Flood waters reach Methuen Memorial Music Hall

Put your best foot forward.

I live in a village at the head of the Damariscotta River in Maine. It’s a tidal river—so, to the surprise of many tourists not familiar with ocean tides, the river’s current changes direction four times each day. It is by definition an estuary—a long arm of the sea that stretches inland, very much like Norway’s fjords. The tide rises and falls between nine and twelve feet each day, depending on the phase of the moon and on what meteorological events at sea might be pushing extra water our way. The timing of the tides is related not to solar days—the regular 24-hour periods by which we organize our lives—but by lunar cycles. A lunar day is a little shorter than a solar day so the timing of the tides advances about 40 minutes each day. This morning, high tide was at 12:39 am, this afternoon it will be at 1:24 pm. Tomorrow morning, 1:27 am, tomorrow afternoon high tide will be at 2:12 pm. There’s a tide clock on our living room wall that has a 24-hour face much like any clock, but it has only one hand. High tide is at the top of the face, low tide at the bottom. The trick is that it counts lunar seconds so it gains the right amount of time against the “other” clock each day. In the British Navy during the 19th century, the payroll of officers was based on the 13-month lunar year.
The river is 12 miles long and as much as 150 feet deep in places. Down near where the river meets the ocean there is a narrow passage (The Fort Island Narrows) through which pass 3400 cubic yards of water each second at full tide race. In his charming book about life on the Damariscotta, a local writer converted that number to 283 dump-truck-loads-per-second!1
Where we live, it’s about 25 feet deep in the central channel at low tide, and the banks drain to mud flats. I can see clam diggers from my desk most days at low tide. Because the mud is rich in clay, there was a booming industry of brick-making along the river throughout the 19th century. Several places along the shore are littered with bricks that cracked or twisted in the kilns and were discarded on the beach. We pass by Brick Kiln Road and Brickyard Cove on the way to our house. The other big industry in town was ship-building. Four- and five-masted schooners were built here and sailed down the river to the ocean.
Main Street comprises a three- or four-hundred yard stretch of businesses and shops, most of which are housed in 19th-century brick buildings. It’s quite a bit more crowded in the summer than in the winter, but the town has been able to maintain its historic flavor. (Last winter, in order to prevent Wal-Mart from opening a store here, the Town Meeting voted a size cap for commercial buildings that allows a typical supermarket, but nothing larger.) You can buy T-shirts with a seagull or a fish and the name of the town, but there’s no saltwater taffy shop and no miniature golf course.
Recently a local gallery hosted an art festival that concluded with a solo cello recital—three of Bach’s unaccompanied suites played by a friend of ours. My wife and I were pleased with the performance—a well-conceived and presented reading of that magnificent music. But there was a problem with communication. There was no printed program. The performer told us that he would play three suites and each suite has six movements, so we could count on our fingers and know when to applaud, but lacking the names of the movements the astute listener had no chance to deduce the difference between a Courante, a Sarabande, and an Allemande (are they dried fruits?). He gave brief spoken notes in which he compared the three suites he was playing with the other three—meaningless to an audience of laypeople. And he referred to his own scholarship in oblique terms—also meaningless. After the recital, my wife and I were chatting with him (they served champagne and strawberries dipped in chocolate) about his approach to the music. He talked about different styles of Allemandes, one of which involves a given number of couples with an extra single man, something like a game of Musical Chairs. Apparently, some of the suites were written following the death of Bach’s first wife. How fascinating that the Allemande included a figurative odd-man-out. I bet that everyone in the audience would have loved to hear that.
What do we say about what we play? How do we share the mystery, the excitement, the playfulness, the pathos of our music? How do we communicate our relationship with our instrument and its music to the listeners on whom we depend so much? Here are some rhetorical questions that come from my own experience as a concert presenter and a better-than-average informed listener of organ music. I invite you readers (as important to me as the audience at a recital) to reflect:

• How often have we given knowing chuckles or annoyed glances when a well-meaning, even enthusiastic concertgoer applauds between the Prelude and the Fugue?
• How often have we addressed an audience using organ-only jargon? “ . . . and then I will add the Fourniture and Cymbal to emphasize . . . ”
• How often have we addressed audiences with implied assumptions? “ . . . and of course you know that Herr Scheidemann . . . ”
• How often have we played chorale settings with German titles as Sunday-morning preludes without offering translation or explanation to the congregation? “Doesn’t everyone at the First Baptist Church know that you have to play Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland on the First Sunday of Advent?” Balbastre’s settings of traditional French carols are as much a part of Christmas to me as eggnog and ribbon candy, but it’s not fair to assume that everyone in pews has the same reaction.
• How many recitals have we programmed according to historic progression and accuracy without considering the audiences’ appreciation and enlightenment?

Any of these scenarios (except perhaps the first) are appropriate for a university graduate recital or a recital at an AGO convention. But consider the old saw, “preaching to the choir.” In my practical experience, the choir does not necessarily agree with the preaching. If we assume too much in front of any audience, that audience’s first perception will be that the performer is aloof, even arrogant. I am fortunate to know many brilliant organists. Some are flamboyant, some are quiet and reserved, but every one of them has a powerful ego that makes it possible for them to perform. Playing any musical instrument well is a marvelous skill, and many of your audience members will be impressed, dazzled, and mystified by what you do. But they will appreciate the experience of hearing you play so much more if you let them in on the joke or relate the music and the historic figures around it to real life. Any concertgoer knows that Bach was a great composer. But how many know that he imbedded coded names (his own and those of family members) in his music? (Thanks to the vast success of The Da Vinci Code, audiences are really interested in codes these days.) How many know that he was a fiery guy who stood up to the City Council in Leipzig (his employers) and got in trouble?
Recently James Levine added the musical directorship of the Boston Symphony Orchestra to his portfolio of responsibilities. (If you were leading the Metropolitan Opera wouldn’t you be looking for something else to do in your spare time?) He entered the scene in Boston without a trace of a suggestion that he was fitting his new job into the interstices of his life. It didn’t take long for the orchestra’s players to renegotiate their contract to allow for higher pay for the concerts Levine conducts because the rehearsal schedule and the music they are playing are so much more demanding. The orchestra’s Board of Trustees created a new endowment to pay for that. Mr. Levine is well-known for his love of contemporary music, and he has been challenging the audience with many complicated pieces that are, shall we say, less easy to hear and understand than the more traditional fare of symphonies by Brahms, Mozart, and Beethoven. Last season featured a series of concerts that contrasted and compared the music of Beethoven and Schoenberg. Schoenberg can be tough going for the average concertgoer. (In fact friends of ours gave us the chance to take over their choice subscription seats because they’d had enough of the modern music.) But presumably under Levine’s influence, the BSO created an elaborate and extensive museum-quality display of the life and work of Arnold Schoenberg. It was located in one of the large second-floor public rooms (no doubt at the sacrifice of considerable bar revenue) where the audience could view it before and after concerts and during intermission. It included biographical information and photos of Schoenberg with wives, family, and friends, even playing tennis, as well as reproductions of autograph scores and Schoenberg’s paintings. The display was effective at introducing us to Schoenberg as a man, informing us so as to allow us to appreciate the music from a wide platform of understanding. Program notes described musical motives and gave keys as to how the audience could follow the “story” and know specifically what the composer had in mind. Wonderful.
I know well from my travels that many people consider the pipe organ to be a hold-over from an earlier time. It is often and widely perceived as archaic, antediluvian, or eccentric. If we are not careful, if we fail to be good stewards and ambassadors of our instrument, that perception could become a self-fulfilling prophecy. We as educated and experienced lovers and practitioners of the organ must present the organ as a vital and integrated part of modern life. Offering concerts in the interest of the preservation of antiquity is both well and good (old music and old organs). But as we encourage congregations and concert halls to purchase pipe organs whose prices startle and amaze, we must present the organ and its music so as to raise the appreciation, awareness, and understanding of our audiences, and encourage their proselytizing. We must conscript the audience, not alienate it. The audience that goes home from a concert pleased and proud of its newly acquired knowledge will be more likely to come back than the audience that leaves a hall bewildered and excluded by the erudition of the performer.
Another old saw: “A rising tide floats all boats.” Bring your audience up to your level and everyone will be happy.
As I started with a river theme, so I’ll close with one. The Methuen Memorial Music Hall in Methuen, Massachusetts is a facility unique to American life, located on the shore of the Spicket River, a tributary of the Merrimack, which is a grand river meandering through New Hampshire and Massachusetts to the Atlantic Ocean at Newburyport, Massachusetts. Methuen resident and amateur organist and enthusiast Edward Francis Searles (1841–1920) started life in the fabric and interior design business and later had the immense good fortune of marrying Mary Frances Sherwood Hopkins, the widow of railroad magnate Mark Hopkins. The couple shared a deep interest in architecture and design until her death in 1891, when Mr. Searles inherited an immense fortune. In 1899 he acted on his love of the pipe organ, his love of architecture, and his wife’s fortune by commissioning Henry Vaughan (brilliant architect, famous for the design of many fabulous church buildings, notably the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C.) to design a hall for the monumental organ built by E. F. Walcker of Ludwigsburg, Germany, built for and subsequently rejected by the Boston Music Hall. Mr. Searles bought the instrument from storage at auction for $1500, established a resident organbuilding firm, installed the organ in the hall, and began its long-term renovation.
Organbuilder Ernest Skinner owned the building and the organ between 1931 and 1942, operated his company in the adjoining workshop, and presented concerts to the public including major choral works and recitals by the organ virtuosi of the day such as Marcel Dupré, Lynnwood Farnam, and E. Power Biggs. In 1946, the building and organ were acquired by a new charitable corporation created to operate the hall as a cultural center. Following several earlier periods of rebuilding and alteration, the organ was substantially rebuilt by Aeolian-Skinner in 1947 (Opus 1103), leaving little of the original character intact.2
There is no other experience in America like entering this building. The ornate Rococo interior is dominated by what must be one of the most massive, famous, and photogenic organ cases in the world. The trustees of the Methuen Memorial Music Hall (MMMH) present an annual series of Wednesday night organ recitals. You can learn more about the hall, the organ, the organization, and the recital series at their website: .
 

The show must go on.

During the week of May 21, 2006, New England experienced torrential and seemingly continuous rainstorms, and many areas suffered severe flooding—so severe that friends from Europe called to check in after seeing TV news reports about Methuen. By Monday, May 22, the water had risen above the top of the organ blower of the Methuen organ. (I’m told that the high-water mark is well up on the rubber-cloth sleeve above the blower!) The season’s opening concert (May 24) was cancelled and those scheduled for May 31 and June 7 were much in doubt, but with heroic efforts from trustees and the people of the Andover Organ Company (especially Robert Reich), the blower was dismantled and dried out, rectifiers repaired, and the organ was ready to play on Monday, May 29. Margaret Angelini (Dean of the Boston Chapter of the American Guild of Organists) was the scheduled recitalist for the 31st. She was gamely waiting in the wings not knowing if the organ would be ready, and of course losing most of her scheduled practice time! But the show must go on. A large and enthusiastic audience was on hand to hear a wonderful recital.
Though the organ is up and running and the recital series is continuing, there is a great deal of restorative work still to do. The trustees of the MMMH published this notice on their website:

We are back in operation!!!
The trustees and program committee of the Methuen Memorial Music Hall are pleased to inform you that we are resuming the 2006 summer recital series with the concert on May 31.
Please understand that the magnitude of the flood caused severe damage to the basement of the Hall, the organ blower, electrical systems and interior walls. We continue our recovery efforts. If you would like to make a donation in any amount to help us, it would be greatly appreciated. Contributions may be sent to:

Flood Recovery Fund
Methuen Memorial Music Hall, Inc. c/o Elaine M. Morissette
10 Overlook Drive
Methuen, Massachusetts 01844-2372

In tribute to this marvelous landmark of American culture, the people who care for it, and at the risk of offending the men and women of the United States Navy as I exercise my First Amendment right of free speech, I offer these words to be sung to Melita (the Navy Hymn):

Aeoli’n-Skinner, foreign made, your blower gurgles ’neath the waves.
We bid the mighty Merrimack, recede, dry out, and ne’er come back.
Oh hear us as we try to see the way to keep you mildew free.

Aeoli’n-Skinner, wide admired, your sounds for years have us inspired.
We feared you might not sing again—the forecast only told of rain.
Now Diapasons’ moistened breath show how you have forsaken death.

Aeoli’n-Skinner, grand encased, the flood has threatened, now effaced.
The waves now flow between the banks, our colleagues offer hymns of thanks.
The basement will be freed of mud, the Spicket’s spigot tames the flood.

David C. Kelzenberg studied music performance and music theory at Quincy University and the University of Iowa. He has an interest in and has performed on all keyboard instruments, including organ, harpsichord, clavichord, and piano, and has made a special study of the history of early keyboard performance practice in the 20th and 21st centuries. He has taught music theory, French horn, trumpet, organ, and piano. His organ teachers have included Richard Haas, Rudolf Zuiderveld, and Gerhard Krapf. He is co-owner of the international Internet mailing list PIPORG-L (devoted to the organ), and founder and co-owner of HPSCHD-L (devoted to stringed early keyboard instruments such as the harpsichord and clavichord). He serves on the board of directors of the Midwestern Historical Keyboard Society, the Cedar Rapids Area Theatre Organ Society, and the Iowa City Early Keyboard Society.

Mother Nature showed her dark side during the month of June, with repeated thunderstorms dumping rain and more rain on the Midwest. Rivers, lakes, and reservoirs rose, eventually spilling over dams, levees, and banks, flooding some areas in unprecedented amounts.
Eastern Iowa was particularly hard hit, as cities along major rivers and tributaries were inundated by floodwaters. The massive Coralville Dam, built by the Army Corps of Engineers in the 1950s, was designed to control the Iowa River upstream of the towns of Iowa City and Coralville, while creating a huge water reservoir—a man-made lake designed for recreation, boating, swimming, and fishing. For only the second time in its history, the reservoir’s capacity was exceeded, with water flowing freely over the emergency spillway of the massive dam and overrunning everything in its downstream path.
Both Iowa City and Coralville were impacted by the swiftly rising water. In Iowa City, the University of Iowa had built numerous buildings along the banks of the river, under the mistaken assumption that the Coralville Dam, some 10 miles upstream, would prevent future flooding of the Iowa River. Among the buildings constructed adjacent to the river is the Voxman Music Building, home to the university’s School of Music. Named for the renowned educator and long-time School of Music director Himie Voxman, the Voxman Music Building has housed the university’s School of Music since its construction in 1970. Along with other nearby buildings such as Hancher Auditorium, Clapp Recital Hall, the Theatre Building, the University of Iowa Museum of Art, and two art buildings, Voxman was built immediately adjacent to the scenic and usually tranquil Iowa River, a mistake that would come to haunt the university in 2008.
When it was apparent that a flood was coming, Iowa City and Coralville residents turned out in a massive sand-bagging effort. Walls of sandbags were erected along the riverbank and around low-lying buildings. But the rain kept coming, and so did the floodwaters. By the time the water stopped rising, every important university building along the river—the entire Fine Arts Complex, the Main Library, the Iowa Memorial Union, several other academic buildings, the university’s largest dormitory, and its power generating plant, not to mention numerous homes and businesses in both communities, were flooded.
Some of the victims of this devastating flood were organs. In the Voxman Music Building, two large studio organs and several practice instruments were flooded with mucky river water to a depth of about 18 inches for over a week. The most serious loss was to the university’s 1987 North German-style organ by Taylor & Boody, Op. 13, which has been widely acclaimed as a masterwork. In the other teaching studio, a large two-manual tracker instrument by Schlicker was also severely damaged. In addition, three practice instruments, by Casavant, Brombaugh, and Holtkamp, suffered a similar fate. Fortunately, the water never reached the level of the pipes, but many parts such as blowers, winding systems, pedalboards, and actions were essentially destroyed.
According to Delbert Disselhorst, longtime chair of UI’s organ department, the effect of the flooding has been devastating to the department. “All of these organs will be removed from the building and returned to organ builders for rebuilding. We estimate that the building itself will not reopen until the fall of 2009. However, it may be another year or more before the organs are back in place and ready to resume their teaching and recital duties.” Gregory Hand, new professor of organ at Iowa, added a note of optimism. “The organs, despite everyone’s best efforts, sat in 18 inches of dirty water for some nine days. However, everyone at the university has been extremely helpful towards the organ department, and there has never been any question whether the organs would be fixed.”
Carroll Hanson, the curator of organs for the university, explained further. “The damaged organs included the university’s original teaching instrument, a Holtkamp ‘Martini’, which is believed to be the last instrument built by Walter Holtkamp, Sr., in 1961. Also damaged were tracker practice instruments by Casavant and John Brombaugh. The large Schlicker studio organ, a two-manual tracker of about 25 stops, suffered severe damage to its winding system and mechanicals.”
The most severe loss was the Taylor & Boody recital instrument, which has served as a focal point for teaching and recitals. Many students and guest artists have enjoyed its remarkable qualities since its installation. This instrument and the Brombaugh practice instrument will be returned to the Taylor & Boody shop in Virginia for restoration. Work on the large Schlicker instrument and the Holtkamp Martini will be undertaken by Gene Bedient’s shop in Lincoln, Nebraska. The Casavant practice instrument will be returned to Casavant in St. Hyacinthe, Quebec, Canada, for restoration.
Fortunately, the Casavant recital instrument in Clapp Recital Hall was not damaged by the flood. This large concert instrument, reportedly the first large tracker instrument to be installed in a major American teaching institution in the 20th century, was installed in the new Clapp Recital Hall in 1971 under the supervision of the “father” of organ instruction at Iowa, the late Gerhard Krapf. But, while the organ sits high in the hall and remained above the flood-waters, the hall itself was inundated, and will require major renovation. Another survivor of the devastation, a small portable continuo organ by Taylor & Boody, was moved to the second floor before the waters rose, and was untouched by the floodwaters.
Other instruments at the university were also compromised by the flooding. Some pianos and a harpsichord were removed from the path of the rising waters, while others were not as fortunate. Steve Carver, piano maintenance coordinator for the university, recalls details of their efforts to save the instruments. “We moved pianos all week until Friday the 13th (of June). We were initially told we could work through Friday but the river came up much faster than expected, so the building was locked down early Friday morning. We will lose about 25 upright pianos, a mixture of Steinway and Everetts. We left nine Steinway grands on the first floor to finish on June 13, but were unable to access the building to complete the move. These will at the least require all new legs and lyres (about $2000 per piano), but may well be totaled too.
“I am more concerned about what the exposure to high humidity after standing in 18 inches of water will do to the soundboards, etc. of the instruments. We were able to move about 20 more Steinways upstairs. But even these may suffer from lack of proper ventilation this summer and fall. I have been recently told that all 50 grands and uprights on the second floor will have to be relocated before winter.
“We removed the Italian harpsichord (built by the Zuckermann shop) from the building on June 12 and were planning to do likewise to the remaining two (a French double by David Rubio and a Flemish single by Edward Kottick) on June 13. As we were locked out of the building, these two stood in 18 inches of water for about nine days. I cannot comment on their condition other than to say there is a good chance they will be severely damaged. I have grave concerns in the long term how this flood will impact our inventory.”
This is a crushing blow to the UI School of Music. However, their resolve to work through these problems remains strong. Teaching will continue for the current academic year in facilities provided elsewhere in town. Local churches in particular have opened their space for teaching. It is anticipated that the Voxman Music Building, Hancher Auditorium, and Clapp Recital Hall will reopen in time for the 2009–2010 academic year, although it is unclear whether the organs will be back in place by then. But return they will, hopefully in better shape than ever and with provisions in place to prevent repeating this sort of tragedy. The harpsichords and pianos will also be restored, and music instruction will continue at the high level for which the University of Iowa has become known.
Meanwhile, in nearby Cedar Rapids, it was the Red Cedar River that caused problems, and if anything, the flood was even more devastating here than in Iowa City and Coralville. Organs were severely damaged in Cedar Rapids as well, although it was organs of a different type entirely.
The Red Cedar River runs through the heart of Cedar Rapids. Much of the city’s history is tied to industry lining the river, and downtown Cedar Rapids is bisected by this body of water. In the middle of the river in the heart of the city, Mays Island has stood for hundreds of years. A prominent landmark, Mays Island is home to the city’s municipal government, making Cedar Rapids one of just a few cities whose seat of government is located on an island. Also on the island are the courthouse and Veteran’s Memorial Coliseum, home of a famous large stained glass window designed by artist Grant Wood. At the height of the flood, Mays Island was completely invisible, with only the tall buildings standing above the water to show where it once was.
Cedar Rapids knew a flood was coming, and her citizens prepared accordingly. As in Iowa City and Coralville, volunteers turned out in a monumental sand-bagging effort. What no one could have anticipated was the magnitude of the flood of 2008. The water rose, up and up, and UP, and when it peaked it had completely inundated Mays Island, downtown Cedar Rapids, and many residential neighborhoods near the river. Hundreds, if not thousands, of homes and businesses were damaged or destroyed. Countless people were left homeless, and the government offices of Cedar Rapids and many of its downtown and neighborhood businesses were compromised. Amid the devastation, overshadowed by the tragedies of people left homeless, businesses destroyed, and historic buildings damaged, two significant cultural icons were also devastated by the raging waters. These were architectural treasures: two historical theatres dating back to 1928, and musical treasures—the theatre pipe organs that they housed. While these instruments represent a tragic loss, things could have been worse.
In 1929, the city was proud to acquire a new municipal organ, a 4-manual, 56-rank instrument built by the Ernest M. Skinner Company and installed in Veteran’s Memorial Coliseum on Mays Island. If that important instrument were still installed in that arena, it would have been completely destroyed during this flood. Fortunately, it was spared this fate. In the 1950s, the instrument was moved to Sinclair Auditorium on the campus of Coe College, some 10 blocks above the high water line. As a result, it suffered no damage during the flood.
Unfortunately, Cedar Rapids’ two historic theatre organs did not fare as well.
The beautiful Paramount Theatre, built in 1928, stands at the corner of Third Avenue and Second Street in the heart of downtown. Built in the grand style, this 2,000-seat movie palace was completely restored to its former glory just a few years ago to the tune of 7.8 million dollars. Its grand Hall of Mirrors, modeled after the great Palais de Versailles in France, ushered generations of moviegoers toward the opulent auditorium, where the sound of the 3/12 Mighty Wurlitzer beckoned. All of this glory came to an ignominious end during the first week of June, when the river crested its banks and inundated downtown Cedar Rapids.
A wall of water rushed through the Paramount Theatre building and into the auditorium. The heavy Wurlitzer console, raised on its lift to stage level in anticipation of the flood, was savagely tossed onto its back and onto the stage. The stage extension, built of heavy reinforced panels and extending over the orchestra pit, was knocked into complete disarray. In the end, some 8.5 feet of water covered the stage, organ console, and the entire auditorium. The lift and console were completely submerged for at least a week, and in the sub-basement, the organ’s blower was under at least 30 feet of water.
Fortunately, the organ chambers were not breached by the water, or the tragedy would have been far worse. The pipes, percussions, and windchests, as well as the original Wurlitzer relay, appear to have been spared. The blower was not reachable until one full month after the floodwaters receded. It is damaged, but still responding to a turn of its motor.
The most serious loss is the console itself, which was virtually destroyed. While it was found essentially intact after the waters receded, the waters had weakened wood and joints, and it literally fell apart as workers carefully attempted to remove it from the theatre. This is particularly tragic as this was an unusual Wurlitzer console, with unique decorative details, controlling an unusual instrument. Classified by Wurlitzer as a model Balaban 1A, the Paramount’s organ (Opus 1907) is the only extant instrument of this model still in essentially original condition, still in its original home. Only seven Balaban 1As were built by Wurlitzer, and this one has resided in the Paramount Theatre since opening night in 1928.
Like the theatre itself, the Wurlitzer organ is owned by the City of Cedar Rapids. It has been carefully maintained by, and at the expense of, the Cedar Rapids Area Theatre Organ Society (CRATOS) since that group was formed in 1969. CRATOS volunteers are working hard now to restore this organ to its former glory, but many questions remain about the structural integrity of the building, possible insurance coverage, and funding. The generous support of friends of the theatre organ will be needed to allow this special Wurlitzer organ to sing again. Obviously, the console will need to be completely rebuilt or replaced.
Meanwhile, at nearby Theatre Cedar Rapids (originally the RKO Iowa Theatre), Cedar Rapids’ other historic theatre organ suffered a similar fate. Theatre Cedar Rapids is home to the celebrated “Rhinestone” Barton theatre organ (opus 510), so named because of its spectacularly decorated console. This is another unique instrument, the largest of several Bartons that were actually built by the Wangerin Company of Milwaukee, and like its Wurlitzer neighbor an original installation from the year 1928. As far as is known, this is the only organ ever delivered with a console covered in black velvet, brilliant rhinestones, and sparkling glitter. This organ was historian and restoration expert David Junchen’s favorite Barton organ, and anyone who has heard or played it in its original home in Cedar Rapids can understand why.
The news from Theatre Cedar Rapids is somewhat brighter than that from the Paramount. At First Avenue and Third Street, TCR is a bit further from the river, and there was no wall of water crashing into the building. But creep in it did, and although the console had also been raised to stage level in anticipation of the flooding, the water rose to about the level of its solo (top) manual, where it remained for several days. The console damage was disastrous. Fortunately, the blower and relay for this instrument are located at chamber level, so only the console and its Barton four-post lift were damaged by the floodwaters.
The Barton organ is owned and maintained by a small non-profit corporation, Cedar Rapids Barton, Incorporated (CRBI). The organ was not insured, and funds for its restoration will need to come from generous donors and grants. Already a grant has been provided by the National Endowment for the Humanities, which has been used for the removal of the Barton console from the theatre and into safe storage where the damage is being assessed. However, significant funds are still needed to support the restoration or replacement of the organ’s console and other work needed to bring the Rhinestone Barton back to life.
With all of the personal tragedies the people of Cedar Rapids and Eastern Iowa have suffered as a consequence of this devastating flood, the restoration of these two historic theatre organs may seem an insignificant goal. Yet the people have demonstrated a strong will to restore their beloved theatres, which they consider important cultural landmarks for their city. Many of these same people have spoken out in support of restoring the organs, which they consider the “voice” of these theatres, providing much needed moral if not financial support. And it is the firm goal of CRATOS and CRBI working together to do whatever it takes to bring these unique historical instruments back to their former glory.
It will take time for these transformations to take place. And, it will take the generous financial support of many of our friends in the organ community and the music world. At the recent annual convention of the American Theatre Organ Society in Indianapolis, many people contributed to the cause of these two organs. But this is only the beginning. An online fundraising appeal is underway.
How can you help? If you would like to support the ongoing restoration and upkeep of the Cedar Rapids theatre organs, please consider making a contribution to the cause. You can do so online by visiting <www.cr-atos.com&gt;, where you may make an online contribution and view many photos and news stories on the flood damage to the organs. You may also purchase a copy of “Back in the Black,” Scott Foppiano’s spectacular CD recorded on the Rhinestone Barton, proceeds from which will support the organ fund. Or, you can send a check (made payable to CRATOS) to CRATOS, PO Box 611, Cedar Rapids, IA 52406. You can designate your donation for the Wurlitzer, the Barton, or both. The people of Cedar Rapids thank you for your support and encouragement during these difficult times.