But my first experiences playing the organ during worship were on that home Skinner when Mr. Fudge allowed me to “noodle” a bit while he left the bench to receive communion, and later to play an occasional prelude or postlude.

It was not long before I went out on my own, taking a six-week gig playing on a three-manual Estey (long gone) at the Baptist church in Winchester, and then after Vatican II at St. Eulalia Catholic Church in Winchester on a Conn Artist. (You can’t make these things up.) My last high-school church organist position was at the First Congregational Church of neighboring Woburn, Massachusetts, where I played a three-manual, thirty-three-stop E. & G. G. Hook organ built in 1860, a very grand organ with real large-organ stops like 16′ Double Open Wood and 16′ Trombone with wood resonators.

Nostalgia

I am wallowing in childhood memories today because Wendy and I recently moved from Greenwich Village to Stockbridge, Massachusetts, where my grandfather had been rector of Saint Paul’s Episcopal Church, just at the time when my family moved from Westwood to Winchester and I started to take organ lessons. It has been both fun and eerie to merge into life in Stockbridge, walking past the rectory on Main Street where my grandparents lived, counting the windows, and remembering the rooms that were so familiar when I was a teenager.

Saint Paul’s first building was a wood Gothic structure designed by Richard Upjohn and consecrated in 1844. The present stone building was designed by Charles McKim and consecrated in 1884. The organ was Hilborne Roosevelt’s Opus 127, also built in 1884, but it was drastically altered in the early-1960s, a project that included the addition of mixtures and mutations, the replacement of the original principal stops with ranks of tapered pipes, the addition of a pedal division and a couple unified reeds including a Krummhorn with electric action. I wonder if Hilborne Roosevelt ever heard a Krummhorn? Today I call it a scandalous treatment of a lovely venerable instrument, but when I was twelve and thirteen years old and allowed to practice on the organ, loud and shrill as it was, I thought it was the bees’ knees. I do not remember if I ever played a service there, but I know I played a recital or two—I’m sure my grandparents were very proud.

When I was a kid, we had family holidays in Stockbridge. Thanksgiving dinner in the rectory was a great treat, and my grandparents nurtured my nascent love of music by treating me to weekends at Tanglewood, just a few miles away. Those were my first solo trips away from home—my parents put me on buses and trains in Boston and grandparents picked me up in Pittsfield, Massachusetts, quite an adventure for a thirteen-year-old.

Since I retired as a church organist when I joined the Organ Clearing House in 2000, we have not attended church regularly, but when we first moved to Stockbridge, we were quick to show up at Saint Paul’s. We went to the early service at 8:00 a.m. and were part of a congregation of five or six people. It was fun to meet a woman whose wedding had been performed by my grandfather and who had wonderful memories of him, but it was a pretty quiet affair. Shortly after, we learned that the rector had just received a call to move elsewhere, and after our first visit we went dormant.

A new rector was installed at Saint Paul’s eight weeks ago, and Wendy and I went to church there last Sunday, attending the 10:00 a.m. service along with more than forty others. It was great to hear the organ being played, though it is in terrible condition, and we were pleased with the good vibes, the singing of the hymns, and the fact that there were some people present who were younger than us. Maybe we will go back this time.

Altered states

I imagine we are all familiar with organs that have been altered, receiving new identities for better or for worse. Some are great successes. There are many organs built by the Skinner Organ Company and later modified by Aeolian-Skinner under G. Donald Harrison’s direction. Ernest Skinner hated that, but Harrison was able in many cases to retain the gravitas of the original organ while adding well-balanced choruses and mutations.

I had a long relationship with a 1906 Hutchings-Votey organ rebuilt by Kinzey-Angerstein in 1973 at Saint Mary’s Catholic Church in Holliston, Massachusetts. I joined the reorganized workshop of Angerstein & Associates in 1984, and the organ at Saint Mary’s was one of the first I tuned after taking that job. The occasion was a recital by Daniel Roth, then titulaire of Saint-Sulpice in Paris, celebrating the appointment of Saint Mary’s longtime organist, Leo Abbott, as director of music for the Cathedral of the Holy Cross in Boston and the end of his tenure at Saint Mary’s. The organ retained its original 8′ and 4′ principals, wood flutes, manual reeds, and pedal stops. Daniel Angerstein had added upperwork to the Great and Swell creating two fine choruses and a smashing 16′ Pedal Trombone. It is a grand organ with lots of pizzazz, and the new tonal scheme added wonderfully to the original foundation of the organ.

The Holliston organ was so successful because the new stops were scaled and voiced to complete choruses based on the original foundations. The added pipes were purposefully constructed to exacting specifications based on the scales of the original stops, so all voices blend as if the entire instrument had been built at once. Too often, organ technicians of lesser skill add voices to an organ based on the notion of an ideal stoplist without considering the scales, construction, or even wind pressures of the new pipes.

Earlier this year I visited an organ in Texas that has small-scale Baroque choruses added in the 1960s to a nineteenth-century organ with broad scales and heavy fundamental tone. The differences in harmonic structure between old and newer pipes is striking. The tonal effect is jarring, confusing, and difficult to sing with. The firm that added the high-pitched stops must not have made any effort to create a blend between old and new. The stoplist looks fine, but the organ sounds terrible.

When the revival of classic organbuilding was getting traction in the early 1960s, many of the new organs were focused on high-pitched voices as were the “Baroque-izations” of older organs. It is ironic because the great classical instruments of Europe on which our revival was based are typically not shrill instruments. Their stoplists show fully developed choruses crowned with multiple mixtures, but their foundation stops are rich and full with thrilling harmonic development to support all that upperwork. When twentieth-century organbuilders began building new mechanical-action organs with low wind pressure and open-toe voicing, the challenge they faced, whether they knew it or not, was to figure out to deliver lots of air, not pressure but volume, to the largest pipes in the organ, and to voice those pipes so they could really sing.

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It is fun to think about the first organs I knew, how my youthful impressions compared to my current thinking after playing, working on, and listening to hundreds of organs. As a thirteen-year-old, I was enthralled by the idea that I could play music on those keyboards and fill a church building with sound. I have been around organs with serious intent for about fifty-six years, and the evolution of my understanding of organ tone is still in process. I have learned slowly how scale (diameter) and wind pressure affect what an organ pipe can do. I have learned how the shape of a pipe’s resonator (the long part) affects the harmonic structure of its tone, so it stands to reason that two stops that emphasize the same harmonics will blend well together—that is a simple glimpse of the complex structure of a Cornet, especially when a reed stop is added to it. (Think d’Aquin noëls.)

I sat in a pew at Saint Paul’s last Sunday, delighted that the organ was being played, but critical of its collection of unrelated stops, however much I enjoyed playing it fifty-six years ago. (Oof!) The church has had some hard times over all those years, but it is fun to think that we might breathe some new life into it. Wendy and I live a fifteen-minute walk from Saint Paul’s. Maybe I could help?

There have been many organs in my life that were altered from their original state and transformed into something different. Some are marvelous successes, some are unmitigated disasters, and some (perhaps most) are the transformation of a fine instrument into one that is mediocre and uninteresting. A well-intentioned local organ technician may have terrific skills, but may not have the knowledge, wisdom, and experience to “out-Skinner Skinner.” If the organ you play most regularly does not have a trumpet, you probably could add one, but it should be as close as possible to the trumpet the original builder would have included if the organ was to be one stop larger. The added stop must be heard as part of the original organ and not as irrelevant braying. It is not the stoplist that makes an organ, it is the tonal structure.

I was at dinner recently with two beloved and admired colleagues who are collaborating on an important new organ. I asked them what they hoped to achieve with that organ. One replied, “I want to make an organ that sounds beautiful so lots of people will be happy to hear it.”

John Bishop

Down front or up in the back?

My home church is the Parish of the Epiphany in Winchester, Massachusetts, where my father was called as rector in 1966 when I was ten years old. The song, “Winchester Cathedral,” written by Geoff Stevens and recorded by The New Vaudeville Band, was released in August of 1966, and Dad received several copies of the recording as gag gifts from friends (Oh voh-dee oh doh). I had three years of piano lessons before we moved to Winchester, but singing in the choir there was my first experience participating in the music of the church. The harpsichord maker Carl Fudge was the organist, and as I have written frequently, he had a lot to do with my early career choices.

The organ at Epiphany, the first I played, was built in 1905 by the Ernest M. Skinner Company (Opus 128), a very early and seriously rundown example of Mr. Skinner’s work. The church is brick, of Gothic influence, and mythically shares proportions with “the” Winchester Cathedral. There is a classic Gothic chancel up several steps from the nave, and the choir was situated in fixed carved oak pews on either side. The Skinner console was on the Epistle side nearest the communion rail, right by the little alleyway through which the congregation returned to their seats in the nave after leaving the rail. I started organ lessons when I was twelve, and my first experience playing in church was when Mr. Fudge allowed me to slip onto the bench and noodle a bit while he received communion.

The church had an ancient forced-hot-air heating system with large registers in the floor. If you were a clever choir member or acolyte, you would finagle standing on one, and your cassock would inflate like a dirigible. There must have been a history of choir members fainting because the choir pews were equipped with smelling salts. These fifty-five-year-old childhood memories bring a burst of nostalgia. I am thinking of Eleanor Banks, the burly alto in the senior choir, who wielded a hairbrush like a nunchuck as the robed junior choir filed out of the choir room. In hindsight, it was good none of us had lice—she would have spread them through the whole choir.

I left Epiphany at thirteen to begin my career as an organist, filling in at the First Baptist Church (with a three-manual Estey), then as organist at Saint Eulalia’s Catholic Church (Conn Artist—you cannot make this stuff up), and then in neighboring Woburn, Massachusetts (three-manual 1860 E. & G. G. Hook, a stupendous organ). While I was building my resumé before leaving town for Oberlin in the fall of 1974, the people of the Parish of the Epiphany were grappling with the condition of the wheezing Skinner organ. In that Boston suburb, we were in the heart and heyday of the tracker revival, and Mr. Fudge with his early music background was advocating a new tracker organ to be placed in a not-yet-built rear gallery.

 

Meanwhile, down the street . . .

The First Congregational Church in Winchester has a commanding location on a hillside above the town center and an immense steeple that leaves no doubt that the Congregationalists got the concept of “location, location, location.” Their much-rebuilt 1925 Hook & Hastings organ was replaced in 1969 by
C. B. Fisk, Inc., Opus 50, a three-manual, mechanical-action organ with twenty-seven stops. Mr. Fisk wanted to place the organ in the rear balcony, but the church insisted on a chancel installation. His solution was to build a very wide, very shallow organ on the chancel wall. In fact, the organ breaks out of the wall and looms into the chancel airspace. The keydesk is on the floor under the organ facing the opposite wall, and the mechanical action goes under the organist and up the wall to the organ. Large doors open into the hallway behind to expose the action. Originally, there was a setter-board combination action behind that door that has since been replaced with a hundred-level solid-state system.

John Skelton was organist of the First Congregational Church back in the day, and he was my organ teacher through my high school career. The church was a five-minute walk from home, and I had generous practice privileges, spending most weekday afternoons in the thrall of the music and the instrument, learning to wrap my fingers and feet around the notes. Mr. Skelton was a gentle and generous teacher who encouraged and nurtured my passion. I loved working with him, and I loved playing on that organ. In summer of 2021, my son Chris and his wife Alex bought a house near where the Skeltons live, and while I was helping Chris with some repairs and modifications before they moved in, I had a swell evening with John and Carolyn.

A new Fisk organ was installed at the Parish of the Epiphany in 1974, just as I was leaving for Oberlin. It started with twelve stops on two manuals, and seven “prepared for” voices were added in 1983. The parish made the difficult decision to move the music making out of the chancel. The new balcony cost more than the $35,000 organ (imagine, a Fisk organ for $35,000), and while some parishioners were unhappy with the change, the relatively small organ was given a commanding position in the relatively large sanctuary. Of course, people familiar with Fisk organs know that “Charlie” was not known for having trouble filling churches with sound.

I did not play as much on Opus 65 as on Opus 50, but I did play a few recitals, perhaps a dozen services, and my sister’s wedding there. I have not been in that building since my father’s memorial service eight years ago, but I will always love the place and value its role in my earliest experiences with the music of the church. I will also always cherish the privilege of playing such brilliant, responsive organs when I was a pup.

Those two organs make a terrific comparison, built five years apart by the same firm in churches a half mile apart, and placed so radically differently in their buildings. They are both vibrant presences. The chancel placement in the Congregational church is surprisingly successful, partly because the chancel is very wide, so the organ’s sound directly reaches a large percentage of the area of the nave, because the acoustics are lively, and because the organ chamber is barely three feet deep.

The people at Fisk have dubbed these organs “Winchester Old” and “Winchester New,” a tongue-in-cheek reference to the hymntunes for “While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night,” and “On Jordan’s Bank the Baptist’s Cry,” respectively.

As much space as you need?

I am fond of telling clients that there are two rules about placing a pipe organ in a church today. Rule #1: There is never enough money. Rule #2: There is never enough space. I have been in scores of older church buildings in which space was no issue. Think of a Catholic church built in 1880 seating 1,200 people. The ceiling is a barrel vault eighty feet up, so even if the balcony rail is twenty-five above the nave floor, there is still fifty-five feet of ceiling height. It is not unusual to find a nineteenth-century organ that is thirty-five or forty feet tall with a footprint of twenty by thirty feet with room left for a fifty-voice choir. Think of the grand organ formerly in the Church of the Immaculate Conception in Boston, now in storage. It is a rare modern building that will accommodate anything like that. It may be that the only chance of relocating such an organ would be to build a new organ from the pipes down and save the original voicing.

Even Gothic-style cathedrals pose serious challenges for organbuilders. The builders of the ancient cathedrals never imagined that people would be finding spaces for a hundred-plus ranks of organ pipes with all the associated mechanicals. The vaulted ceiling in Saint Patrick’s Cathedral in New York City is 112 feet off the floor, but the two 32′ stops are lying down in the triforium, the Contra Bombarde along Fiftieth Street and the (Double Open Wood) Diapason along Fifty-First Street. At Durham Cathedral, there are, count them, two big Open Wood Diapasons, both standing on the floor in the aisles beside the chancel, the sixteen-footer on the south aisle, and the thirty-two-footer on the north. At York Minster, the 32′ metal Diapason also stands on the floor of the aisle by the chancel, painted to imitate the stone fabric of the wall.

It is often problematic to place pipe organs in newer church buildings. The great interior height in many older church buildings is the result of the desire for proper proportions and the lofty superstructure that supports that high ceiling. Modern construction materials and techniques allow low ceilings to span great distances, and the economics of construction say that as a building gets taller, its cost increases exponentially. Are you paying $500,000 for each additional foot of height? Many modern churches are built without any planned accommodation for an organ, and plenty of architects do not know how much space and what sort of environment an organ needs.

The most extreme experience I have had with this was when a church in Virginia asked me to advise them about placing a pipe organ in their new building. I traveled there to find that although they had asked the architect to provide space for an organ, there was no place in the building to put it. The architect was present at this meeting, and he showed me a photo of an organ façade on the wall of a church and pointed to a space on an outside wall. He blanched when I told him that such an organ would be eight- or ten-feet deep behind the façade. It was an awkward moment. Disappointed, the church bought a digital instrument.

I view the task of evaluating a church building for the placement of an organ as harvesting space. Where in the building might an organ go? Can a classroom be converted to an organ chamber? Can additional height be captured by breaking through a ceiling into attic space? Will the organ be liturgically useful and acoustically successful if we put it there? In newer church buildings, we frequently find a sacristy behind the wall behind the altar. We could harvest the sacristy, open into the attic above, open the wall behind the altar, and make a perfect place for an organ—but I sure have run into opposition when I suggest taking the sacristy.

§

The people of Saint Dunstan’s Episcopal Church in Shoreline, Washington, were willing to rethink and redesign the front of their church to accommodate a new organ. I visited there in 2016 to consult with them and found an amateur installation of a relocated organ with two “flower boxes” perched on the front wall and an enclosed swell stuffed in an attic behind the wall. There was a waist-high wall separating the choir from the altar and two false walls projecting from the front, enclosing the choir in a pseudo-chancel. Jonathan Ortloff’s design for the new organ created a proper chamber front and center. All the artificial barricades were removed, leaving a wide-open, flexible space for clergy, lay leaders, and musicians.

Susanna Valleau is music director at Saint Dunstan’s, a position she has held since before the inception of the organ project. She reports that Ortloff’s design was quickly accepted by the church’s rector and wardens and embraced by the congregation. The new flexibility of the sanctuary has allowed growth in the worship life of the parish as well as opening possibilities for community outreach, especially a variety of concerts.

The chambered organ

In the beginning of the twentieth century, it became popular to place organs in remote chambers, spaces separate from the rooms in which they would be heard. This can be partly attributed to economy—you save a lot of money when you do not have to build a case. It also means that you do not have an organ cluttering up the floor of the sanctuary (if you choose to look at it that way). This would never have been possible as a wide-spread practice without electricity. Electric keyboard actions made it possible to have great distances between keyboards and windchests, and organists had to learn to play by remote control.

Electricity was also crucial in enabling organs to break the bonds of their chambers, thanks to the luxury of virtually limitless wind supplied by electric blowers. Remember, Widor wrote all ten of his organ symphonies for the hand-pumped organ at Saint-Sulpice in Paris, France. Organ builders developed techniques of voicing with higher wind pressures, producing ever-more-powerful sounds. While the wind pressure of a large organ built by E. & G. G. Hook in the 1860s might have been two-and-a-half inches or three inches, it is common to find five inches of pressure on the Great and eight inches on the Swell of a Skinner organ dating from the 1920s, not to mention solo reeds on fifteen inches or twenty-five inches. Air is the fuel we burn to create organ sound. When Mr. Skinner put his Swell celestes and Flauto Dolces on eight inches of pressure, he coaxed them out of the chamber and into the room, stepping on the gas by running more air through the pipes.

Today we can compare the experiences of playing and hearing organs in chambers and in free-standing cases. In fact, there are several American churches where you can hear both in the same room. The First Congregational Church in Columbus, Ohio, has a three-manual organ by Rudolf von Beckerath (1972) in the rear gallery and a four-manual W. W. Kimball (1931) in chancel chambers. What a wealth of organ tone to experience under one roof.

The chapel at Duke University has a four-manual, hundred-rank Aeolian located in chancel chambers and a four-manual, hundred-rank Flentrop in a high gallery on the rear wall. There is also a small Brombaugh organ tuned in meantone in a side chapel. The Organ Historical Society held a national convention in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, in 2001 during which we heard the ultimate comparison of organs with recitals on each of those organs in the same day—Mark Brombaugh played the Flentrop, Margaret Irwin-Brandon played the Brombaugh, and Ken Cowan played the Aeolian. The range of music played was profound, from Frescobaldi to Wagner and Liszt, and conventioneers got a real earful that day.

Prepare the way.

When an institution is planning a room that will include a pipe organ, it is wise to engage an organ expert in the design process. It is a rare architect who would have a deep grasp of the space needed for an organ. In fact, without real practical knowledge, planning the size of an organ is likely to be arbitrary. How many stops must it have? Would it have fewer more powerful stops, or would the tonal variety that comes from a larger number of stops serve the needs of the institution best? These questions apply both to churches and universities. If it should be forty stops, should it be electric or mechanical action? And how do you arrive at forty stops? Where should the organ be placed for best acoustical advantage and logistical usefulness? You do not want to place a mechanical-action organ with an attached keydesk alone in a gallery with choir seating on the floor under it or at the other end of the room. The independent organ consultant can help answer all these questions without the conflict of angling for the contract to build the organ.

What will be the electrical requirements? How much might the organ weigh? How are the building’s walls constructed to maximize their effective resonance? In a recent job where an organ was removed for renovation and returned to its original location, the flimsy drywall behind the organ was reinforced with new heavy material, and the effect on the organ’s sound was dramatic.

Because the pipe organ is a monumental instrument, it relies on the integrity of its building for the projection of its sound. The building must provide the organ a safe and solid home. Flimsy construction absorbs sound. Rigid construction projects it. The organ should not be placed under valleys in the roof that would be prone to leak. Witness that the Cavaillé-Coll organ at Notre-Dame de Paris miraculously survived the catastrophic fire in 2019; the peaked roof above the organ between the two towers protected the instrument during that horrible event.

In many churches, it is obvious where the organ should go. In others, not so much. When you are going to the trouble and expense of acquiring an organ, set the stage well and get it right.

Emery Brothers, Allentown, Pennsylvania; Stoneleigh, Villanova, Pennsylvania

Emery Brothers,

Allentown, Pennsylvania

Stoneleigh,

Villanova, Pennsylvania

In the Fall of 2017, the Organ Historical Society moved into its new headquarters, Stoneleigh, in Villanova, Pennsylvania, the former home of the John and Chara Haas family. At the time, an Aeolian-Skinner residence organ became available and plans were made to install it in the former living room of Stoneleigh. The organ dates from a crucial period in American organbuilding when, following the Great Depression, organ business declined more than sixty percent, and it was imperative for two of the country’s prestigious organ companies, Aeolian and Skinner, to join forces and form a new company, Aeolian-Skinner.

This instrument, which began as Aeolian Opus 1790 (the company’s last residence organ), was assigned a Skinner opus number—878—and has an Aeolian-Skinner nameplate. It is not only a remarkable example of a residence organ but has survived in as perfect condition as when it left the factory three-quarters of a century ago. It is now in an ideal setting in which to introduce new generations to the organ as well as to hear the hundreds of recordings made by the world’s great organists in the early twentieth century. The installation was accomplished by Emery Brothers of Allentown, Pennsylvania, under the supervision of Adam F. Dieffenbach, a descendent of four generations of Dieffenbach organbuilders, active in Berks County, Pennsylvania.

§

In October 1931, Aeolian sold its last residence organ. The “patron,” as the company referred to its clients, was Charles Walter Nichols (1875–1963), an American chemical engineer who, with his father, William H. Nichols, organized company mergers that eventually formed Allied Chemical & Dye Corporation, a precursor of Allied Signal. Charles Nichols, a vice president and general manager, acquired forty acres in West Orange, New Jersey, that he called Pleasantdale Farm, and built a twelve-bedroom Norman-style summer house there.

As his house was under construction, Nichols signed a contract on October 13, 1931, for a 32-rank Aeolian organ, Opus 1790. According to the cost sheet, the actual price was $25,474, but Aeolian sold it for $24,775—a $700 discount—“to close the deal.” Frank Taft, Aeolian’s art director and general manager who had been with the company since 1901, handled the negotiations. Taft held a seat on Aeolian’s board of directors, would have known of the impending merger of his company with the Boston firm, and would have advised Charles Nichols that his organ would be installed by the new company.

Installation

Electricity accounted for many changes in traditional organbuilding, from pipe chests and action, to stop unification and borrowing, console design, and stop management. With electricity, the organ could be placed in multiple chambers in the front and sides of churches, moved to the opposite end of the building as an Antiphonal division, and put in a remote location as an Echo. Electricity benefited the installation of organs in private homes in the same way, allowing divisions to be placed at considerable distance from one another—the main organ in the basement, a second division over the entrance hall, the Chimes in a second-floor closet, and an Echo in the attic. The “tone chute” was devised so that the pipe chambers could be located at a distance and the tone channeled through the house, sometimes up a shaft, through a wall, across the ceiling, and down into a room.

With the private home came a new set of organ design requirements and challenges, and the Nichols organ embodied those features for which the Aeolian Company was preeminent in the residence organ field:¹

• it can be adapted to any house, large or small;

• it is unobtrusive, often occupying space not otherwise of use;

• it is built especially for the place it is to occupy;

• it may easily be made an architectural feature, or on the other hand may be entirely concealed from view;

• it is refined in quality of tone and of superior workmanship.

The organ at Pleasantdale Farm was installed in the basement with no egress whatsoever into the room in which it was to be heard. There were two organ chambers separated by a two-story shaft, roughly eight-feet square. The 26-foot high tone shaft ran to the ceiling of the vestibule, and at its right side was a 5½-foot hole in the living room wall covered by an elaborately carved wooden grille work through which the sound of the organ entered the room. The Great and Solo chambers were in a basement room to the right of the tone chute, and the Swell in a room at the left. The sound of the organ then rose to the house above and filtered into the living room. Frank Taft was aware of the potential problem with hearing the organ when he telegrammed the Aeolian-Skinner office that “Great must be voiced louder than Swell due to its location.”²

The organ

The stoplist of this, and most other Aeolian organs, was written in the “simplified” nomenclature adopted in 1907 when the company began printing registration on its player rolls. To make the names of stops as straightforward as possible for the laymen who would be operating the player mechanism, identification was reduced to tone quality. The pitch was eliminated and replaced with an adjective: a 16′ Bourdon became a Deep Flute; if it was loud, Deep Flute F; if soft, Deep Flute P. A 4′ Flute was a High Flute, a 2′ Fifteenth, an Acute Diapason. Assuming a violinist’s vibrato would be more familiar than the church organist’s Vox Celeste, Aeolian called its celeste rank a Vibrato String F or P.

Aeolian’s first organ consoles had traditional drawknobs arranged in horizontal jambs at either side of the keyboards. In 1905, stop control was changed to what has become the company’s most distinctive feature: horizontally arranged domino-shaped rocking tablets set in oblique vertical rows on either side of the keyboards. Aeolian changed their consoles in early 1924 to vertical tilting tablets set in vertical jambs at a 45-degree angle.3

Since the Nichols organ was equipped with an Aeolian Duo-Art player, the stoplist contained most of the ranks necessary for the playing of automatic rolls that reproduced the playing of live organists and controlled the registration and expression as well as all the notes. Thus, the Trumpet and Clarinet were on the Great, while the Swell had a second Trumpet (Cornopean), Oboe, and Vox Humana. The rolls did not specify either a 2′ or a mixture on the Swell (stops present on this organ), but they did call for a three-rank Echo division, and a 16′ Bassoon in the Pedal (the Echo was added five years later, and a 32′ Resultant was specified in place of a Bassoon).4 A luxurious five-rank Solo division was also provided. Aeolian economized only with the 97-pipe unit flute on the Swell, the 8′ extension of which, the Spanish Flute, was more frequently encountered as a Flute Español.5 By July 1932, when the chests were laid out, the two soft Swell strings, Salicional and Vox Celeste, had been changed to a Flauto Dolce and a tenor C Flute Celeste—the only celeste rank that does not extend full compass. This change is not reflected in the stop tablets, which still read Vibrato String P and String PP.

The five-rank Swell mixture is based on 4′ pitch, and the pipes are string scale with narrow mouths. This differs from Aeolian’s standard soft string mixture, originally called a Serafino, which was a Dolce Cornet with an 8′ (that began at tenor C) and 4′ added, and except for the Quintadena basses, were composed of Aeoline or Viol d’Orchestre pipes.6 Its composition is:

C–A 8-15-19-22-24

A#–c3 8-12-15-17-19

c#3–c4 8-10-12-15-15

From the beginning, Charles Nichols’s organ was something of a hybrid, apparently assembled from whatever was available as Aeolian-Skinner completed the unfinished installations of the two companies. The console and bench, “of Aeolian standard design,” may have already been built. The chests are Skinner, but the reservoirs are Aeolian. The swell shades are Skinner, but their motors are Aeolian. The Harp and Chimes are both Aeolian. Most of the pipework is Skinner, but we know from shop notes that the 97-pipe Swell 16′ unit flute was all Aeolian and that the first two octaves of the wooden Pedal 16′ Bourdon were Aeolian and notes 25 to 44 were Skinner.7 Not unusual, two ranks of pipes intended for other organs ended up in the Nichols instrument, in particular the Solo Gamba Celeste and Pedal 16′ Violone, both of which came from Opus 1649, owned by George Douglas Clews of South Orange, New Jersey.8 Surprisingly, the Clarinet is not the usual free reed, as specified in the contract, but a regular beating-reed rank, and the customary 1⁄4-length Aeolian Oboe is, instead, a full-length Skinner Oboe.

The organ was installed in the house at Pleasantdale Farm in late summer of 1932. It immediately became apparent that the Great division was too soft and “ineffective.” In January 1933, G. Donald Harrison ordered the wind pressure raised one inch to seven inches, four ranks replaced, and the Great Trumpet and Clarinet revoiced on the new wind pressure and made “as loud as possible.”9 The First Diapason was made the Second, with a new Diapason from tenor C (scale 40, 2⁄9 mouth), and the 4′ Octave was replaced with a new one (scale 56, 2⁄9 mouth). It was planned to change the stop wires of the Flute F and String F to make them the Flute and String P and replace them with a new Flute Harmonique and string rank, but these changes were never made.

After the 1932 volume increase, nothing further was done until five years later when, on July 7, 1937, probably at the suggestion of organist Archer Gibson who played frequently for the family, Nichols signed a contract for a four-rank Echo division: Diapason, Flute, String, and Vox Humana, plus a Tremolo. This was installed in a hall closet next to the tone chute. The three chests were stacked in order for the four ranks to fit in the cramped space, and the sound was conveyed through a two-foot by two-foot tone chute that extended some thirty feet inside the wall before exiting in the middle of the living room.

The organ received regular maintenance six times a year, every other month, until July 30, 1960, when Charles Nichols received a letter giving him thirty days’ notice that Aeolian-Skinner’s New York office was discontinuing service. “Mr. Martin Eisel of our New York staff has retired, and sufficiently-trained personnel simply is not available to handle this work.”10

After Charles W. Nichols’s death on April 26, 1963, Pleasantdale Farm became the property of Allied Signal, which used it as a corporate training retreat. In 1994, it was no longer required, and the company wanted to sell it to a developer. It being the last gentleman’s farm in Essex County, the newly formed West Orange Historic Preservation Commission tried to have the property designated a historic landmark, but Allied Signal assembled enough “authorities” to testify to the estate’s historic insignificance. At a town council hearing, Newark architect Harry B. Mahler described the house as “neo-historical eclectic with Norman overtones,” that the architect was influenced by the owner’s wishes, and that the main house lacked an overall harmony of de-sign. “It’s a mishmash or conglomeration of styles, forms, and materials which include Roman, Norman and Gothic, which are put together like pieces of a fruit salad and which the architect lost control of.”11 Failing landmark status, the property was sold to a restaurateur, who opened it as Pleasantdale Château and Conference Resort.

In the thirty-five years since Aeolian-Skinner discontinued maintenance service of the organ, the chambers had not been touched and everything remained in immaculate condition. Residence organs never had much success after the original owner died or the house was sold—if not demolished. Not only were residence organs not maintained after the house changed hands, but the console was often removed and destroyed, and the pipe chambers used as storage space, subject to water damage, and derelict. The only change at Pleasantdale was that console had been removed from the living room but stored in the basement.

Curt Mangel, the man responsible for the restoration of the great Wanamaker organ in Philadelphia, bought the Pleasantdale organ in 1995, removed it, and restored the console. He later sold it to Fred Cramer of Pittsburgh, who partially restored the organ. When Cramer decided to retire, he offered to sell it back to Mangel, at which point, negotiations were underway for the OHS to occupy Stoneleigh, and Fred Hass seized the opportunity to have Aeolian-Skinner Opus 878 installed in the family’s former residence.

Stoneleigh

The premise of Stephen King’s novel Pet Sematary is “they never come back the same” and this applies to Opus 878, but in a positive way. In its original placement, it is doubtful if twenty percent of the organ could be heard—and that at the remove of an entire floor level and a room—the tone had to make two right angles and rise 26 feet before exiting a hole in the wall. In the case of the Echo Organ, its sound was imagined traveling through a 30-foot pipe in the wall before being heard. The situation was in no way optimum for the transference of musical sound. Now, at Stoneleigh, Opus 878 is ideally situated in chambers directly under the room in which it is heard.

The installation was not without difficulties, however, and for the 81⁄2-foot-high basement to accommodate the organ chamber it had to be excavated to a depth of 141⁄2 feet. The underlying stone and granite had to be jackhammered and then the walls of the house reinforced. Each organ chamber was elegantly and spaciously laid out so that personnel can move about comfortably and all pipes are within reach for tuning. Every piece of wood was refinished and shellacked, pipes are as shiny as when new. Since its acquisition, Emery Brothers, as well as other subcontractors, did considerable restoration work to several of the organ’s components when the OHS acquired the organ. In the original installation, the metal Pedal 16′ Diapason stood upright in the Swell chamber, but at Stoneleigh the bottom octave had to be mitered, which was done by A. R. Schopp’s Sons and included reinforcing springs to reduce pressure on the joints. Schopp also mitered the wooden basses of the 16′ Violone, which are now mounted horizontally.

A large library of Aeolian Duo-Art rolls was also acquired from Curt Mangel, and the Duo-Art player has been masterfully restored by Chris Kehoe. The Concertola, the remote roll changer, is currently being restored by Kegg Pipe Organ Builders of Hartville, Ohio.

The organ is heard in the 24-foot by 36-foot living room through 4-foot by 6-foot bronze grilles in the floor at either side of the fireplace, devised by Curt Mangel. The console sits in a bay window at the right of the fireplace. Mangel also arranged for the clever installation of the Echo organ under the grand staircase in the hallways adjacent to the living room, which speaks through a grille in the side of the stairs.

Learn more about the installation of Aeolian-Skinner Opus 878 at www.emerybrothers.com.

The author wishes to thank those who assisted in the preparation of this article: Christopher Kehoe, project and site manager for the Stoneleigh organ installation; Curt Mangel, designer of the installation; and Bynum Petty, OHS archivist.

Rollin Smith is the Organ Historical Society’s director of publications and editor of The Tracker. He was awarded the Nicholas Bessaraboff Prize by the American Musical Instrument Society for his book Pipe Organs of the Rich and Famous, published by the OHS Press in 2014. The second edition of his The Aeolian Pipe Organ and Its Music has just been published.

Notes

1. Advertisement for the Aeolian-Pipe-Organ, Architecture, vol. 27, no. 1 (January 15, 1913): 22.

2. Telegram from Frank Taft to A. Perry Martin, July 14, 1932.

3. In late 1923, Aeolian had extended its pedal compass from 30 notes to what was, by then, the industry standard, 32 notes.

4. In the extant jack box, the 16′ Violone and Diapason were wired to come on together whenever the Bassoon was called for in the Aeolian Duo-Art rolls. The Violone came on alone when the Pedal String was called for. Information supplied by Chris Kehoe.

5. Its first appearance of the Flute Español was in Opus 1598, for William K. Vanderbilt, Jr., at Eagle Rock, the contract of which was signed on January 15, 1926.

6. Thanks to OHS archivist Bynum Petty for the analysis and composition of the Swell mixture.

7. Shop notes for Opus 878, July 28, 1932.

8. Ibid. George Douglas Clews (1886–1940) was treasurer of the Atlantic and Pacific Tea Co. and grandson of George Huntington Hartford, founder of the grocery chain. “He could play virtually any musical instrument, but the organ in his home received his particular attention.” “Kin of A. and P. Founder Dies,” Jersey Journal (December 6, 1940): 10.

9. Order from G. Donald Harrison, assistant general manager, to A. Perry Martin, January 25, 1933.

10. Letter of July 30, 1963, from treasurer of Aeolian-Skinner to C. W. Nichols.

11. Carlotta Gulvas Swarden, “West Orange Journal: Town and Company at Odds Over an Estate,” New York Times (November 20, 1994): 2.

 

GREAT (II, enclosed)

8′ First Diapason 73

8′ Second Diapason 73

8′ Flute F 73

8′ Flute P 73

8′ String F 73

8′ String P 73

4′ Octave 73

4′ Flute 73

2′ Piccolo 61

8′ Trumpet 73

8′ Clarinet 73

Chimes

8′ Harp (TC, 61 bars)

4′ Celesta (ext Harp)

Great Unison Release

Great 4

Great 16

Tremolo

SWELL (III, enclosed)

16′ Flute (ext 8′) 12

8′ Diapason 73

8′ Spanish Flute 73

8′ String F 73

8′ String F Vibrato 73

8′ String P 73

8′ String P Vibrato (TC) 61

4′ Flute 73

2′ Flageolet (fr. 4′)

Mixture V 305

8′ Cornopean 73

8′ Oboe 73

8′ Vox Humana 73

Swell Unison Release

Swell 4

Swell 16

Tremolo

CHOIR (I, duplexed from Gt)

8′ Diapason (Second)

8′ Flute F

8′ Flute P

8′ String F

8′ String P

4′ Flute

2′ Piccolo

8′ Trumpet

8′ Clarinet

Chimes

8′ Harp (TC)

4′ Celesta

Choir Unison Release

Choir 4

Choir 16

Tremolo

SOLO (floating, enclosed)

8′ Flute F 73

8′ String F 73

8′ String F Vibrato 73

8′ French Horn 73

8′ Tuba 73

Solo to Choir

Solo to Great

Tremolo

ECHO (III, enclosed)

8′ Diapason 73

8′ String 73

8′ Flute 73

8′ Vox Humana 73

Tremolo

Chimes (20 tubes)

PEDAL

32′ Resultant

16′ Diapason (ext Gt) 12

16′ Flute F 44

16′ Flute P (Sw)

16′ Violone 32

8′ Flute F (fr. 16′)

8′ Flute P (Sw)

Aeolian-Skinner Organ Co., Inc. Opus 878 (1931). 3 manuals, 49 stops, 37 ranks. Originally built for the C. W. Nichols residence in West Orange, New Jersey.

Klais–Fisk organ, Saint Peter’s Church, New York City

In Midtown Manhattan, at the corner of Lexington Avenue and 54th Street, stands a comparatively humble yet eye-catching edifice. Dwarfed by the iconic tower soaring overhead, Saint Peter’s Church appears grounded and approachable. From street level, the sanctuary, clad in Caledonia granite, rises to sixty feet, but the sanctuary floor lies twenty-five feet below, making for an impressive interior height of eighty-five feet. A skylight bisects the building diagonally from southwest to northeast, providing dynamic natural light and giving passersby the opportunity to see into the sanctuary. Completed in 1977, both church and skyscraper were conceived by architects Hugh Stubbins and W. Easley Hamner as a single redevelopment project, Citicorp Center.

Saint Peter’s interior, designed by Lella and Massimo Vignelli, is said to be one of the finest examples of late mid-century modernism. For the Vignellis, it was important that the space be flexible in order to serve the established purposes of Lutheran liturgy and much more. Their vision allows the sanctuary to serve as a house of worship as naturally as a place for concerts, lectures, performances, meetings, and community gatherings. Johannes Klais Orgelbau in Bonn, Germany, was commissioned to build a two-manual, 32-stop mechanical-action organ for the new sanctuary. Klais worked in tandem with the Vignellis on the case and console designs, resulting in an organ uniquely integrated into its architectural setting.

On January 4, 2021, Saint Peter’s suffered a severe trauma in the form of flood damage from the rupture of a municipal water main. Hundreds of thousands of gallons of water surged into the building, causing major damage to the below-ground sanctuary and the basement-level black box theater, community spaces, and administrative offices underneath. A layer of fine muddy silt covered every surface. Mitigation efforts, including rapid dehumidification to prevent a mold outbreak, stressed all wooden furnishings, in particular the pipe organ.

Pastor Jared R. Stahler and Cantor Bálint Karosi received expert guidance with regard to their predicament, and on January 26, twenty-two days after the flood, a crew from the Organ Clearing House arrived to begin dismantling and packing the Klais for shipping. On February 5, the organ parts arrived at the Gloucester workshop of C. B. Fisk, Inc., for evaluation and, eventually, reassembly. The initial plan called for a thorough restoration of the instrument, and a strategy was developed to accomplish that. But after the organ had been standing in the Fisk erecting room for some months, giving all parties opportunity to inspect and fully grasp the organ’s condition, creative minds got to pondering. A gradual evolution in the collective mindset followed­—from that of simple restoration to one of reimagination.

At its installation in 1977, the Klais instrument was an important addition to the emergent mechanical-action organ scene in the United States. A mere sixteen years had passed since the 1961 debut of Charles Fisk’s landmark tracker at Mount Calvary Church in Baltimore. Historically informed musical instrument building and attention to early performance practice were leading edge. Now, nearly a half-century later, the tracker movement has matured; instrument builders are more and more conscious of ways to be inclusive of multiple traditions without sacrificing the central attributes of the historically informed philosophy. The Saint Peter’s flood, though unexpected and deeply disruptive, offered a compelling opportunity for artistic renascence of the Klais.

Keen to authentically perform the sacred music of Johann Sebastian Bach and his contemporaries in a worship setting, Dr. Karosi founded the Bach Collegium at Saint Peter’s in 2017. As a professional vocal and instrumental ensemble, it offers worshippers faithful re-creations of eighteenth-century Lutheran church music. Bach spent his professional career in the central German region of Thuringia, which, together with neighboring Saxony, were home to some exceptional organbuilding in the eighteenth century. Dr. Karosi, who knows these organs well, proposed adding some authentic Thuringian voices to the Klais, and he put forth a detailed plan. To accomplish his objectives, selected stops would need to be repurposed, others relocated, and a few removed. At the Fisk workshop, studies were made to determine what would be feasible in terms of windchest modifications, and pipe scaling practices of the eighteenth-century central German builders were examined in detail.

Acoustician Dana Kirkegaard advised on acoustical matters, including updates to the sanctuary’s amplification and recording systems. Preservation architect Angela Wolf Scott joined the team to guide all aspects of the sanctuary restoration, ensuring that the Vignellis’ original designs would be respected in every detail, including all visual aspects of the organ console, bench, and case. Given the integrated design of every element of the sanctuary, a new audio-visual control board as well as speaker cabinets made to look like the originals but containing state-of-the-art interior components and electronics were constructed at the Fisk shop of wood and finish to match the organ.

By June 2022, a revamped organ stoplist had been generated. Three entirely new 8′ registers—Principal, Grossgedackt, and Quintadehn—all in eighteenth-century Thuringian style, were added to the Great division. The Klais façade 8′ Principal was retained and renamed 8′ Prestant. The original Great 8′ Rohrgedackt was moved to the Pedal and rechristened 8′ Gedackt. A new 8′ Rohrflöte, scaled and voiced in nineteenth-century style, replaced the original 8′ Gedackt in the Swell. The two 4′ flutes traded places, with the Rohrflöte relocating to the Great and the wooden Traversflöte moving to the Swell. The latter, in order to fit on the Swell chest, received new metal pipes from CC–F0. Other space-management revisions included saying farewell to the Great 11⁄3′ Larigot and the Swell 2′ Principal. In the Pedal, the wooden 16′ Subbass received a new CC pipe, increasing its scale by one note, and higher cut-ups.

Due to the fact that the Klais 8′ and 4′ principals had been previously revoiced (work that included raising the wind pressure in the Great from 2.75 inches to 3.35 inches, and raising cut-ups), overarching decisions with regard to pitch and wind pressures were necessary. Having had the opportunity to hear the Klais in situ before the flood, our remembered impressions, together with Dr. Karosi’s input, guided our decision making. With regard to wind pressures, the Great was left as we found it, the Swell was increased from 2.55 inches to 3 inches, and the upper Pedal chest pressure was raised from 2.95 inches to 3.35 inches to match that of the lower Pedal. The temperament was changed from equal to Kellner. The pitch of the organ as we received it was curiously high, with pipes on the voicing jack registering between A 446–447. In order to lower it to something within reason, we were obliged to fit slide tuners to all cone-tuned flue pipes. Reed remedies were more complicated.

In contrast to the tonal breadth of the renamed 8′ Prestant, the new Thuringian Principal, of high tin content and with delicate nicking, offers an array of concentrated overtones, suitably prompt speech, and a pleasing textural quality. The Grossgedackt, constructed of hammered lead, exhibits purity, roundness, transparency, and calm. The Quintadehn, a fine example of the colorful Thuringian models, is replete with subtle harmonics, articulate speech, and an attractive buoyancy. Together, these recreated antique voices show an ability to blend with ease in various combinations. What’s more, while offering the listener a fascinating window into the organ soundscape familiar to J. S. Bach, these stops integrate well within the instrument’s overall tonal design. Without question, they enhance the organ’s potential for musical expression.

With the reeds, there were three intertwining factors to be addressed: wind pressure, pitch, and tongue curvature. The Great 8′ Trompete was given new heavier tongues throughout; from CC–B0 resonator slots were soldered shut; and from c1 up resonators were lengthened. The Swell 16′ Dulcian (small scale wood) required a new longer C0 resonator and the moving up of resonators by one note from that point. The Pedal 8′ Holztrompete (conical wood) needed a new longer CC resonator and the bumping up of the remainder by one note. The Swell 8′ Cromorne was the beneficiary of extra-long slide tuners and tongue weighting. The Pedal 4′ Schalmey, a stop with a troubled history, was replaced with a mid-1970s era Fisk Cremona at 8′ pitch. All tongue curvatures were revised to accommodate the higher wind pressures; the utterly transformative nature of this tongue work cannot be overstated. The once excessively bright Great Trompete became rounder and more foundational thanks to its heavier tongues and proper curvature. The Swell Dulcian filled out and became milder, and, though still endowed with a measure of characteristic quirkiness, is now an effective underpinning for a 16′ chorus registration. The Cromorne, once bold and sassy, now speaks as a controlled yet charming clarinet, offering versatility as both a solo and chorus register. The Pedal Posaune and Holztrompete, the only reeds on their original pressure, with tongue refinements took on more of an old-style Germanic character. The “new” Pedal Cremona is an effective 8′ solo stop, very useful for cantus firmi in the feet.

Substantial upgrades were made to the organ’s key action. The ravages of time and of the flooding/drying cycle had taken their toll. Also, there was a desire to bring the key action up to modern Fisk standards of performance, reliability, and serviceability. The original Klais wooden trackers, which had become brittle and warped, were replaced with impervious carbon fiber trackers. The manual rollerboards were rebuilt using current standard Fisk materials, including replacement of the worn felt-bushed bearings with precise, self-lubricating UHMW (Ultra-High Molecular Weight) polyethylene bearings. The coupler mechanisms were removed from inside the console, where they were nearly impossible to service and maintain. A newly designed CNC-machined aluminum coupler stack was built and placed inside the base of the organ. In this new location, the couplers are more direct, stable, and efficient, plus they are much easier to adjust and maintain. The keyboards were replaced—with motion ratios engineered to complement the new coupler mechanism—and a new Fisk pedalboard was built.

The Saint Peter’s organ stands as a shining example of how a deeply considered, disciplined, and sympathetic approach to restoration can yield a musical instrument of the highest artistic integrity. In this particular case, an opportunity resulting from truly unfortunate circumstances gave rise to a transformational effort on the part of the organbuilders at C. B. Fisk. We are grateful to Pastor Stahler and Dr. Karosi for approaching us to do this work. And finally, to the parishioners of Saint Peter’s and to the greater New York City audiences, we wish you “good listening.”

­—David Pike,

Executive Vice President, C. B. Fisk

A note of gratitude from Saint Peter’s Church

With the entire Saint Peter’s community, we are immensely thankful for all who responded in the wake of the January 4, 2021, flood, particularly C. B. Fisk, Inc. Extraordinary skill, dedication, and sensitivity helped us turn an unexpected tragedy into an opportunity most congregations spend years planning.

David Pike’s thoughtful collaboration with Bálint Karosi on the instrument’s tonal reimagination brought a level of creativity—two 8′ principals on a medium-sized instrument!—few builders would even consider. Nami Hamada’s voicing of new and old flue pipes is extraordinary. Michael Kraft and Carl Klein magically transformed Klais’s neo-Baroque reeds. The entire team worked tirelessly: from installing new piston arrangements and Bluetooth page-turning capability, to replacing electronic couplers with mechanical couplers, to addressing fissures on windchests, to constructing a new windline for the Great—all while preserving the architectural details of the instrument so deeply integral to Saint Peter’s iconic sanctuary.

We are also thankful to the performers, participants, sponsors, and donors committed to our ongoing inauguration. The events of November 4–5, 2023, included Guy Bovet’s Peep the Piper, an organ half-marathon featuring four celebrated young organists (Amelie Held, Mi Zhou, Daniel Jacky, and Jonghee Yoon), a masterful solo recital by Nathan Laube, Nicole Keller’s inspired playing of three organ concerti—including a new organ concerto by Bálint Karosi, In Memoriam György Ligeti—with Saint Peter’s Chamber Orchestra, and a presentation of Maurice Duruflé’s Requiem featuring Colin Fowler and Saint Peter’s Choir and Chamber Ensemble. February 13, 2024, features Felix Hell in what is very much a homecoming performance, and on June 4, 2024, Cantor Karosi plays a solo recital. These programs aim to showcase the tonal changes carried out by C. B. Fisk, both individually and as a whole, as well as the instrument’s versatility in a variety of contexts and pairings, including as one of the only remaining places in New York City where organ and orchestra can perform in a concert hall setting.

To learn more about the instrument and celebratory events, visit 
future.saintpeters.org/organ.

—Pastor Jared R. Stahler and

Cantor Bálint Karosi

 

Builder’s website: cbfisk.com

Church website: saintpeters.org

Cover photo: Marco Anelli

 

GREAT (manual I)

16′ Pommer 58 pipes

8′ Prestant 58 pipes

8′ Principal*** 58 pipes

8′ Grossgedackt*** 58 pipes

8′ Quintadehn*** 58 pipes

4′ Octave 58 pipes

4 Rohrflöte† 58 pipes

2-2⁄3′ Quinte 58 pipes

2′ Superoctave 58 pipes

1-3⁄5′ Terz 58 pipes

1-1⁄3′ Mixtur V 290 pipes

8′ Trompete** 58 pipes

Tremulant

SWELL (manual II)

8′ Gamba 58 pipes

8′ Schwebung (G# on) 50 pipes

8′ Rohrflöte* 58 pipes

4′ Principal 58 pipes

4′ Traversflöte*‡ 58 pipes

2′ Waldflöte 58 pipes

2-2⁄3′ Cornet II‡ 116 pipes

1′ Scharff IV 232 pipes

16′ Dulcian 58 pipes

8′ Cromorne 58 pipes

Tremulant

PEDAL

16′ Principal 32 pipes

16′ Subbass 32 pipes

8′ Octave 32 pipes

8′ Gedackt 32 pipes

4′ Superoctave 32 pipes

2-2⁄3′ Hintersatz IV 128 pipes

16′ Posaune 32 pipes

8′ Holztrompete** 32 pipes

8′ Cremona§ 32 pipes

MECHANICALS & ACCESSORIES

300 levels Solid State Organ Systems***

Mechanical balanced Swell Pedal

 

by thumb and toe

Sw/Gt, Gt/Ped, Sw/Ped

Generals 1–12

Divisionals 1–6

Sequencer Next***

Sequencer Prev***

Page turning reversible pistons with Bluetooth capability ***

 

by toe

Cymbelstern: 8 tuned brass bells in memory of Katherine and Harry Busch

Birdsong: reservoir and 7 pipes

 

2023

Console and keyboards

Carbon-fiber action

Kellner Temperament A=440

Wind (in mm) raised to 85/Gt, 75/Sw, 85/Ped

 

*** new

** new tongues

* bottom new

† previously on Swell

‡ previously on Great

§ from Fisk Opus 68

Taylor & Boody Organbuilders, Staunton, Virginia, Opus 83; Ancilla Domini Chapel, Plymouth, Indiana

 

From the director of liturgy and music and the organ project advisor

On August 15, 1851, Katharina Kasper and four companions pronounced their vows as a new religious community, the Poor Handmaids of Jesus Christ (Ancillae Domini), and began their ministry to the poor, the sick, and those most in need. Under the shadow of a linden tree beside Heilborn Chapel in Dernbach, Germany, the congregation grew, and was called to minister all around the world. Today, Saint Katharina’s community serves in nine countries, including the United States, where the first motherhouse was established in 1868. The present motherhouse of the United States Province was dedicated in 1923 and is a thriving ministry center focused on serving the most vulnerable in society, a place of openness and welcome where people of all faiths and spiritual expressions can find a home.

At the center of life in the motherhouse is Ancilla Domini Chapel, a majestic building constructed to last for the ages and inspire countless searching souls. The chapel’s gallery first held the final organ by Louis Van Dinter, a Dutch-born organ builder who settled in Mishawaka, Indiana. The instrument was typical of those built for Catholic churches in the 1920s. It was relatively small, almost entirely composed of 8′ and 4′ stops voiced very smoothly, and designed to accompany the choir of sisters and play music during the Mass. It was never intended to lead the congregational singing that became common after the reforms of the Second Vatican Council. Like many such instruments, the Van Dinter was altered to suit the changing needs of the liturgy, but these renovations sapped the instrument of its original character and were made using low-quality materials. When the instrument began rapidly failing in the 2010s the need for a change became clear.

Respecting its history in the chapel, and recognizing its still-extant lovely core, we first considered renovating and expanding the Van Dinter organ. However, after considering several proposals, we ruled out this option. The necessary work was simply too extensive and making such an investment to yield a relatively unsatisfying result would not have been prudent. We also considered re-homing an existing instrument, but none were available that suited the needs of the project. A new pipe organ was the most economical and musically promising option.

Any new organ project requires assessing priorities. No one organ can play all literature compellingly or serve all needs equally. In Ancilla Chapel, the organ’s primary function is to accompany congregational singing. Particularly given the German heritage of the Poor Handmaids, our primary inspiration came from the great instruments of northern Europe, which were designed and built to accompany robust congregational singing. We desired a totally mechanical instrument of the highest quality, the kind of instrument that will stand the test of time and last as long as the breathtaking building housing it. This is in line with the Poor Handmaids’ commitment to integral ecology, sustainability, and true economy (which considers the timespan of generations, not simply the present moment). The new instrument also had to meet practical considerations: occupy a minimal footprint in the gallery, include modern playing aids (combination action, etc.), and fit within budgetary constraints. Given limitations of space and budget, a complete two-manual and pedal instrument was the best option to fulfill this vision. Finally, we desired a true musical instrument with its own integrity and identity, the kind of instrument that speaks to the soul and is more than an acoustical synthesizer of amalgamated tone colors.

After considering four proposals, in March 2019, the Provincial Council of the Poor Handmaids selected Taylor & Boody Organbuilders to build the new instrument. It was a difficult decision, since all the proposals were excellent and could have yielded wonderful instruments. Taylor & Boody’s proposal stood out for its attention to detail and spiritual connection to the Poor Handmaids. From the hand-drawn case design incorporating elements from the chapel architecture to the stoplist and specification, the proposal showed great care and commitment to the vision of the project.

Now that Taylor & Boody Opus 83 is installed and playing, we are proud to report that the vision has been fulfilled beyond expectations. When Saint Katharina sat praying under the linden tree by Heilborn chapel 150 years ago, could she have imagined that the linden wood from a tree by the motherhouse of her sisters an ocean away would adorn the case of a magnificent pipe organ? Perhaps she could, because, guided by the Holy Spirit, Saint Katharina’s faith and charism were rooted in something larger than herself: the God who surpasses all understanding, from whom untold graces can flow through those open to following the call to serve.

New pipe organs can never be about one person, or even one institution. These grand instruments are of and for the whole community, for all who encounter them. The Poor Handmaids of Jesus Christ are proud to offer Taylor & Boody Opus 83 for the glory of God and as an oblation to present and future generations. All are welcome to visit Ancilla Domini Chapel and play, hear, and pray with this splendid instrument.

­—Andrew Jennings

Director of Liturgy and Music

United States Province, Poor Handmaids of Jesus Christ

—Dr. Benjamin A. Stone

Organ Project Advisor

 

From the organbuilders

George Taylor and Robbie Lawson first visited the Ancilla Domini chapel in February of 2019 while delivering our Opus 75, a continuo organ, to the University of Notre Dame. Their reaction was one of great surprise, to find such an imposing structure in so remote a location. They were struck by the quality of the building, the level of detail in the neo-Gothic architecture, and most of all, the room’s enveloping and generous acoustic. George recalls of their visit: “I asked Ben [Stone, the organ project advisor] to play a hymn on the 8′ Diapason. The turgid sound brought to mind E. Power Biggs’s put down (in his inimitable British accent) of a similar stop as ‘wooly.’ Then I went downstairs and asked Ben to repeat the verse. Thanks to the building those tubby old pipes now sounded lovely. Clearly, here we would be blessed with arguably the best room we had ever worked in.”

The towering case of the organ is modeled after 17th- and 18th-century Dutch instruments. It is constructed of white oak, much of which came from our sawmill, and stands at an imposing 34 feet tall to the top of the center spire. An aging and precariously leaning linden (basswood) tree that had to be removed from the Ancilla Domini campus was sent to our sawmill, and supplied the lumber for the carvings, providing a very special connection between the organ and its home. All of the case decoration is reflective of the sanctuary, and especially its beautiful and ornate high altar.

The façade contains pipes from the Hauptwerk 16′ Principal, down to low F-sharp, as well as the Oberwerk 8′ Principal. Behind it, at impost level, sit the two large windchests of the Hauptwerk division. Located above that, in the center, are the Oberwerk windchests. The Pedal is housed in a separate, two-tiered open case that stands behind the main case. The vaulted ceiling above the organ is the perfect reflector not only for the encased manual divisions, but likewise allows for the Pedal to stand behind the case without any loss of tonal presence.

Though the focus of many of our recent instruments has been toward the accompaniment of choirs and congregations in an Anglo-American style, with complete Swell divisions behind foundational Great choruses, we were asked for this project to return to a more pure form of the idiom in which we have worked for many decades, that of the high North German Baroque organ. This perfectly suits their primary requirement of robust congregational accompaniment in a large, reverberant room.

Far from being a collection of screeching mixtures, the opulent specification provides a variety of 16- and 8-foot stops in each division, as well as complete choruses and a plethora of flutes and mutations. The Oberwerk’s high-tin 8′ Principal in façade is modeled after 18th-century examples, and its instrumental speech is the perfect foil to the Hauptwerk’s hammered lead 8′ Octave, whose dark, vocale sounds recall an earlier era. The Hauptwerk is lent gravitas by its full-compass 16′ Principal. The high bass response of the room allows the largest pipes to speak naturally and gently, completely unforced. The 8′ Holzflöte of the Oberwerk is a tapered wooden stop that sings with an ethereal charm from its position high atop the organ. The 8′ Salicional of the Hauptwerk has more refined speech characteristics than some of its Baroque cousins, but there is still plenty of rosin on the bow.

Perhaps more so than the brilliant choruses, it is the variety of reeds that distinguish the North German Baroque organ, and Opus 83 is no exception. The German-faced shallots help relate the sound of the dark and covered Trompets of the Hauptwerk to the brash and noisy 8′ Trompet that cries from the Oberwerk. The room demands a 32-foot pedal reed, and our Pedal Fagott can be heard under full organ, or used under just 8-foot stops. The woody and clarinet-like Dulcian, the strident Vox Humana, and the piquant Cornett provide an array of accompanimental and solo possibilities.

The key and stop action of the organ are completely mechanical, though the utility of the organ has been augmented by a combination action and sequencer by Solid State Organ Systems. Carbon fiber trackers are used throughout the instrument. The wind for the organ is provided by three large wedge bellows, located in a room behind the back wall of the gallery. The entire organ plays on 80mm (31⁄8 inches) wind pressure. Though normally blower-winded, the organ can also be foot-pumped. The tremulant affects the entire organ, and wind stabilizers can be engaged to calm the lively wind.

The first truck of organ parts arrived the week before Thanksgiving of 2022, and the last tuning cone was packed up three months later near the end of February. Tonal finishing was completed by Aaron Reichert and the author, assisted by Sean Dye. I would be remiss if I did not mention the wonderful hospitality extended to us during installation and voicing. The organ was dedicated in a service of blessing on March 25, 2023, followed by a recital played by organ project advisor Dr. Benjamin A. Stone. The sisters have truly fostered a friendly and welcoming community, and it was a true joy to work with them, Ben Stone, and Andrew Jennings in bringing this instrument to life!

—Joel A. VanderZee

Taylor & Boody Organbuilders

 

HAUPTWERK (manual I)

16′ Principal  

16′ Quintadena  

8′ Octave  

8′ Rohrflöte  

8′ Salicional  

4′ Octave  

4′ Spitzflöte 

2-2⁄3′ Quinte

2′ Superoctave

Mixture IV–VI

Cornet IV (mounted, gº–d′′′)

16′ Trompet  

8′ Trompet  

OBERWERK (manual II)

8′ Principal  

8′ Gedackt  

8′ Holzflöte  

4′ Octave  

4′ Rohrflöte  

2-2⁄3′ Nasat

2′ Octave

2′ Waldflöte

Sesquialtera II

Scharff  IV–VI

16′ Dulcian

8′ Trompet

8′ Vox Humana

PEDAL

16′ Principal (HW)

16′ Subbass

8′ Octave

4′ Octave

Mixture V

32′ Fagott

16′ Posaune

16′ Trompet (HW)

8′ Trompet

2′ Cornett

 

Couplers:  OW to HW, HW to PD, OW to PD

Tremulant, Zimbelstern, Wind Stabilizer

 

Metal pipes of hammered lead-tin alloys

Natural keys of polished cow bone

Sharps and stop knobs of ebony

Mechanical key action

Mechanical stop action with combination capture system and piston sequencer

Manual compass:  C–a′′′, 58 notes; Pedal compass: C–f′, 30 notes

Case of solid white oak

Three wedge bellows with foot pumping levers and blower

Temperament: T&B’s “Ancilla”

Pitch: A=440hz at 70ºF

36 stops, 52 ranks, 2,486 pipes

 

T&B’s “Ancilla” Temperament offsets from Equal in cents:

C +5.87 C-G -1/6 PC

Cs -1.30 G-D -1/6 PC

D +1.96 D-A -1/6 PC

Ds +2.61 A-E -1/9 PC

E -0.65 E-B -1/6 PC

F +6.52 B-Fs -1/9 PC

Fs -3.26 Fs-Cs 0

G +3.91 Cs-Gs 0

Gs +0.65 Gs-Ds 0

A 0.00 Ds-As 0

As +4.56 As-F 0

B -2.61 F-C -1/9 PC

 

www.taylorandboody.com

 

thecenteratdonaldson.org