Michael Quimby oversees restoration of The Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine in New York City

Neal Campbell grew up in Washington, D.C., and attended the University of Maryland. He holds graduate and undergraduate degrees from the Manhattan School of Music, where he earned the DMA in 1996. He held church and synagogue positions in Washington, Virginia, Philadelphia, New Jersey, and New York, before assuming his present position at St. Luke’s Church, Darien, Connecticut, in 2006. He was for ten years on the adjunct faculty of the University of Richmond, and served three terms on the AGO National Council.

In preparing the outline for a volume of memoirs reflecting on Aeolian-Skinner organs I have known, it became clear that my involvement with the organ in Washington Cathedral was sufficient in recollection, scope, and primary sources to warrant a chapter all its own. That is what is presented here, along with enough commentary to place the topic in context.
A note about the cathedral’s name: its full ecclesiastical name is the Cathedral Church of St. Peter and St. Paul in the City and Diocese of Washington. In most of the cathedral’s publications today it is called the Washington National Cathedral. During the era I was familiar with it (ca. 1964–1976), the cathedral was called simply Washington Cathedral in its weekly orders of service and other publications, listings in the local newspapers, and on all Aeolian-Skinner correspondence, so for ease of continuity that is how I refer to it in this article.

The new organ in 1937
Much misinformation and technical ambiguity surrounds the Washington Cathedral organ. This is due to the fact that by the time the cathedral organ was built, Ernest Skinner had left the company he founded in 1901. Also, at some point in the early 1930s the Skinner Organ Company merged with the pipe organ division of the Aeolian Company, creating the Aeolian-Skinner Organ Company. The entangling alliances of these dramas are beyond the scope of this article, but it is fascinating reading, and the reader is referred to Charles Callahan’s two books1 for the complete saga as told by the principals in their own words.
In 1932 Aeolian-Skinner built a small two-manual organ as its Opus 883 and lent it to Washington Cathedral while Ernest Skinner was still with the firm. Later in the decade, as the Great Choir was nearing completion, Ernest Skinner’s new company, the Ernest M. Skinner and Son Company, was contracted to build a large four-manual organ for the cathedral, and the small organ on loan was reinstalled by Aeolian-Skinner in Lasell Junior College in Newton, Massachusetts, retaining the 883 opus number. The organ no longer exists.2
By this time the cathedral worship space consisted of the Great Choir and two side chapels, a rather sizable and impressive edifice in itself, in spite of the fact that it represented but 20% of the finished cathedral church as planned. The new organ was built by the Ernest M. Skinner and Son Company of Methuen, Massachusetts, as their Opus 510. This was the company that Ernest Skinner and his son Richmond set up in a factory adjacent to Serlo Organ Hall in Methuen, now known as the Methuen Memorial Music Hall. Edward Searles, an eccentric organ aficionado living in Methuen, commissioned Henry Vaughan to build a new music hall, completed in 1909, to contain the old Boston Music Hall organ. In 1889, on a site adjacent to the hall, Searles had purchased an old textile mill and had Vaughan renovate it to function as an organ factory for James Treat. Treat had worked for Hutchings, Plaisted & Company in Boston, which is probably where Searles met him, as Searles had purchased an organ from Hutchings in 1880.3 From this factory they manufactured organs under the name of the Methuen Organ Company. Skinner purchased the factory and the hall during the Depression, and ran concerts in the hall and built several notable organs in the factory from about 1936 until the factory was destroyed by fire in 1943. Of the organs they built, the one for Washington Cathedral was by far the largest.4
Given the fierce loyalty in some circles to Skinner, and given his longevity (1866–1960), one wonders whether he might have been a stronger competitor had not the Methuen factory been destroyed by fire in 1943. For example, the Skinner organ for the new St. Thomas Church in 1913, Opus 205, was built in collaboration with T. Tertius Noble, and it remained one of Skinner’s favorites. Noble was likewise devoted to Skinner. From the Methuen factory Skinner electrified an old Johnson organ for Noble’s St. Thomas studio. The company also relocated and revised the organ in the Brick Church in New York when the church moved to its new and present location under Clarence Dickinson’s direction in 1940. Dickinson had also played the opening recital on Skinner’s Opus 150 at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in 1911. The records show that most of the work of the new Ernest M. Skinner and Son Company was limited to rebuilding and relocating some of Skinner’s former organs. Of the four-manual organs Skinner built in Methuen, only two survive: the organ in the chapel of Mt. Holyoke College (built in 1938 as his Opus 511, which was rebuilt from his previous organ in the chapel), and the organ in St. Martin’s Church in Harlem, a rebuilt Skinner from a previous location. He did build a completely new four-manual organ for St. John’s Lutheran Church in Allentown, Pennsylvania, but it has since been extensively modified. And a three-manual organ for St. Andrew’s Roman Catholic Church in New York is extant and unaltered, but unplayable.5
The committee to select a new organ for Washington Cathedral included Noble and Channing Lefebvre of Trinity Church in New York, each enthusiastic supporters of Ernest Skinner. So it is not hard to imagine the cathedral turning to this new company headed by Skinner to build its first organ, in spite of its somewhat shaky organization. According to Ernest Skinner, authentic Skinner organs were available only through the new company building out of Methuen—and this was arguably true. Advertisements in The Diapason and The American Organist about this time barely disguise Skinner’s contempt of the tonal philosophy of the continuing Aeolian-Skinner Organ Company, and his letters to the editor are openly hostile to G. Donald Harrison. Harrison for his part never responded in kind, though his business correspondence shows that Skinner’s remarks disturbed him. He ultimately let his own instruments speak for themselves as growing numbers of younger organists, many of whom had studied in Europe during and after World War II, found favor with his classically inspired instruments. Paul Callaway, the cathedral’s new organist, also studied with Dupré in Paris and later served in the war as a bandmaster in the South Pacific.

An organ for the completed
cathedral emerges
The Ernest M. Skinner and Son Opus 510 organ served the cathedral well in essentially unaltered form—albeit with additions—until 1973, at which time the major renovation began, the result of which is the present organ. In 1957, with the projected completion of the nave in sight, the cathedral began a series of consultations with Aeolian-Skinner regarding what steps it should take in providing for the organ. Although G. Donald Harrison designed a small, two-manual organ for the cathedral’s Bethlehem Chapel6 in 1951, he had nothing to do with the design of the main organ, and I have not discovered any comments by him about it. By the late 1950s the crossing, transepts and first three bays of the nave were nearing completion. The big decision before the building committee at that time was whether to build the great central tower over the crossing and let the nave wait its turn, or complete the interior of the nave and build the tower later. There were persuasive arguments for both approaches, but it was decided to build the tower and let the nave wait.
With all of that in mind, it was decided to develop a master plan for the organ with a view to gradually altering and enlarging the organ to accommodate the full cathedral. Joseph S. Whiteford, the new president and tonal director of Aeolian-Skinner, developed this in consultation with the cathedral organ committee, which in reality amounted to Callaway and his associate Richard Wayne Dirksen, reporting to and receiving reactions from the Dean, the Very Rev. Francis B. Sayre, Jr. Whiteford’s scheme specified what might be called a post-Harrison American Classic concept—a standard four-manual layout, together with a large Positiv, independent choruses on manual and pedal divisions, along with a plethora of imitative voices (some new and some saved from the old organ) and softer sounds to accompany the choir. The correspondence shows Whiteford to be in total command of the subject, including convincing arguments surrounding the scientific properties of physics and acoustics involved in the emerging cathedral space.
Responding to a request from the organ committee of the cathedral in February 1957, he says:

The present enclosed volume of air, which has so much to do with the acoustics of both the organ and choir, is between 60 and 70% of the completed Cathedral. Furthermore, the surfaces normal, or adjacent to the organ and choir, are approximately 90% complete. These are the most important surfaces and the most important air volume, since they have the most to do with the projections of the sound to the listener. The air spaces and surfaces at the West end of the Cathedral, for instance, while important as a terminus, do not shape and control the sound in anywhere near the same capacity as the Great Choir and Crossing.
The present organ is truly magnificent in certain respects. It has a wealth of soft voices which create an extremely fine effect. These were the high points of the period in which the organ was built. Since that time tremendous strides have been made in making instruments of this character greatly more flexible with regard to the many periods of music . . . [which] demands primarily, highly focused and clear sound, rather than the nebulous, floating, ethereal sounds of many strings and flutes in which the present organ now abounds.7

From this point Whiteford’s letter continues in language reminiscent of Harrison and Emerson Richards a decade earlier. He posits that the best location for the organ would be the yet-to-be-built west gallery, but that idea never received serious consideration. He then takes the cathedral through a logical long-range plan to accomplish the task, beginning with the console, wiring, and relays (“the nervous system of the organ” he says), then adding the Brustwerk and Positiv divisions nearer the choir and in direct sight line to the congregation, continuing with the replacement and relocation of various portions of the remaining divisions. This letter remained the vision statement for the work on the organ that culminated in 1976, when the full length of the nave was finally completed some 19 years later.
A thorough study of Whiteford and an analysis of his extant organs has yet to be undertaken, but his contributions to Aeolian-Skinner in his own right are considerable and warrant such a study. In fact, Whiteford worked very closely with Harrison during the building of some of the company’s most successful organs, and it often fell to him to implement the details of the schemes Harrison wrought. At the time when Callaway and Whiteford were discussing the future of the cathedral’s organ in 1957–58, some of Whiteford’s own most successful organs were built. Opus 1308 for St. Mark’s Church (now Cathedral) in Shreveport, Louisiana, and Opus 1309 for the Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (now called the Community of Christ), in Independence, Missouri, come to mind. These were large four-manual organs in new, highly visible venues—very different in concept, use, and outcome, but important manifestations of Aeolian-Skinner as it emerged following the death of G. Donald Harrison. The Shreveport organ in particular derived much of its distinction through the on-site alterations and finishing of Roy Perry and J. C. Williams8, noted Aeolian-Skinner representatives in that part of the country. Callaway particularly liked the Shreveport organ and measured plans for Washington Cathedral against its success.
It is true that Whiteford did not come to organ building through the traditional apprentice method, and there is no doubt that many of the Aeolian-Skinner craftsmen (several of whom were old enough to be his father) didn’t respond well to what some perceived as Whiteford’s Johnny-come-lately status. But from my experience with many of his organs, I tend to agree with Emerson Richards in his report to Henry Willis III in England when, after Harrison’s death, he wrote “I think that he [Whiteford] has more ability than he is given credit for but he is impatient and for some reason does not inspire confidence—just why I cannot say.”9
By this time Ernest Skinner’s star had set, his attempts failed to set up a shop after the Methuen fire, and even though he was on the scene and continued to offer his diatribes against what he considered the desecrations of his masterpieces, no one paid much attention to him. Still, it is still hard not to feel a bit sorry for the grand old man as he saw his early successes at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, then St. Thomas Church, and now Washington Cathedral fall prey to advancing ideas carried out by the company still bearing his name!
The first step in the lofty long-range plan was to provide a new four-manual console to control the completed organ. The new console was encased in elaborate Gothic panels designed for the previous console by cathedral architect Philip Hubert Frohman, which had pedalboard, swell shoes, and toe studs on a hydraulic elevator. Thus, while the bench height remained the same, the pedalboard could be raised or lowered. Presumably this was to accommodate the disparate heights of the cathedral’s organist and his associate—Paul Callaway, who was unusually short, and Richard Dirksen, who was unusually tall. This 1958 console was referred to by Aeolian-Skinner as Opus 883-A, picking up on the opus number of the small two-manual it lent the cathedral in 1932, even though the original #883 was in place in Newton, Massachusetts, and the Ernest M. Skinner and Son Opus 510 was the only organ in situ.10 Sparse in design by comparison with the digital age of multiple levels of memory, it was luxurious for the time. It had 18 generals, remote combination action, and the usual couplers and pistons to make for ease in playing. The nomenclature engraved on the knobs reflected the projected new organ and only approximately correlated to the actual stops of the 1937 organ it controlled. On the Great, for example, the Prinzipal, Spitz Prinzipal, and Salicional actually drew Diapasons I, II, and III respectively. It was a bit confusing to the traveling weekly recitalist, but it somehow made sense and had the psychological effect of projecting the vision of the new organ. The console functioned in this way until the overhaul began in 1973.
The next step was to add two unenclosed divisions in 1963 named Brustwerk and Positiv with matching pedal in the so-called musicians’ galleries11, lofts above the canopies of the stalls in the Great Choir, in the first bay on either side of the Choir, carrying the job number 883-B. In 1965 as Opus 883-C, the Trompette en Chamade was installed in the triforium over the high altar.12 This was the organ I knew growing up: the 4-manual Ernest M. Skinner and Son, Opus 510, plus the new console, Brustwerk and Positiv, and Trompette en Chamade. During high school and college years I attended weekly services and events at the cathedral, and I played a recital on the Sunday afternoon series in 1971 while I was a senior in high school and a student of William Watkins. Unfortunately, I was too young to have been considered for the extraordinary College of Church Musicians, the graduate-level school founded at the cathedral by Leo Sowerby, which had closed its doors by the time I was of college age. I did know several of the Fellows of the College, and heard all of them as they played their recitals following Evensong on Sunday afternoons. Sowerby himself was often in attendance, and recitals frequently included his music.
While attending the University of Maryland, I did study privately with Paul Callaway for a year and observed his rehearsals and services, and will always be grateful to his memory for his helpful mentorship as I began my trek into the intricacies of the Episcopal Church. Weekly attendance at Evensong and the organ recitals that followed left an indelible memory. The variety of the repertoire and sheer amount of it was remarkable. The choir sang the Responses, Psalms, anthem settings of the canticles, and an anthem at the offertory. On the last Sunday of the month there was a cantata or group of anthems in place of the sermon. At Evensong the Psalms were either sung either to Anglican chant or plainsong, and the service began in one of two ways: 1) a processional hymn, followed by the Responses with the choir in place, followed by the Psalms to Anglican chant; or 2) the Responses were sung where the choir gathered in the north transept, and the Psalms were sung to plainsong in processional accompanied by handbell changes.
In addition to the standard cathedral repertoire of the late 19th and early 20th century, Callaway offered large doses of early music and modern music. I recall one Evensong when all of the music was by Byrd. The movable cathedral chairs for the congregation were arranged facing the north transept with a portable altar, candles, and officiants’ chairs set up on the nave floor, while the choir sang from the gallery above, and the entire service was unaccompanied. New works were also frequently premiered; particularly memorable was the dedication of the central tower in 1964 when new works by Samuel Barber, Lee Hoiby, Stanley Hollingsworth, Roy Hamlin Johnson, John La Montaine, Milford Myhre, Ned Rorem, and Leo Sowerby were given first performances.
Callaway usually played the organ voluntaries himself. His repertoire was vast, and he listed preludes and postludes to each service. The now-familiar practice of the principal musician as conductor, with the assistant doing all the playing, was not then in vogue, and Callaway usually played anthem accompaniments as well. Typically, the assistant organist turned pages, and perhaps played the sermon hymn. In retrospect it is easy to suggest that the technical security of the choir suffered, as they were only able to see Callaway through a series of mirrors. But it was the way things were done at the time, and it offered a window of opportunity to hear this extraordinary organist in the roles of recitalist playing the repertoire, service player, and accompanist. Callaway excelled in each of these capacities following the examples of his mentors, T. Tertius Noble and particularly David McK. Williams.
Even though Callaway was a pupil of T. Tertius Noble at St. Thomas Church, he was great friends with David McK. Williams at St. Bartholomew’s and often spoke of how much he learned from him. Part of Callaway’s duties as Noble’s student was to play the services at St. Thomas Chapel (now All Saints’ Church on East 60th Street) where Evensong on Sunday evening was late enough that he usually turned pages for David McK. Williams at 4:00 Evensong at St. Bartholomew’s. Here he observed in close-up detail Williams’s absolute control from the console, where by all accounts his accompaniments and improvisations were extraordinary. Callaway often told me of the profound effect David’s playing had on him, even though he was careful to say that never studied with him formally. Callaway was approached about the position at St. Bartholomew’s when David McK. Williams was forced to resign in 1946, but having just returned to the cathedral following service in World War II, he declined, and Harold Friedell was appointed.
Callaway’s playing of large doses of Bach chorale preludes and trio sonatas using the Brustwerk and Positiv were models of accuracy, style, liturgical appropriateness, and performance practice not as a subject unto itself, but a natural vehicle for expressive playing. The contrapuntal textures were clear and focused, and the new Brustwerk and Positiv divisions were the ultimate in Joseph Whiteford’s development of the classic Aeolian-Skinner sound in the post-Harrison era. They were characterized by low wind pressures, articulate yet even voicing, pipes of high tin content, and a location within sight lines of the choir and congregation. The Brustwerk and Positiv could be used by themselves in Baroque music; added to the old organ they added immediacy and clarity. In combination with the main organ and Trompette en Chamade, the combined divisions were good vehicles for thrilling performances of Callaway’s hefty doses of romantic and modern organ music. The organ is fairly well documented in LP recordings accompanying the choir and in solo repertoire, including a multi-volume complete performance of the Bach Clavierübung, Callaway playing Part III on the cathedral organ, and Ralph Kirkpatrick playing the other parts on harpsichord. Just before the 1973–76 work began, Callaway recorded an album of music of Gigout, Franck, Tournemire, and Messiaen on the organ, the specific intent being to document the organ prior to the renovation. The plan was then to record the same repertoire on the new organ in 1976, which he did. To my knowledge these LPs have not been transferred to CD, but are fairly easy to find through the various search engines.

The new organ 1973–76
With America’s Bicentennial observances on the horizon, the cathedral in the early 1970s poured considerable energy into completing the nave and organ, and planned several special services that culminated in the “Dedication of the Nave for the Reconciliation of Peoples of Earth,” in the presence of President and Mrs. Ford, and Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Philip on July 8, 1976. I sang during the service as a member of the University of Maryland Chorus. All aspects of the cathedral’s bicentennial programs were well reported in the media. The actual bicentennial date, July 4, 1976, was a Sunday, and the front page of the Style section of The Washington Post featured a picture of Roy Perry in the organ blowing a pipe, and a lengthy article by Paul Hume saying:

When Queen Elizabeth walks down the aisle of Washington Cathedral Thursday morning, she will be hearing one of the greatest pipe organs in the world . . . Perry worked among the thousands of pipes with the precision and infinite care of a jeweler cutting a priceless diamond so that its facets would produce the greatest possible beauty. And like the diamond, the sounds of the Washington Cathedral’s organ pipes can be expected to last, with care, indefinitely . . . they now stand ready . . . to create new beauty in a newly completed setting. There are those who know no beauty in all of music that can surpass theirs.13

Aeolian-Skinner had just ceased operation when the cathedral began its work in 1973. Joseph Whiteford, even though he retired from Aeolian-Skinner before its denouement, continued to be the person with whom the cathedral (that is, Callaway) corresponded regarding the new work, and it was always assumed that he would oversee the work for Aeolian-Skinner, even though he was officially retired. Whiteford, the son of a prominent Washington attorney and a graduate of St. Alban’s School on the cathedral close, was a good friend of Callaway, and it was natural that these two would be the point persons in the cathedral’s ever-evolving planning of the organ. Reading the 1957 correspondence, we see that the cathedral’s estimated time line for the completion of the cathedral was optimistic by several years. In hindsight, it is providential that the cathedral’s work was delayed. Had the cathedral contracted to accomplish its ambitious scheme with Aeolian-Skinner during its final days, the results would likely have included artistic difficulties and financial disasters.14
Roy Perry’s role in the cathedral organ renovation was an afterthought. Many of the former Aeolian-Skinner men who weren’t retired were still in business as suppliers to the trade. It was decided to gather a consortium—the cathedral’s term—of workers to design, build, voice, and finish the necessary pipes and chests, all under the direction of Whiteford, following the plan of his 1957 design. The one catch was that Whiteford, who lived in California, did not fly and apparently did not want to relocate to Washington for the long periods of time the job required. Whiteford pitched the idea to Callaway that Perry, as one of Aeolian-Skinner’s most successful field representatives and finishers, be the on-site supervisor and finisher for the cathedral, working under his (Whiteford’s) direction from California via telephone and hard copy correspondence. It is poignant to read Perry’s negotiations with the cathedral regarding his compensation. At this time Perry was retired and drawing Social Security payments. He explained to Dirksen—who was the cathedral’s agent in business and logistical matters pertaining to the new organ—that if in any given month he earned more than $175 his Social Security would be knocked out for the month. He therefore suggested that for the duration of the project, he be paid “$175 per month as a salary, plus expenses, for a total of $5,875 for the period April 1973–December 1975,”15 and the cathedral agreed to this schedule of payments.
In short order the cathedral had letters of agreement with Aeolian-Skinner pipemaker Thomas Anderson and head flue voicer John Hendricksen to provide the necessary new pipes. The new chests were made by the Ernest M. Skinner and Son Company of East Kingston, New Hampshire, the continuing company Skinner started when he left Aeolian-Skinner. Anthony Bufano, another Aeolian-Skinner alumnus, who was by then curator of the organs in the Riverside Church in New York, re-covered many of the pouches with Perflex and facilitated the necessary console details. Other structural components were entrusted to Arthur Carr and the Durst Organ Supply Company of Erie, Pennsylvania. All local arrangements were coordinated through the Newcomer Organ Company and their outstandingly gifted foreman Robert Wyant, who had taken care of the cathedral organ for many years. Among these principals—the cathedral (usually via Dirksen), Newcomer in Washington, Whiteford in California, Perry in Texas, Anderson and Hendricksen in Massachusetts, Bufano in New York, and Carr in Erie—flowed frequent communications for three years: correspondence, pipe orders, voicing notes, shop talk of every kind, travel arrangements, and occasional items of humor or personal and family notes of interest. In spite of intense seriousness of purpose and high artistic standards, it is obvious that there was a sense of family about this consortium.
It was a laudable plan that attracted huge interest in the organ community in Washington and elsewhere as word spread. It called for several unusual features to be built, retaining a large portion of the existing Ernest M. Skinner and Son divisions, and the Aeolian-Skinner Brustwerk and Positiv divisions located in the musicians’ galleries. The Trompette en Chamade over the high altar was of course to remain.
The Great in the first bay north triforium was to consist largely of new pipework intended to complement the two Baroque divisions. The tonal relationships (and to a large degree the pipes as well) of the three enclosed divisions were to remain, because of their proven effectiveness in accompanying the choir. Seated at the console, these divisions were located directly above the organist’s line of sight. Directly above, behind the case in the second bay north triforium was the Swell, followed by the Choir and Solo, in the succeeding third and fourth bay triforium galleries. The Pedal, located throughout the south triforium, was to be a combination of new and existing pipes, including the four full-length 32′ stops.
A small division, a typical Ernest Skinner Echo, which was played with the Swell division, was located in the fifth bay south triforium, opposite the main organ near the high altar. This was the location of the original organ that Aeolian-Skinner lent to the cathedral in 1932. It consisted of an 8′–4′ five-rank Choeur des Violes, an 8′ Éoliènne Céleste, and an 8′ Voix Humaine.16 To this was added a unique stop Perry developed with the curious name Flûte d’Argent II. Perry told me that once he had found an interesting flute stop built by Estey called Zartflöte or Silver Flute, which was a tapered flute that was also harmonic. It had a cool, clear sound that Perry thought would sound good with a celeste added to it, so he ordered it in some of the organs he finished for Aeolian-Skinner.17 I was present the night Perry pitched the idea to Dirksen to add this unique stop to the organ. Wayne liked it and said he would find the money somehow; it wasn’t cheap! In Roy’s previous use of this stop he called it Harmonic Spitzflöte II, or simply Silver Flute. Whiteford was fanatical about nomenclature and insisted that stops in the Great be given German names, and those of the Swell, French. So, this new stop became in Whiteford’s nomenclature Flûte d’Argent—Silver Flute. In French, of course, argent has more than one meaning, and many a visiting organist has wondered if it was a joke that the cathedral organ contained a “Money Flute.” It was an expensive stop to build and voice, so the double meaning may indeed be appropriate.
One of the chief goals of the new organ was to provide more sound directly into the crossing and nave, so it was decided to build a new division of significant tonal properties in the first bay south triforium, directly opposite the Great. This enclosed division had swell shade openings into the chancel and south transept, and was built with funds solicited in memory of Leo Sowerby, so the division became known as the Sowerby Memorial Swell division, since it was also to be played via the Swell manual. In effect, if not in planning, it was a Bombarde or Grand Choeur division—small but telling, consisting of a principal chorus topped by two mixtures, a chorus of French reeds, and an exceptional string celeste of special construction that extended all the way to 16′ C in the unison and celeste ranks.
Therefore, the Swell manual played pipes located in three locations: 1) the main Swell directly in front of the organist behind the north case, 2) the Sowerby Swell, opposite the Great, and 3) the Echo Swell in the fifth bay south triforium. Roy Perry told me that the job ought to have had a five-manual console, and it is easy to understand the organizational logic in such a plan. The organ would have benefited from having the Bombarde (Sowerby division) and Echo occupying the fifth manual, but in the pre-digital, pre-solid state age, it would have been enormously expensive, if not impossible, and the big plan did call for retaining the 1958 console. This brings up the important point that consistently stands out in the project: no expense was spared on what was done, but nothing was done that was considered unnecessary, and console rearrangements fell into that category. As it was, the total cost of the new 1973–76 organ was projected to be $216,000,18 which would equal a 2007 value of between 1.3 and 1.8 million dollars.19
Other unusual features included extending the 32′ Bombarde into the 64′ range for three notes for pieces ending in B, B-flat, or A. I recall that these three notes were ineffective, being half-length metal pipes extended from a full-length wooden 32′ rank. There weren’t many miscalculations in the project, but in a job of this scope a few were inevitable—some humorous, others serious. Perry may be best remembered for his beautifully finished celestes, but he was equally adventurous in designing bold, complex mixtures.20 For the cathedral he and Whiteford designed the unusual VI–X Terzzymbel intended initially to flank the Trompette en Chamade over the high altar, but eventually placed with the Great. He also called for an unusual mixture in the Solo called None Kornett to replace Skinner’s full mixture, but (in his words) “it was a vast disappointment on the voicing machine, so you may prefer to abandon these two top boards and re-engrave the [draw] knob PERRY’S FOLLY.”21 On the other hand, the use of Perflex, which Dirksen insisted upon, stung the cathedral badly in ensuing years, as it did many other jobs of the era when everyone was desperate to find a substitute for chest leather. In the 1960s some New York churches found that leather lasted less than a decade. As it turned out, Perflex itself was indestructible, but there seemed to be no satisfactory way to glue it to the wooden chests, so in short order Perflex was deemed even less suitable than leather.
The 1973–76 organ in Washington Cathedral is really the final statement of Aeolian-Skinner’s concept of the American Classic Organ. Among the cathedral consortium it was informally referred to as Opus Posthumous. Perry went a step further and printed stationery in jest (I think!) with the title “Organbuilders Anonymous” in a shaded copperplate font, listing the names of those taking part: “Roy Perry, Most Anonymous; Tommy Anderson, Almost Anonymous; John Hendricksen, All But Anonymous; Bob Wyant, Nearly Anonymous; and Honorary Anonymouses: Joe Whiteford, Wayne Dirksen, Harold Newcomer, Kim Bolten [sic], Arthur Carr, Jim Williams, Tony Bufano, Carl Basset [sic], Adolph Zajic, Bon Smith.”22 It was Perry’s hope to actually build organs in his post-cathedral days with this consortium. He and Jim Williams had previously built a few organs independent of Aeolian-Skinner using the services of several of them. Humor aside, this is as complete a list of workers as may be found anywhere else in the documentation of the building of the organ. They are all persons associated either with Aeolian-Skinner or the cathedral, with the exception of Adolph Zajic, the well-known reed voicer still working at Möller at the time, and the independent Carr. The one piece of the puzzle missing in the original consortium of Aeolian-Skinner alumni was a reed voicer. Oscar Pearson, the famous voicer who created the State Trumpet at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine23 was still alive, but had retired and was deaf.24 Herb Stimson, Aeolian-Skinner’s last reed voicer, died just about the time Aeolian-Skinner went out of business. So, for the cathedral, Möller built and Zajic voiced the Great reeds.
Roy Perry was central to the tonal outcome of the cathedral organ. I would venture to say that his influence was greater than that of Whiteford, who never made the trip to Washington either during the work or after. The correspondence often shows Perry dutifully asking permission to make various alterations, some slight, others significant. Except for stop nomenclature, it appears that Whiteford never tried to second-guess him. Perry’s on-the-job adjustments, combined with his natural gifts as a finisher, resulted in the unique sound stamped with his genius.
I had nothing official to do with the cathedral or its organ project. I had met Roy Perry in the summer of 1972 when I was a finalist in the AGO National Organ Playing Competition at its national convention in Dallas. My teacher, William Watkins, knew Perry and had played and recorded at his church in Kilgore, the First Presbyterian Church—home of the well-known Aeolian-Skinner organ, which in the 1950s and 60s was prominently featured in company sales literature and on the “King of Instruments” series of recordings. Volume II has recordings of both Perry and Watkins on the Kilgore organ, and Volume X featured the Kilgore organ and choirs. It was through these recordings that Perry’s name became known outside of the Texas-Oklahoma-Louisiana territory he covered for Aeolian-Skinner. The English choral repertoire on Volume X is standard fare now, but was revelatory at the time. However, it was in the American music that Perry used the organ to greatest effect, notably in his accompaniment of David McK. Williams’s anthem In the year that King Uzziah died, and Bruce Simonds’s Prelude on Iam sol recedit igneus, which he introduced to the organ world through the recording.25 Watkins thought it important that I meet Perry and see the Kilgore organ, and that was the source of our association.
When I learned of Perry’s involvement in the cathedral project I, still a student living in Washington, offered to meet him at the airport, run errands for him, and in the course of events introduced him to my fellow organists and showed him around town. His trips were a whirlwind of activity and were red letter days on my calendar.
On the one hand I was fortunate to have been able to simply sit and watch him at work finishing the various stops as installments of new pipework arrived. He listened as I played the pieces I was working on and came to some of my church services. His musical insights from his perspective as an organbuilder were valuable, especially regarding registration.
His knowledge of the repertoire was vast and greatly belied his humble upbringing. In designing several stops for the cathedral he would have special pieces of music in mind, and would often request that I have such and such a piece ready when such and such a stop arrived. For the new strings in the Sowerby Swell, he wanted to hear Duruflé’s Veni creator Adagio. And he wanted to hear Bach’s chorale prelude Nun komm der Heiden Heiland, BWV 659, beginning with the accompaniment on the new celestes, especially the opening pedal notes on the new 16′ Violoncelle Celeste against the boldest cornet in the organ.26 As the project completion drew near toward Holy Week 1975, he was particularly looking forward to the full ensembles in Langlais’ Les Rameaux, which was on the program for Palm Sunday. And he was irritated when Wayne Dirksen (in fact a fine organist who was in the class of Virgil Fox at the Peabody Institute) on Good Friday played Bach’s O Mensch bewein with the cantus firmus, in his words, “played on a lard-butted clarinet, with four cornets in the organ to choose from!”—a curious admonition given his preferred registration for the Bach Nun komm! He did love the cornet combination for Bach ornamented chorales, and I think he perceived string celestes, as a family of tone in his design, as an equally viable and appropriate accompaniment as are flutes or principals, and—who knows—he may have a point. He was a wonderful teacher, vivid in imagination, yet grounded in a thorough knowledge of the repertoire. I still feel his influence when practicing and playing.
On the other hand, in social settings stories of the personalities he had known and worked with flowed in a heady ether wherever we went. Early in his career he had come to New York to study with Hugh McAmis, and it was then that he met David McK. Williams and struck up their lifelong friendship. He told of how his involvement with Aeolian-Skinner began by accident and lasted for 25 years, during which time his sales amounted to roughly 25% of Aeolian-Skinner’s business, and he was full of humorous anecdotes of Donald Harrison’s trips through the Southwest on various jobs.
Likewise, for his part, Harrison had great regard for Perry and enjoyed his trips to Texas, as he relates in a letter to Henry Willis in England:

Roy Perry, or Perriola, as he is affectionately referred to in our organization, has supervised, with the aid of Jack Williams and his son, most of our important installations in Texas. He is an accomplished organist and has a wonderful ear. He is a top notch finisher and during my periodic visits to Texas I cannot remember a time when I have had to suggest that something might have been done a little differently. He just has that kind of organ sense.
I think you will also enjoy him as a personality. He knows some good southern stories and, by the way, he is an expert at southern hospitality. I always look forward to my trips down to his neck of the woods as we have a glorious time just waiting for sundown to start on a little nourishment.27

As the work was in the planning stages at the cathedral, I remember several of us being given a tour through the organ. Roy was explaining where the various stops and divisions were to be located or relocated. He was particularly proud of two sets of string celestes he was designing.28 These were to be of varying scales, very broad in tone, becoming narrower as the notes descended in the compass, and having 2/7 mouth construction, a mouth width usually found only on principal pipes. He said we would “smell the rosin” when we heard it. Being the eager and easily malleable students we were, we expressed appropriate awe, and he said rather matter of factly “well boys, the way I see it, if you can’t fill the house with string tone you’re just not sittin’ in the front of the bus.”
Roy was a character! He was part of that vanishing (vanished?) breed of larger than life extrovert, totally uninhibited Louisiana Cajun humorists, the likes of which Episcopal Washington had never seen. Though I was not part of it, he had a non-musical, non-organ-related social orbit involving the higher echelons of the cathedral hierarchy. Usually his trips, which brought him to Washington two or three times a year, sometimes for four or five weeks’ duration, included a big party where he cooked his famous Louisiana gumbo. These were the talk of the cathedral work force, and not just the music office. Accounts of these gatherings and recipes are also mentioned in the correspondence, taking their place along side voicing notes and complex cathedral schedules.
Roy made friends easily with all of the cathedral staff, especially the vergers and volunteer tour guides called Aides. He regaled us at dinner one night telling of a sight he swore he witnessed. A very tall “professional Texan” as he called him, complete with Stetson hat in hand, tooled leather cowboy boots, shirt with pearl buttons, and long, thick, white sideburns (think Jock Ewing in the nighttime soap opera “Dallas”) came up to Ginny Hammond, the Head Aide. He drew himself up as he took in the wide vistas of the transepts, the newly completed nave, then the high altar with the Trompette en Chamade atop, and said in his thickest Texan drawl, “Tell me, ma’m, is this yer MAIN SANC-tu-ar-y?”
At some point midway through the work, word got out that this former Aeolian-Skinner representative and finisher was nearby and consulting offers began to appear. He actually designed a rather interesting organ for All Saints’ Church in Chevy Chase, where I was assistant organist. The case was made that we could get a new organ in essentially the same way as the cathedral had via the consortium, but nothing came of the plan. I accompanied him to the Church of the Redeemer in Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania, which had sought his advice regarding their organ.29 He also did a thorough inspection and report for All Saints’ Church in Worcester, Massachusetts,30 and—in 1977 after the cathedral work was complete—made a visit and proposed additions at St. George’s-by-the-River, in Rumson, New Jersey.31 Also in 1977 he did what turned out to be his final work in some tonal refinishing to the organ in Church of the Epiphany in Washington, D.C.32 He died in May 1978.
I moved away from the city of my youth in 1976 just as the Bicentennial furor was dying down. I did return to play a Sunday afternoon recital at the cathedral in 1977 in a program of music I had coached with Roy. I have not played the organ since, although I have occasionally attended services at the cathedral when traveling, notably at the memorial service for Dirksen in July 2003, and have heard it on the telecasts of funerals and memorial services of national figures. The organ had its eccentricities and could easily be mismanaged by visiting recitalists lacking practice time. But the sound was still unmistakable as a creation imbued with Roy Perry’s magic and the Aeolian-Skinner aesthetic. The organ in its post-1976 state has been featured in several recordings, notably the series of live Sunday afternoon recitals on the JAV label, where the performances of Erik Wm. Suter, Gerre Hancock, Peter Richard Conte, Ann Elise Smoot, Todd Wilson, Daniel Roth, and John Scott display the great variety, contrast, and depth of this unique organ.
In reading the correspondence and technical data surrounding the creation of the cathedral organ, what impresses me most is the humility tinged with pride, innate talent, sense of history, exuberance, and exceeding devotion to the cathedral that this unique consortium exhibited. It is summed up best by Wayne Dirksen himself in a report as the work was nearing completion:

We began twenty-six months ago with the security of long planning (since 1957), the thorough experience and knowledge of two principal consultants, with confidence in our craftsmen and maintainers, and with ample time to correlate and coordinate a complex project toward the perfect result we believed possible.
Now the largest part is accomplished. During this Holy Week 1975, thousands will hear with their ears what we knew in our hearts: that an incomparably magnificent pipe organ will grace this cathedral for centuries to come, the result of extraordinary talents, devotion, and skills we have combined for its creation.33

The 1937 Ernest M. Skinner and Son Organ, Opus 510

GREAT
16′ Diapason 61
8′ First Diapason 61
8′ Second Diapason 61
8′ Third Diapason 61
Muted String Ensemble
8′ Principal Flute 61
8′ Clarabella 61
8′ Viola 61
8′ Erzähler 61
51⁄3′ Quint 61
4′ Octave 61
4′ Principal 61
4′ Harmonic Flute 61
22⁄3′ Twelfth 61
2′ Fifteenth 61
IV Harmonics 244
VII Plein Jeu 427
III Cymbale 183
16′ Posaune 61
8′ Tromba 61
8′ Trumpet 61
4′ Clarion 61

SWELL
16′ Bourdon 73
16′ Dulciana 73
8′ First Diapason 73
8′ Second Diapason 73
8′ Claribel Flute 73
8′ Gedackt 73
8′ Viol d’Orchestre 73
8′ Viol Celeste 73
8′ Salicional 73
8′ Voix Celeste 73
8′ Flauto Dolce 73
8′ Flute Celeste 61
Muted String Ensemble
8′ Aeoline 73
8′ Unda Maris 73
4′ Octave 73
4′ Harmonic Flute 61
4′ Gemshorn 73
4′ Violin 73
4′ Unda Maris II 122
22⁄3′ Twelfth 61
2′ Fifteenth 61
V Cornet 305
V Full Mixture 305
III Carillon 183
16′ Posaune 73
8′ Trumpet 73
(light wind)
8′ Cornopean 73
8′ Flügel Horn 73
8′ Vox Humana 73
4′ Clarion 61
Tremolo

CHOIR
16′ Gemshorn 73
8′ Diapason 73
8′ Concert Flute 73
8′ Gemshorn 73
8′ Viol d’Orchestre 73
8′ Viol Celeste 73
8′ Kleiner Erzähler II 134
4′ Harmonic Flute 73
4′ Gemshorn 73
4′ Violin 73
22⁄3′ Nazard 61
2′ Piccolo 61
13⁄5′ Tierce 61
11⁄7′ Septieme 61
III Carillon 183
16′ Orchestral Bassoon 61
8′ Trumpet 73
(small orchestral type)
8′ Clarinet 61
8′ Orchestral Oboe 61
Tremolo
Celesta 61
Celesta Sub 61

SOLO
8′ Flauto Mirabilis 73
8′ Gamba 73
8′ Gamba Celeste 73
4′ Orchestral Flute 61
VII Compensating Mixture 427
16′ Ophicleide 73
16′ Corno di Bassetto 12
8′ Tuba Mirabilis 73
8′ Trumpet 73
8′ French Horn 61
8′ Cor d’Amour 61
8′ English Horn 61
8′ Corno di Bassetto 61
4′ Clarion 73
Tremolo

PEDAL
32′ Diapason 12
32′ Violone 12
16′ Diapason 32
16′ Diapason (metal) 32
16′ Contra Bass 32
16′ Violone 32
16′ Bourdon 32
16′ Echo Lieblich Sw
16′ Gemshorn Ch
16′ Dulciana Sw
8′ Octave 12
8′ Principal (metal) 12
8′ Gedackt 12
8′ Still Gedeckt Sw
8′ Cello 12
8′ Gemshorn Ch
51⁄3′ Quinte Ch
4′ Super Octave 32
4′ Still Flute 32
4′ Still Gedeckt Sw
V Mixture 160
IV Harmonics 128
32′ Bombarde 12
32′ Fagotto 12
16′ Trombone 32
16′ Fagotto 32
8′ Tromba 12
8′ Fagotto 12
4′ Clarion 12
4′ Fagotto 12

Source: Aeolian-Skinner Archives <http://www.aeolian-skinner.110mb.com&gt; (accessed 16 September 2008). See also The Diapason, March 1937, pp. 1–2.

The New 1973–76 Organ
GREAT First bay, north triforium
16′ Diapason
16′ Violon (ext)
16′ Bourdon
8′ Prinzipal
8′ Spitz Prinzipal
8′ Waldflöte
8′ Holz Bordun
8′ Salicional
8′ Violon
8′ Erzähler
4′ Spitzoktav
4′ Koppel Flöte
22⁄3′ Quinte
2′ Super Oktav
2′ Blockflöte
II Sesquialtera
IV Klein Mixtur
IV–V Mixtur
IV Scharf
VI–X Terzzymbel
16′ Bombarde
8′ Posthorn
8′ Trompette
4′ Clairon
8′ Trompette en Chamade (Solo)
8′ Tuba Mirabilis (Solo)

CHOIR Third bay, north triforium
16′ Gemshorn
8′ Chimney Flute
8′ Viola Pomposa
8′ Viola Pomposa Celeste
8′–4′ Choeur des Violes V (Sw)
8′ Viole Céleste II
8′ Kleiner Erzähler II
4′ Principal
4′ Harmonic Flute
4′ Fugara
22⁄3′ Rohrnasat
2′ Hellflöte
13⁄5′ Terz
III–IV Mixture
II Glockenspiel
16′ Orchestral Bassoon
8′ Trumpet
8′ Cromorne
4′ Regal
8′ Tuba Mirabilis (Solo)
8′ Trompette en Chamade (Solo)
8′ Posthorn (Gt)
Harp
Celesta
Zimbelstern
Tremolo

SWELL
First bay, south triforium
(Sowerby Memorial)
16′ Violoncelle (ext)
8′ Montre
8′ Violoncelle Céleste II
4′ Prestant
V Plein Jeu
IV Cymbale
16′ Bombarde
8′ Trompette
4′ Clairon
Second bay, north triforium
16′ Flûte Courte
8′ Bourdon
8′ Flûte à Fuseau
8′ Viole de Gambe
8′ Viole Céleste
8′ Voix Céleste II
8′ Flute Celeste II
4′ Octave
4′ Flûte Traversière
22⁄3′ Nasard
2′ Octavin
13⁄5′ Tierce
IV Petit Jeu
16′ Posaune
8′ 2ème Trompette
8′ Hautbois
8′ Cor d’Amour
4′ 2ème Clairon
Tremolo
Fifth bay, south triforium
8′ Flûte d’Argent II
8′–4′ Choeur des Violes V
8′ Éoliènne Céleste II
8′ Voix Humaine
Tremolo

SOLO Fourth bay, north triforium
8′ Diapason
8′ Flauto Mirabilis II
8′ Gamba
8′ Gamba Celeste
4′ Orchestral Flute
VII Full Mixture
16′ Corno di Bassetto (ext)
8′ Trompette Harmonique
8′ French Horn
8′ Corno di Bassetto
8′ English Horn
8′ Flügel Horn
4′ Clairon Harmonique
8′ Trompette en Chamade
8′ Tuba Mirabilis
16′ Posthorn (Gt)
8′ Posthorn (Gt)
Tremolo

PEDAL
First through fourth bays, south triforium
32′ Subbass (ext)
32′ Kontra Violon (ext)
16′ Contre Basse
16′ Principal
16′ Diapason (Gt)
16′ Bourdon
16′ Violon (Gt)
16′ Violoncelle (Sw)
16′ Gemshorn (Ch)
16′ Flûte Courte (Sw)
102⁄3′ Quinte (from Gross Kornett)
8′ Octave
8′ Diapason (Gt)
8′ Spitzflöte
8′ Gedackt
8′ Violoncelle Céleste II (Sw)
8′ Flûte Courte (Sw)
51⁄3′ Quinte
4′ Choralbass
4′ Cor de Nuit
2′ Fife
II Rauschquint
IV Fourniture
III Acuta
IV Gross Kornett
64′ Bombarde Basse (ext)
32′ Contra Bombarde
32′ Contra Fagotto (ext)
16′ Ophicleide
16′ Bombarde (Sw)
16′ Fagotto
8′ Trompette
8′ Bombarde (Sw)
8′ Posthorn (Gt)
8′ Tuba Mirabilis (So)
8′ Trompette en Chamade (So)
4′ Clairon
2′ Zink

BRUSTWERK
First bay, north gallery
8′ Spitz Prinzipal
4′ Praestant
22⁄3′ Koppel Nasat
2′ Lieblich Prinzipal
IV–VI Mixtur
8′ Rankett

POSITIV First bay, south gallery
8′ Nason Gedackt
4′ Rohrflöte
2′ Nachthorn
13⁄5′ Terz
11⁄3′ Larigot
1′ Sifflöte
IV Zymbel
4′ Rankett (Brustwerk)
Tremulant

GALLERY PEDAL
First bays, north and south galleries
16′ Gedacktbass (ext)
8′ Oktav
8′ Nason Gedackt (Positiv)
4′ Superoktav (ext)
4′ Rohrflöte (Positiv)
16′ Rankett (Brustwerk)
4′ Rankett (Brustwerk)

Source: Washington Cathedral website <http://www.nationalcathedral/org&gt; (accessed 16 September 2008)

Annotated bibliography and sources
Callahan, Charles. The American Classic Organ: A History in Letters. Richmond: Organ Historical Society, 1990.
______________. AEolian-Skinner Remembered: A History in Letters. Minneapolis: Randall Egan, 1996.
Two volumes of letters, commentary, shop notes, and photographs, which chronicle the history of the Skinner and Aeolian-Skinner Organ Companies. Aeolian-Skinner Remembered also has essays and reminiscences by G. Donald Harrison’s son and other former Aeolian-Skinner employees.
Diapason, The. Arlington Heights, IL, Scranton Gillette Communications, Inc.
Feller, Richard T., and Fishwick, Marshall W. For Thy Great Glory. Culpeper, VA: the Community Press of Culpeper, 1965, 1979.
A history of the construction of the cathedral.
Workman, William G., and Dirksen, Wayne, comp. The Gloria in excelsis Tower Dedication Book. Washington Cathedral, 1964. Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: R64-1214, with recording.
Contains the complete orders of service for the dedication of the central tower on Ascension Day, 1964, together with the music commissioned for the occasion.
“Guide to Washington Cathedral, A.” The National Cathedral Association, 1965. Library of Congress Catalogue Number 25-2355.
Contains much information and photographs about the cathedral’s music and organs, including a stoplist of the organ at that time. Also contains information about the College of Church Musicians.
“Guide to Washington Cathedral, A.” The National Cathedral Association, 1953.
Contains a photograph of the original Ernest M. Skinner and Son console, and other information on the organ also available in the 1940 edition.
Kinzey, Allen, and Lawn, Sand, comp., E. M. Skinner / Aeolian-Skinner Opus List. Richmond: Organ Historical Society, 1997.
Opus list and notes on the Skinner Organ Company, Aeolian-Skinner Organ Company, Ernest M. Skinner and Son Organ Company, and organs built by Carl Bassett, Skinner’s foreman.
Morgan, William. The Almighty Wall: The Architecture of Henry Vaughan. New York: The Architectural History Foundation, 1983.
Biography and analysis of the work of the noted architect, who was the first architect of Washington Cathedral and architect of Serlo Organ Hall, now known as Methuen Memorial Music Hall. Includes an entire chapter on the patronage of Edward Searles in Methuen.
“View Book of Washington Cathedral, A.” The National Cathedral Association, 1940.
Contains information about and photographs of the new organ.
Roy Perry Papers.
Files pertaining to the building of the cathedral organ 1973–76, consisting of correspondence and technical data. In the possession of the author.
Liner notes on recordings of the cathedral organ 1964–1976.

Web sites
Aeolian-Skinner Archives
<http://aeolian-skinner.110mb.com&gt;
Opus lists, notes, and photographs of organs built by the Skinner Organ Company, Aeolian-Skinner Organ Company, and Ernest M. Skinner and Son Company. Based on material in the Kinsey-Lawn OHS book of opus lists.
Vermont Organ Academy
<http://www.vermontorganacademy.com&gt;
Writings and photographs of Roy Perry from the archives of First Presbyterian Church, Kilgore, Texas. “Aeolian-Skinner Legacy” series of recordings.
Washington National Cathedral
<http://www.nationalcathedral.org&gt;
Music pages include information on the cathedral organs.

Size matters

We’re fascinated by superlatives. We admire great engineering feats and geographical marvels, and we are skeptical of fallacious claims. When a family restaurant advertises “the world’s largest ice cream sundae,” we expect something big but we doubt whether the claim is true. I went to  and saw a video of someone named Higgenbotham jumping off an eight-meter platform into an 18-inch deep pool of water, setting a new record. Pretty silly, but he did it in front of a huge audience and stood right up waving his fists. He must have been very proud.
Hammacher-Schlemmer claims to be selling the World’s Largest Crossword Puzzle. According to their on-line catalogue, it “hangs on a full seven feet by seven feet of wall space and has 28,000 clues for over 91,000 squares . . . a 100-page clue book, with no repeats, provides the hints.” (“Comes with a storage box.”)
Until I started writing today, I thought that the Grand Canyon of the Colorado River was the largest canyon in the world. It’s as much as 8,799 feet deep (that’s 1.66 miles) and almost 275 miles long. But when I Googled® “world’s largest canyon” I learned about the Great Canyon of the Yarlung Tsangpo (Brahmaputra) River in the Himalayas of Tibet, which has a maximum depth of more than 17,500 feet (3.3 miles) and is more than 308 miles long. It’s located in a very remote area forbidden to foreign travelers, and has apparently been revealed only recently to the rest of the world.
The world’s largest city is Bombay where the population was 12,778,721 in 2005. That’s larger than the entire country of Zimbabwe (12,671,860). New York City is number eight with 8,143,197 residents in 2005.
The Nile is the longest river in the world with a total length of 4160 miles. While the Amazon is second longest (4049 miles), it’s the largest in volume, discharging something like seven million cubic feet of water into the ocean every second.
I looked up tallest buildings and found an argument about whether or not antennas should be counted (Sears Tower in Chicago if you don’t, Taipei 101 in Taipei if you do). What a time-sink is Guinness! (Get back to your writing.)
We brag about our pipe organs by citing statistics: “It has 20 reeds.” “It has three 32's.” “It has three 8' Opens on the Great.” But let’s be careful. In the organ world (or elsewhere in the world of the arts), bigger is not necessarily better. Most of us have generally known that the Midmer-Losh organ in the Convention Hall in Atlantic City, New Jersey, is the largest in the world, but we also know that it’s not playable, and when we read more carefully we find that some experts believe that the entire specification has never been playable at once. One legend says that the early staff of the organbuilding workshop at the Wanamaker Store in Philadelphia claimed that the Atlantic City organ was never finished.1 Small wonder that they would want to make such a claim—they were involved in building what they believed would be the world’s largest organ.
As with skyscrapers, it turns out that it depends how you count. Here is what seems to be current and definitive regarding the dimensions of the largest pipe organ in the world:

Atlantic City       Wanamaker’s
Ranks    452            469
Pipes   33,112       30,067
Weight (tons) 150    2872

It’s easy to guess why the Atlantic City organ has more pipes but fewer ranks—the bottom three of seven keyboards have 88 notes! Wanamaker’s has the edge by 17 ranks, but where did the extra 137 tons come from? (I imagine that the same person who figured out the weight of these organs also did the numbers for the cubic capacity of the Amazon.) (See Photo 1, The Grand Court.)

The customer is always right

John Wanamaker was the personification of the classic American success story. He attended school through the age of 13 and opened his first store in Philadelphia at the age of 22. His stores grew progressively larger as he introduced retail policies that are central to the industry today. Wanamaker was among the first to offer guarantees, refunds, and fixed prices; he introduced the first restaurant in a store, and was a pioneer in the use of newspaper advertising for retailing, including the first full-page newspaper ad.3
The unprecedented opulence of the Wanamaker stores in both Philadelphia and New York allowed customers to express their personalities as they shopped. The very wealthy were catered to in special ways—those with more modest incomes were made to feel special, and had specialty goods of high quality made available to them as never before.
It was John Wanamaker’s appreciation of beauty that inspired him to include pipe organs in his stores from the very beginning. That appreciation was instilled in his son Rodman whose love of the organ began early in his life. Devout Presbyterians, John Wanamaker was a Sunday school teacher at Philadelphia’s Bethany Presbyterian Church, and young Rodman was the organist. The family’s country home Lindenhurst boasted an important personal art collection and a large two-manual Roosevelt pipe organ, all of which was destroyed in a catastrophic fire in 1907.4
Longtime Grand Court Organist Mary Vogt linked John Wanamaker’s original inspiration for the construction of a truly monumental organ in the Philadelphia store to this fire. He lavished attention on Rodman, his only surviving son, and knew how much the Lindenhurst organ meant to him. The Grand Court organ was therefore offered as consolation to Rodman, and once the project was underway, John Wanamaker deferred to Rodman’s exquisite artistic and musical taste for the fulfillment of the vision that has now provided the world with one of its most important musical instruments.5
The Grand Court of the Wanamaker Store in Philadelphia is an immense space, taller than it is long or wide. America’s major organbuilders were considered for the commissioning of a new organ, but John Wanamaker commented that it would take years to construct a new organ large enough to fill the space, and the financial climate of the time was unstable (the Panic of 1907 was just ending). Then a wonderful opportunity presented itself.
Organbuilder Murray Harris had been chosen to construct a huge concert organ for the St. Louis World’s Fair of 1904. It was planned that after the World’s Fair, the organ would be moved to a new convention hall in Kansas City, Missouri (the initials “KC” were carved in the console’s music rack). The scope of this contract necessitated the building of a larger factory and considerable expansion of the firm’s staff, and the company’s capital was stretched so thin that stockholders were assessed $10 a share to raise needed cash. Their outrage led to the end of Harris’s association with the firm, which was reorganized with company superintendent William Boone Fleming in charge.
The organ was a great success at the World’s Fair, attracting millions of visitors to hear recitals played by the world’s greatest organists, including a landmark series of 40 recitals by French master Alexandre Guilmant. But when the fair was over, both Murray Harris and the Los Angeles Art Organ Company were insolvent. While the organ was being built, in the confusion during the reorganization that resulted in the formation of the latter firm, the contract with officials in Kansas City had never been ratified. It was voided and the organ was placed in storage in St. Louis in default.6
The organ had been in storage for five years before John Wanamaker focused on acquiring it. Finding such an immense organ “ready-made” seemed an ideal solution for the grand space in the Philadelphia store.
Organbuilder George W. Till had worked with Odell in New York for many years. When he left that firm in 1905, he had heard that John Wanamaker was looking for an experienced organbuilder who could also repair and tune player pianos. By the time the Wanamakers were considering the purchase of the St. Louis organ, George Till was well ensconced as the house “organ-man.” Till was dispatched to inspect the organ in storage and was later charged with closing the purchase and arranging for the organ to be shipped to Philadelphia.
While most organbuilders are accustomed to being able to move their instruments in rented trucks, the St. Louis World’s Fair organ filled 11 railroad boxcars. The train left St. Louis on the evening of August 5, 1909. William Fleming was engaged to supervise the installation of the organ. George Till was to be the “tonal man.” From the first times the organ was heard in the store, it was evident that it was inadequate to fill the immense space of the Grand Court with sound. Shortly after its dedication on June 22, 1911, the Wanamaker Organ Shop under the direction of both Till and Fleming was established on the 12th floor of the store. Over the ensuing years the organ was expanded from its original specification of approximately 130 stops to its present gargantuan size.
My source for this historical background is the beautifully produced book Music in the Marketplace written by Ray Biswanger, president and one of the founders of the Friends of the Wanamaker organ. If you are interested in reading the history of this unique organ and the people who built it, funded it, and have played on it, visit  where you can order a copy. (And while you’re at it, join the Friends.) There are dozens of wonderful photographs of the organ, specifications of the Grand Court organ in several stages of its development, and photos of the Grand Court decorated for different festivals and celebrations. On the website, you can also see the schedule of regular performances, hear streamed radio broadcasts, and purchase recordings of the organ by several distinguished artists.

Just the facts, ma’am . . .

Here a few tidbits I single out from the specification that help define for me the scale of the Wanamaker Organ (See Photo 2, The String Division):
The 88-rank String Division includes 58 eight-foot strings, all of 73 notes, all ranks starting on low C. A quick glance shows 34 eight-foot Diapasons on the manuals. The Main Pedal Division has 54 ranks, and only five stops borrowed from the manuals.
Another quick glance shows 82 ranks of reeds. There are altogether seven different ranks at 32' pitch—one of them is a Bourdon with half-length resonators.
More than virtually any other large organ I know, the Wanamaker Organ is a “straight organ.” There is very little borrowing. A large percentage of the manual ranks have 73 notes. And true curiosities such as the two-rank Clarinet in the Swell, the nine-rank chorus of Vox Humanae (recently reconstructed as an independent division!), or the chorus of strings in the String/Orchestral Pedal Organ at 16', 102⁄3', 8', 51⁄3', 4', 22⁄3', 2', 13⁄5', 11⁄3', and 4⁄5' (this division includes two full-length 32's and a total of 19 ranks and 716 pipes) add up to separate the organ from any other in the world. You cannot say it’s the best or largest of its class, because it’s the only organ in its class! (See Photo 3, String/Orchestral Pedal Organ, 32¢ Contra Diaphone and 32' Contra Gamba.)
The six-manual console is as elegant in design and construction as any I’ve seen. There are 692 stop tablets in eleven rows. There are 167 pistons. And under each of the six manuals there are brass slides about three octaves long that operate the expression shutters. The woodworking is exquisite, the materials rich and colorful—a world-class single-class console for a world-class single-class organ. (See Photo 4, Wanamaker console, Peter Conte, organist.)
Maintaining an organ of this scale is a continuous process. It requires all of the usual organbuilding skills, of course, with the addition of extraordinary organizational skills and patience. And how do you go about playing such a thing? One of the things I love about my work is the number of different organs of all sizes, shapes, and descriptions that I get to play. But sitting in front of a console like this is bewildering. And what about funding? Simply and bluntly put, how much does it cost to keep an organ with 82 reeds in any kind of presentable good tune? Remember, this is an organ that is played in public 12 times every week.
The Wanamaker Organ by itself is special enough. It’s a marvel—it’s over the top—it’s indescribable. But in my opinion the real story is the group of people who are gathered around the organ—the organist and his associates, the curator and his colleagues, and the executives and officials of the corporation that now owns the grand store built by John Wanamaker, which has been handed down through several generations of ownership.
The May Company has recently taken control of the Philadelphia Wanamaker store. Their division of Annual and Special Events (think of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade) has assumed responsibility for the organ, by all accounts an exciting and constructive move. A new Wanamaker’s Organ Workshop has been established in the building, and ambitious plans for the further renovation, preservation, and presentation of the organ are in the works. (See announcement, page 3.) To put it simply, the organ is now owned by a corporation that understands its importance as a musical instrument, cares deeply about its place in America’s cultural life, and is committed to maintaining it in the best possible condition.
So consider this column as background, and join me here in the next edition of The Diapason so I can tell you about those wonderful, brilliant, welcoming people who are the modern-day stewards of the world’s grandest organ.

Notes

1. Biswanger, Ray, Music in the Marketplace, Friends of the Wanamaker Organ Press, 1999, p. 241.
2. Ibid.
3. Ibid., p. 35.
4. Ibid., p. 47.
5. Ibid., p. 49.
6. Ibid., p. 330.

John Bishop is executive director of the Organ Clearing House.

Shiny side up
The work of the Organ Clearing House involves trucks. Lots of trucks. We rent trucks when we are working on projects small enough to fit into a single truck body. And we have a trucking company in Nevada that we call when we need a semi-trailer or a little fleet of semi-trailers. After many years of jumping around from one company to another, it was a relief to begin working consistently with a single firm that could meet most of our needs.
When we are dismantling an organ, loading day is heavy work. A crew runs in and out of a church building all day long carrying heavy parts down stairs and fitting them into a truck like a giant Tetris® game. When the truck is full there’s often a moment when the crew and truck driver “shoot the breeze” for a few minutes before the load hits the road. We’ve heard a few doozies. One driver mentioned that it was a good thing we weren’t sending him to Canada because he had been convicted for smuggling firearms and wasn’t allowed to drive there anymore. We had just loaded an Aeolian-Skinner organ into his trailer.
Sometimes it’s pearls of wisdom: “You can drive down that hill too slow as many times as you want. You can only drive down it too fast once.”
And the friendly greeting as he puts it in gear and lets out the clutch, “keep the shiny side up!” Good advice, especially with my organ in the back!

Skootch
In 1979 I was part of a crew installing a new European organ in Cleveland. (You historians can route out which organ that was . . .) The church’s sexton, a fifty-ish German man, was involved in setting up the scaffolding, and I as “the young guy” was up there with him. As we were putting up the last scaffold frame we ran into the pitch of the ceiling. “Hold this,” he said, handing me the scaffold frame. I was standing on a plank. He pushed against the ceiling with his hands, gave the scaffold tower a kick with both feet, and the whole thing jumped a couple inches toward the center of the room. We were up high enough to be able to put a bridge from the top of the tower across the top of the organ to another tower. It was a three-manual free-standing organ in a classic organ loft with a spiral stairway. Must have been 50 feet. After his kick the tower didn’t stop making noise for several seconds, and because I was holding that frame I couldn’t steady myself. Nothing bad happened, but as I reflect on that moment, especially watching our crews set up massive towers of scaffolding today, I can hardly believe the risk that guy exposed me to without asking. I would have said no.
In another Cleveland church my boss and I witnessed a near disaster. We walked through the nave heading for the rear gallery where we were finishing renovation of the antiphonal organ. The pews were divided into three sections across the room, so there were in effect two center aisles and no side aisles. The walls featured unusually large stained-glass windows. A couple guys from the church’s maintenance staff were changing light bulbs in the chandeliers, using the kind of scaffolding that’s made of two-inch aluminum tubes and has a two-by-six-foot footprint. They were four sections high, and had the outriggers (stabilizers) pointing up the aisles the “long way,” rather than between the pews. From inside the organ chamber we heard “that” noise and ran down the stairs to find the tower at a 45-degree angle, the bottom of the tower still in the aisle, and Mr. Lightbulb on top with his foot on the wall next to a window. A couple inches to the right and he would have gone through the glass and fallen a long way to the lawn. Telling him to hang on, we yanked the tower straight again, and I had to go up to help the guy down.
What kind of maintenance supervisor would let that happen? Oh yeah, in the first story he was the guy on top of the tower with the big feet.

Those little voices
That Cleveland area organbuilder I was working with is Jan Leek of Oberlin, Ohio. I was privileged to work in his shop part time when I was a student, and then full-time for about five years after I graduated. He had learned the trade in Holland in what could best be described as an old-world apprenticeship, and as he taught me how to handle tools and operate machinery, he had a way of saying, “listen for those little voices.” If the little voice in your head says, “you’re going to cut your finger with that chisel if you do that once more,” the little voice is right. It’s a great image, and I am sure that his description taught me to conjure up those voices. I can still hear them. “The paint is going to drip on the carpet.” “The keyboard is going to fall on the floor.” “Your finger will touch that saw blade.”
The apprentice doesn’t hear the voices. The journeyman hears them and doesn’t listen. The master hears them and does listen.
An open quart can of contact cement is sitting on the chancel carpet next to the organ console. Of course it’s going to get knocked over when you stand up. The price of the glue, $4.79. The price of the carpet, $47,500.
A row of tin façade pipes is standing against the workshop wall. A worker is using a five-pound hammer to break up the crates that the pipes came in. The head flies off the hammer and dents one of the pipes, and they all fall over, one at a time in slow motion like 15-foot-tall tin dominos and there’s nothing anyone can do.
Cheery, isn’t it?
This subject is on my mind for several reasons. One is that I’ve spent the last couple days negotiating the rental of a huge amount of scaffolding and rigging equipment for a large project we will start next week, so I’ve been talking with salesmen about weight and height limits and what accessories are necessary to ensure safety. Another reason is that a locally owned small manufacturing company near us suffered a catastrophic fire last week. And as we work with scaffolding companies in New York we hear stories about the construction industry, especially relating to recent serious accidents involving cranes used in the construction of high-rise buildings.
I love the image of the organbuilder at a wooden workbench, a window open next to him providing a gentle breeze, a sharp plane in his hands, and the sweet smell of fresh wood wafting off the workpiece as the shavings curl from the blade of the plane. Or that of the voicer sitting in seclusion with beautiful new pipes in front of him coming to life under his ministrations.
But think of that majestic organ case in the rear gallery with an ornate monumental crown on the top of the center tower, covered with moldings, carvings, and gilding, and pushed up against the ceiling. Uplifting, isn’t it? It might be eight feet long, six feet wide, and three feet tall. It might weigh 500 pounds, and someone had to put it there. Making it is one thing. Getting it 50 feet off the floor and placed on those 20-foot legs that hold it up is another thing altogether. Uplifting, all right.
Organbuilders have a variety of skills. We work with wood, metal, and leather. We work with electricity and solid-state circuitry. We have acute musical ears for discerning minute differences in pipe speech and for setting temperaments. And we must be material handlers—that specialization of moving heavy things around safely.
To put that tower crown in place you need scaffolding, hoisting equipment, and safety gear to keep you from falling. How high up do you need to be before you need that gear? Easy. Ask yourself how far you’re willing to fall. Twenty feet? Thirty feet? Four years ago the Organ Clearing House dismantled the huge Möller organ in the Philadelphia Civic Center. (That organ is now under renovation in the new workshop of the American Organ Institute at the University of Oklahoma.) The organ chamber was above the ceiling, 125 feet above the floor. The demolition company (the building was to be torn down) cut a hole in the floor of the blower room big enough for the organ parts to pass through. And we were left standing on the edge of an abyss. We used full-body harnesses and retractable life lines. If you fell you’d drop about six feet and the ratchet-action of the retractable would stop you, something like the seatbelts in your car. And there you are, hanging 120 feet up.

Away aloft
A sailor hollers “Away aloft” as the halyard hoists the sail up the mast. The rigger might do the same. He ties a line around the load, hooks it to the line from the winch, and up it goes. It’s important to choose the right type of line—you don’t want chanciness caused by a line that stretches, for example. But what really matters is the knots you use. Some knots are meant to slip. Some are meant to be permanent. A favorite is the bowline, which cannot untie, but also cannot pull so tight that it cannot be undone. It was developed by early sailors to tie a ship to a dock or mooring. Think of a large sailing vessel, bow tied to a mooring, bouncing on the waves and pulled by the wind for weeks. There’s a terrific amount of force on that knot. But you give the top of the knot a push sideways and it can be taken apart easily. Beginning sailors are taught how to tie the bowline both left- and right-handed, blindfolded. I once had to tie a bowline while diving under a boat in order to repair a centerboard control.
Different knots are intended for different purposes.
A half-hitch is a great knot for securing something temporarily, but it looks a lot like a slip knot. If you don’t know the difference you might tie a slip knot by mistake. How will that work when the weight of a windchest shifts while being hoisted into the organ?
If your skill set doesn’t include three or four good reliable knots, I recommend you learn them. There are neat books for this purpose, predictably available from boating-supply companies. Some come with little lengths of line so you can practice in the comfort of your home.
When hoisting heavy parts you can also use nylon webbing. It’s available in neat pre-cut lengths with loops on each end for easy tying. The webbing is easy on the corners of the piece you’re lifting, and it’s very strong. A one-inch wide web is rated for 2,000 pounds in vertical lift. But keep a good eye on its condition. Recently there was an eerie photo in the New York Times in the aftermath of the collapse of a construction crane. It showed a piece of torn webbing dangling from a hook. That photo prompted us to purchase new webbing for our next rigging job!
In the nineteenth century, the great Boston organbuilding firm of E. & G.G. Hook suffered two serious fires, both of which destroyed their workshops. I know of two North American organbuilders who have had bad fires in the last decade. Neither was caused by carelessness; in fact, one was caused by lightning. I thought about those two colleague firms working to rebuild their companies when we heard of a terrible fire at a boatyard near us. Washburn & Doughty is a family-owned company with about a hundred employees that builds heavy commercial vessels like tugboats, fireboats, and ferryboats. It’s quite a spectacle to see a hundred-foot tugboat under construction in a small village. And a mighty amount of steel goes into the building of such a boat. On Friday, July 11, sparks from a cutting torch ignited a fire that destroyed the building. It was routine work for a place like that, and newspaper stories told that the fire was officially accidental. They were able to save a hundred-foot tug that had been launched and was being completed at the dock—they cast it adrift! But two others that were still in the buildings were lost and 65 employees were laid off temporarily while the owners work out how to rebuild.
Ten years ago I was restoring an organ built by E. & G.G. Hook with lots of help from volunteers from the parish. We were refinishing the walnut case, and I mentioned the fire hazard of rags that were soaked with linseed oil. They must be spread out to dry. If they’re left in a heap they will spontaneously combust. One of the volunteers took a pile of the rags home and put them in a bucket in the middle of his backyard. He told us later that it had only taken about ten minutes before the bucket was full of fire!
This is a pretty gloomy subject. But I write encouraging my colleagues to look around their workplaces with a critical eye toward safety. Be sure you have the proper gear for lifting and moving the things you’re working on. Store your paints and finishes in a fire-proof cabinet. Eliminate the possibility of sparks finding a pile of sawdust and spread out those oily rags. Encourage your workers to use safety equipment. Safety glasses may look nerdy, but it’s not cool to lose an eye!
Get your hands on a good industrial supply catalogue—I have those from Grainger and McMaster-Carr on my desk. Go to the “safety” pages and leaf through. You’ll see lots of things that protect against stuff you haven’t imagined could happen! Organbuilders are precious. Let’s keep them all in good health.

The Ugly Duckling”

I am a hopelessly besotted fan of Patrick O’Brien’s magnificent series of novels about the British Navy during the Napoleonic Wars. Through twenty-one novels, O’Brien carries his cast of characters from exuberant youth to deep old age, hardened by the experiences of more than twenty years at war. The main characters are “Lucky Jack” Aubrey and Stephen Maturin. We first meet Aubrey as an unruly lieutenant, who matures into one of the most illustrious post captains in the Navy. Captain Aubrey is impossibly unlucky and foolish when ashore, exposing himself to scams, cuckolding his superior officers, and occasionally winding up in prison for debt. When at sea, he is universally admired for his seamanship, leadership, intuition, courage, and cheerful demeanor.  

His close friend is Stephen Maturin, a complicated and curmudgeonly character, who is a physician and “natural philosopher” (biological researcher). When we meet him he is flat broke because his wealthy patient died, and a servant made off with all the money. But as the story progresses, we learn that he is not only widely recognized as a brilliant scientist, but is one of the most important members of the British Naval Intelligence Service. Stephen is responsible for much of Jack’s seagoing success as he cooks up secret missions, insisting that Jack sail as captain with him.

In the opening paragraphs of Master and Commander, the first novel in the series, Jack and Stephen meet at a concert, and the first days of their friendship are based on music, the one thing they have in common. Jack convinces Stephen to sail with him in his first command to serve as ship’s surgeon, allowing him to take advantage of world travel to fuel his scientific studies. 

Stephen plays the cello and spends a lot of time during long voyages, between battles, arranging various masterpieces for them to play together. Jack plays the violin, well enough that having received a “fortune in prize money” for capturing an enemy vessel, he indulges himself in the purchase of an Amati violin. (Stephen goes to the shop with him to offer his opinion about the instrument.)

They both play quite well for amateurs, often sharing a game of improvisation and finding relief in blasting through their favorite pieces, such as the “often played, yet ever fresh Corelli in C Major.” Night after night in the captain’s cabin, Aubrey’s steward, Preserved Killick, prepares toasted parmesan cheese in a silver chafing dish, complaining to his mate about the horrible noise of the tuning, “There they go again, screech, screech, scrape, scrape . . . and never a tune you could sing to, not if you were drunk as Davie’s sow . . . “

The musical subplot is always bubbling through this massive tale. It’s accurate and learned, and often very funny. One afternoon while in London, Jack takes refuge in a church where he is delighted to find that the organ is being played, but halfway through the piece, it whimpers to a stop mid-phrase and a surly teenager lurches out of the loft and onto the street. The priest who was playing comes down, apologizes for the sudden stop (the teenager was pumping the organ and the hour was up), and Jack compliments the beautiful playing, “Händel, wasn’t it?” The priest mentions that the organ was built by Father Willis. Jack offers to pump the organ himself so he can hear the end of the piece. As the music continues, Jack starts chuckling as he thinks, “it would be a pity to leave Händel (handle) up in the air for lack of wind.”

The many passages that describe the handling of those great nineteenth-century ships are equally colorful and accurate, making two passions of mine that are nurtured as I re-read these books.

Early on, Jack gets by on his innate seamanship alone, relying on others for the advanced mathematics necessary for navigation. But when Stephen is away on a mission and there’s no music, Jack listens in to the on-board schoolroom of his midshipmen (who are young teenagers), one of whom is so gifted that Jack is shamed into joining in. He is enchanted by spherical trigonometry (whatever that is!), and quickly adds deep scientific skills to his toolbox. That student, whose first name is Richard, is “horribly disfigured” by acne and is given the nickname of Spotted Dick, which is a dessert dish of custard and currants, popular among the officers.

Several novels later we meet up with Spotted Dick again, acne long past, who has matured into a “seagoing Apollo, perfectly unaware of his beauty.” He is serving as flag lieutenant under Admiral William Pellew, also a musician who “never sailed with anything less than a clavichord,” and “required his steward to take tuning lessons” in a long series of unlikely foreign ports, and who was known for “his appreciation of beautiful young men.”

The transformation from “Spotted Dick” to “A Seagoing Apollo” reminds me of Hans Christian Andersen’s tale, The Ugly Duckling, in which all the farmyard creatures make fun of the clumsy, unsightly little black bird and receive their comeuppance when he matures into a beautiful swan.

There’s no such thing as bad publicity.

Over the years working in the organ business, I’ve enjoyed it when our projects have attracted the attention of the local press. When a little weekly country newspaper gets wind of an organ project in a church, they show up flannel-shirted with camera hanging from a strap and ask ridiculous, ubiquitous questions. As we answer, we can tell that they don’t understand what we’re talking about, and invariably, when the story is published it’s full of inaccuracies. I remember a front-page photo of my teenaged self proudly holding up a stenciled façade pipe, bearing the caption, “Organbuilder John Bishop voices an organ pipe.” That made two promotions for me—to organbuilder and voicer—and my co-workers bowed and scraped appropriately, tongue in cheek, dope-slaps included.

As I grew into my newly acquired “in name only” skills (I’m still not much of a voicer—I rely on my smarter colleagues for that), I learned to understand that the pipe organ is an arcane subject. I received an important lesson from a member of a church where the Organ Clearing House was delivering a rebuilt organ. We had organized an “Open House” in the nave of the church the evening after unloading the truck. Some fifty people showed up, and I walked about through the heaps of bewildering parts, picking things up and explaining their purpose, trying to give the group a general idea of the assortment of components it takes to make up a working pipe organ. One gentleman spoke up, saying that now he understood why it all cost so much.

When an organbuilder is selling or planning a project with a committee of a client church, he may be the only person in the room who understands the subject. Through those experiences, I realize what a responsibility it is to carry the trust of the client, who nods his head, signs the contract, and hopes for the best.

I often hear comments from parishioners indicating that it had never occurred to them that the organ was separate from the building, that it required maintenance, and was in any way sensitive to what goes on around it. How often have we finished a project, only to learn that the floors of the church would be sanded and refinished the next month? How could that have failed to come up as we neared the end of the project, BEFORE we put the reeds in?

A shuttered view

It’s easy enough to understand innocent ignorance regarding the organ as a musical instrument, but it troubles me to realize that more than a few prominent symphony conductors consider the pipe organ to be expressionless. I think this notion comes from the concept that a violinist, clarinetist, or trumpeter can alter the volume and timbre within the duration of a note, while a single organ pipe can only play a single note at a single volume level. Also, the classical idea of terraced dynamics, which has played such an important role in our study of historically informed performance, enforces the idea of the uninitiated that the pipe organ is unexpressive. 

These are simplistic views. Organists know that expression comes from the manipulation of stops and shutters. It’s a physical and mechanical fact that any accent, crescendo or decrescendo, “soloed out” melody, change of timbre—in short, any alteration of dynamics at all—is accomplished by the organist manipulating “the machine” by pushing buttons, operating pedals, drawing stops, each motion in addition to the simple playing of notes. The uninitiated may focus on the machine, but the effect is all art.

The apparent ugly duckling blossoms into the dramatic and beautiful expressive instrument.

I believe that the modern pipe organ, with its sophisticated combination actions and efficient and effective expression enclosures, is the most expressive of musical instruments. The skillful organist can take the listener smoothly from a distant whisper to a heroic roar in a few seconds—and today’s large instruments have a greater dynamic range than a full symphony orchestra.

There’s an apocryphal story that I believe is true about the first rehearsal of the Dallas Symphony Orchestra with the brand-new Fisk organ in the Meyerson Center. The orchestra was preparing (of course) Camille Saint-Saëns’ Organ Symphony. When the last movement started with the monumental C-major chord from the organ, a trombone player raised a white flag with his slide.

The Meyerson Fisk is a landmark in my opinion, as it was the first of a new wave of brilliant concert instruments with tracker key action. 

And let’s not forget that early in the twentieth century, a tribe of brilliant concert organists, many of whom as municipal organists were city employees, played with just as a great a dynamic and expressive range, as they explored the extraordinary, newly conceived electro-pneumatic instruments being produced by such innovators as Ernest Skinner.

Perhaps twenty years ago, I was having a conversation with organ historian and consultant Barbara Owen, during which she asserted, “We need to get the organ out of the church.” At first I thought that was ridiculous. After all, without the long illustrious history of the organ in church, we wouldn’t have the pipe organ today. But reflecting on the (let’s face it) diminishing role of organized religion in American society, it’s true that if we would only find organs in churches, most people would never hear an organ.

How ordinawy

So says Madeline Kahn as Lily von Shtupp as she receives a gift of flowers in Mel Brooks’s zany 1974 movie, Blazing Saddles.

When we think of the pipe organ, we might be thinking of the grand and glorious instruments that knock our socks off in church and in the concert hall. But we have to admit that for every inspiring and beautiful organ, there are at least two dowdy old tubs lurking in dusty balconies. Through decades of working in and around organs, I’ve been aware that thousands of people think of the organ as a wheezy, murky thing that utters incomprehensible sounds at unexpected moments. (I suppose that some of this may be operator error.)

I’ve written many times that it was the corporate assessment of these dull cousins that inspired the revival of classic styles of organbuilding that ultimately led to the further revival of interest in the spectacular electro-pneumatic instruments that dominated the early twentieth-century. Many people defined this movement as “organ wars,” known as the battle between electric and mechanical actions. But it was deeper than that—I think it was the battle between good and bad organs. Something had to be done in response to the content-lacking factory-produced organs of post-World War II America. 

There’s that ugly duckling again.

The best of both worlds

Last Thursday night, one of Wendy’s clients treated us to fancy “down front” seats at Paul Winter’s “Winter Solstice Celebration.” The venue was New York’s Cathedral of St. John the Divine, affectionately known as St. John the Unfinished. It’s a grand Gothic structure on Amsterdam Avenue, unfinished as the West End façade and towers are not complete, transepts haven’t been built, and interior stonework is incomplete. We understand that it will remain in this state of perpetual incompletion. The six-hundred-foot-long interior is breathtaking, and it has all the functions, chapels, and memorial spaces needed for majestic worship and pageant. As an unfinished edifice, it’s a metaphor for Work in Progress, symbolizing the state of religious celebration and thought.

I am well aware that many colleagues disagree with the frequent secular use of that most grand of sacred spaces. Since the twelfth century, worshippers have been building Gothic spaces out of stone—spaces that are so lofty and massive as to be inspirations to us before the introduction of any content, whether religious or secular. The Episcopal Diocese of New York has condoned and promoted the liberal use of its landmark space for decades.

On August 7, 1974, Philippe Petit surreptitiously strung a high-wire between the two towers of New York’s World Trade Center and famously spent forty-five minutes walking back and forth, saluting, kneeling, even lying on the wire. New Yorkers were transfixed and the police were baffled by the spectacle. That incredible feat and the years of planning that preceded it are documented in the award-winning documentary film, Man on Wire. To commemorate that singular public expression of self-confidence, theater, and the human spirit, the Cathedral of St. John the Divine includes Petit on a long list of Artists in Residence and has installed permanent fittings in the fabric of the building that allow him to hang a high-wire across the nave.

For thirty-five consecutive years, the cathedral has hosted the Paul Winter Consort’s celebration of the winter solstice. The heavily amplified instruments of the Consort (saxophones, oboe, cello, bass, keyboards, percussion) and the Latino night-club style of Puerto Rican headliner Danny Rivera are not the usual fare of Episcopal cathedrals, but the production standards, the choreography, and the iconography combined to provide a deeply moving spiritual experience.

We were especially moved by the depiction of the sunrise that ended the first half of the three-hour production. A procession down the length of the seemingly endless nave, up the steps to the chancel, and all the way to the great granite columns that define the apse was accompanied by brilliant music dominated by the sounds of more than a dozen great bronze gongs. Dramatic lighting and smoky effects focused on the distant front of the church as the sun, depicted as the mother of all gongs in polished, spotlighted brass, rose out the depths and ascended to a dizzying height. The thing must have been ten feet in diameter, big enough to look dramatic in that vast place. It was accompanied toward the heavens by a safety-harnessed “Gonger,” wielding a mallet of suitable heroic size in a slow rhythm that produced a crescendo of earth-shaking tones that echoed throughout the cathedral.

Wendy and I have visited the site of the quarry where those fifty-foot high columns were made on a specially built lathe. It’s in Maine on the island of Vinalhaven in Penobscot Bay. As the spectacle of the sunrise unfolded, I remembered that visit and marveled at the role those columns were playing in that glorious theater.

In 2008, Quimby Pipe Organs completed a comprehensive rebuilding and renovation of the cathedral’s great Skinner/Aeolian-Skinner organ. The Organ Clearing House was privileged to play a role in that herculean job, providing scaffolding and rigging and assisting the staff of QPO with the installation of the completed organ. It was a thrill for us to experience that building “up close and personal,” learning the legends of the place and experiencing the singular acoustics when the space was empty.

The organ was used heavily during the Paul Winter extravaganza, and I wept as we were enveloped by its gorgeous tones. The emotions generated by the scope of the sound were enhanced by memories of the spooky heights of the hoisting scaffolding, the difficulties of getting four semi-trailers full of organ parts into the hundred-feet-up organ chambers, and the incongruity of logistics meetings held while sitting in folding chairs surrounding the bronze medallion in the chancel floor.

Through the miracle of concert technology, the instrumentalists on the stage in the Great Crossing were effortlessly accompanied by the organ, more than a hundred feet away. I pointed out to our hosts that the organ was the only instrument that was not amplified, and while Paul Winter’s soprano saxophone was much nearer to us, and the speakers through which he played were almost directly in front of us, the organ was by far the more present—a triumph for acoustic music.

The majesty of the room, the creativity of the music and the production, the energy of the instrumentalists, singers, and dancers, and the enthusiasm of the vast audience (must have been over three thousand people) combined to create a beautiful artistic and spiritual experience. What’s wrong with that? 

Pipedreams Organ Tour, April 21-May 3, 2002, Part 1

Mary Ann Dodd is Colgate University Organist Emerita. Her lectures and performances have often featured the music of contemporary American composers. She is presently at work on a book about the life and times of organist Leonard Raver.

"Travel back in time. Open that church door and peer inside. Hear the incredible, vital voice of instruments you have only read about . . . climb the winding stairs to view the organ up close. If you wish, lay your hands on its keyboards and let its time-honored voice sing just for you. Prepare to be enchanted . . ." Who could possibly resist such an enticing invitation? Certainly not I, nor--apparently--the forty-three others who lost no time in signing up for this extraordinary travel opportunity sponsored by Minnesota Public Radio and hosted by Pipedreams' own J. Michael Barone.

For this septuagenarian, who had never before ventured across the "Big Pond," this was, indeed, a once-in-a-lifetime adventure. Our itinerary was an ambitious one. We would be visiting at least forty organs in eleven days--an interesting mix of old and new instruments in a variety of venues including castles, palaces, museums, cathedrals and village churches.

It was my intention to keep some kind of travel diary and to write an article about the trip when I returned. As luck would have it, my life took some unexpected turns about that time, and many months passed before I was able to turn my attention to this self-appointed task. More than a year would have passed by the time the article reached the hands of readers. I thought long and hard about it. Perhaps I should abandon the project. In the end, I couldn't. It was a trip that deserves to be documented and shared. By now, many details, once vivid, have faded, and I apologize for the errors and omissions that are bound to occur. This is not intended to be a scholarly report in any sense. It is not about facts and figures and stop lists. The memory of this remarkable journey has been simmering away on the back burners of my mind, and I want to try to capture its essence and share some impressions with you. Here, then, is the Pipedreams Organ Tour, 2002, in retrospect.

Day 1

Early Monday morning, as we arrived from various points of embarkation, our group began to assemble in the boarding area of Amsterdam's Schiphol Airport. Weary and jet-lagged, we were a motley crew indeed. Our ever-genial host, Michael Barone, greeted each of us warmly and presented us with a thirty-page booklet that he had prepared. In addition to a detailed itinerary, it contained a fine introductory essay, photographs, maps, stop lists, website links and other pertinent and helpful information. It would become our vade-mecum for the next eleven days. In a matter of mere minutes, a group of strangers were rapidly becoming "family," and the final leg of our journey to Berlin was about to begin.

The flight from Amsterdam to Berlin is a relatively short one, and before long, we found ourselves deplaning. Tegel airport--as one might expect--is large, bustling and modern. Had our ears not been surrounded by myriad voices all speaking in German, it might have been the airport of any great city. We were warmly welcomed by our German tour guide, Sonja Ritter, and our bus driver, Manuela Huwe. Eventually, our luggage was duly accounted for and stowed, and we climbed aboard our large and comfortable modern tour bus. The adventure had begun!

Our itinerary promised a brief "panoramic tour" of the city, and it did not disappoint. It was a beautiful, warm and sunny day--the first sunshine Berlin had seen in this month of April! As we drove through the city, flowering trees were everywhere. Everyone in Berlin seemed to be outside enjoying the sunshine. Crowded sidewalk cafes and mounted policemen on horseback were reminiscent of the isle of Manhattan on a warm day in spring.

Our only stop in Berlin that first day was at the Breitscheidplatz for a brief lunch break. The plaza, a popular tourist attraction, is dominated by the Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church, which was built at the end of the nineteenth century. Bombed by the British in 1943, the ruined church tower is all that remains. It has been preserved as a memorial, and a new, modern church of blue-stained glass now stands beside it. Some in our group chose to explore the church. Others wandered off in search of lunch and souvenirs, and some seized the opportunity to acquire some euros at a nearby bank. Too sleep-deprived and exhausted to move, I chose to sit on a bench in the warm sun and reflect on my first impressions of this great city. Berlin exudes an almost overwhelming aura of energy, vitality and transformation--a modern-day phoenix rising from the ashes. It is a city of starkly dramatic contrasts between old and new--building for the future, while preserving and learning from its past.

Once again aboard our bus, we headed for Potsdam, some eighteen miles to the south and west. If Berlin was colorful and bright, Potsdam seemed gray and somber. Older, smaller, less urban and "touristy," we were now in what had once been East Germany before the reunification in 1990. Potsdam was bombed by the British in 1945, and even today--more than a half-century later--the signs are still visible. Large, ugly, institutional-looking apartment buildings bear witness to the recent Communist occupation. But Potsdam, like Berlin, is also a city of contrasts. Palaces, formal gardens and landscaped parks speak eloquently of the wealth and splendor of the past.

Sanssouci Park

Our first stop was Sanssouci Park, the home of Frederick the Great's eighteenth-century summer palace. Neither words, nor even photographs, can begin to do justice to this incredible monument to royal self-indulgence. Wilhelm Frederick II, the philosopher king, had a passion for things French, and spoke only that language. An accomplished pupil of Quantz, he was famous for his daily chamber music concerts and midnight suppers, at which he surrounded himself with an elite circle of intellectuals and artists, among them such luminaries as Voltaire. It was for Frederick that Bach wrote The Musical Offering after visiting the king in Potsdam in 1747. The lavish, single-story palace, with its yellow, rococo façade, sits high atop what had once been only a desolate hill. The palace is not open on Monday, but we were able to walk about and take in the panoramic view of the park below. Walking across the vast plaza and past the fountains, we made the long descent down the broad and elegant staircase, past six tiers of terraced vineyards with their glassed-in alcoves designed to protect the orange and fig trees. Having reached the great fountain at the bottom, one is able to turn and look back up the hill toward the palace. It is a truly extraordinary sight, now etched indelibly in my memory.

From there, a leisurely stroll took us through more of the park with its beautifully landscaped gardens, temples, statues, pavilions and grottos. Approaching the edge of the park, we arrived at the lovely Friedenskirche (Peace Church), a picturesque Italianate structure modeled after an early Christian basilica and complete with campanile. Built by Frederick IV, the nineteenth-century, "romantic" Prussian king, the church was completed in 1848, the same year that the organ was dedicated.

The original 18-stop instrument, built by Gottlieb Heise, employed casework designed to encircle the rose window. Over the years, additions and alterations were made by various builders. A major rebuilding and dramatic enlargement by Sauer, in 1909, resulted in a new façade which covered the rose window. During the twentieth century, the revisions continued, resulting in the replacement of many Romantic registers by Baroque stops. Plans are now underway, and funds being raised, for a major rebuilding project which will return the organ to something like its original nineteenth-century state. The acoustics are fine, and in spite of its checkered past, the organ gave a decent accounting of itself under the capable hands of Director of Church Music, Matthias Jacob, who welcomed us warmly and played a mini-recital of Bach, Reger and Franck.

Schuke Orgelbau

Back on the bus once more, we headed for the Schuke Orgelbau, the last stop of the day before checking into our hotel. The Schuke organ factory is located in the heart of the old Dutch Quarter. It was here, after the Thirty Years' War, that Frederick I, the "Soldier King," commissioned the building of 134 red brick, gabled houses in the Dutch style, meant to attract workers from Holland to help with Potsdam's building boom at the beginning of the eighteenth century. The Schuke company was founded in 1820 by Gottlieb Heise, builder of the original Friedens-kirche organ. Since 1894, it has been under the Schuke name and has survived two world wars as well as the enforced nationalization which took place between 1972 and 1990. Not a small shop by any means, Schuke employs twenty-eight craftsmen, including a physicist and a design engineer. With an international clientele, the company designs, builds, restores, reconstructs and maintains organs of every size in every venue.

East Germans seem to be early risers. A working day at the Schuke company begins at 6:30 and ends at 2:30. By the time we arrived, most of the workers had already left or were leaving for the day. The quaint, picturesque setting imbued the whole enterprise with an ambience of charm and informality. Our tour guide was a young physicist from the University of Potsdam. We wandered up and down and through many small rooms which occupied several adjoining buildings, all accessible through a small, cobblestone courtyard. For some in our group, it was their first visit to an organ shop, and there were many questions, some of which were difficult for our guide to field because of the language barrier. Fortunately, our group included the American organ builder, Roland Rutz, who was able to greatly facilitate the communication problem.

A church, a palace, a royal chapel, and an organ factory--not bad for an afternoon's work! By now, we were beyond exhaustion and more than ready to head for our small hotel, which was located in a quiet, residential Potsdam neighborhood. We would be on our own for the remainder of the evening. It was still early, and a few of the more adventurous in the group headed back to Berlin via public transportation. After being reunited with our luggage, and having stretched our legs a bit, most of us were quite content to settle on a leisurely meal right there in our hotel.

Day 2

The restorative powers of a good night's sleep had worked their wonders, and after an early breakfast, we gathered in the lobby eager to board our bus for what promised to be a very full day in Berlin. The fact that the day had dawned cold and rainy had not dampened our spirits. Our driver, Manuela, drove us back to Berlin by a different route, more residential than that by which we had come before. Lakes, streams and lovely forested areas abounded. Green was the color of the day, and signs of spring were everywhere. Berliners evidently love their gardens, yet their lawns seem to fend for themselves and lack the "manicured" look one expects to find in similar neighborhoods back in the States. I found the effect charming and thought again of Berlin as a city of contrasts--in this case, the rather dramatic juxtaposition of urban and rural.

Church of the Holy Cross

Our destination on this rather dark and gloomy Tuesday morning was the Kreuzberg district of Berlin and the Church of the Holy Cross. The bus let us out on the Blücherplatz, and we made our way on foot to the church. The Church of the Holy Cross is one of the largest and most prominent in Berlin. Built between 1885 and 1888, it suffered severe damage in WW II, and the interior was completely destroyed. Although a rather limited reconstruction in the 1960s had made the church habitable again, many problems still remained, and it had become a financial liability to the community, rather than an asset. As a result of many years of creative and foresightful cooperative planning in the 1980s, the church has undergone a major reconstruction and revitalization. After several years, the project was finally completed, and the building was inaugurated in 1995. Recognized as an historic monument, its exterior remains virtually unchanged. Inside is another story altogether. While preserving the integrity of the main room (the worship space), this very large interior has been miraculously transformed into an ecologically sound, multi-use facility, which serves the entire community. Side galleries, open stairways, windows and skylights, stone, glass and steel: all of these elements have been combined into a harmonious blend of old and new. Michael Barone has referred to it as "creative contemporary recycling at every level." Wherever one happens to be in this vast space, the effect is visually thrilling.

But enough about the building. We had come to see, hear and play the organ--an organ no less extraordinary than the building it occupies. The organ is E. & G. G. Hook, Opus 553, II/39, built in 1870 for the First Unitarian Church of Woburn, Massachusetts. In 1991, the organ was threatened with destruction when the congregation ceased to function there, and the building was designated for other uses. The Organ Clearing House came to the rescue and removed the instrument, but a local buyer could not be found at that time. Fortunately, the organ specialist, Uwe Pape, was able to arrange the purchase of the instrument by the Kreuzberg chapter of the Evangelical Church. This was followed by a period of uncertainty while the organ waited in storage. Finally, the Church of the Holy Cross was designated as its new home, and after careful planning, the installation and revoicing was accomplished in 2000-01 by the Eule company. The organ was in good condition and, except for some releathering and the repairing of some cracks in the windchests, it remains unaltered. In its original Woburn incarnation, the organ had been buried in a narrow chamber and forced to speak into an acoustically dead room. Here, a beautiful, new, free-standing organ case has been designed by two of the architects who were involved in the recent renovation. The organ is now visually "at home" in its new surroundings and speaks, for the first time, into a good acoustic. Perhaps even more importantly, Berlin now possesses a fine example of nineteenth-century organ building. Kantor Gunter Kennel greeted us warmly, introduced us to the organ, answered questions and played for us. Afterwards there was ample opportunity for those who wished to try the instrument themselves.

Charlottenburg Palace

Back on the bus again, our next stop was Charlottenburg Palace, the largest palace in Berlin. Located on the Spree River and once approachable by boat, it was built between 1695 and 1699 as a rural summer home for Sophie-Charlotte, wife of the future King Frederick I of Prussia. Over the years, it was added to in stages and finally completed by Frederick the Great with the addition of an east wing in 1746. Severely damaged by Allied bombing in 1943, the palace has been meticulously restored and is now a major tourist attraction.

We took the guided tour and enjoyed viewing the many priceless paintings, tapestries and furnishings, including the famous porcelain collection of Frederick I. But the major attraction for us on this gloomy Tuesday was the royal chapel and its organ. Having completed the formal tour, we were escorted into the small chapel. Once free of the museum-like context of viewing roped-off treasures, we seemed to have quietly slipped into another dimension where we found ourselves at once immersed in sumptuous, eighteenth-century splendor. To actually experience this architectural detail at close range and in three dimensions was both wonderful, and at the same time, a bit overwhelming.

The original instrument had been a 1706 Schnitger of two manuals, twenty-six ranks. Even though the organ had been removed and stored for safekeeping in the cellar in 1943, it was totally destroyed by fire bombs the following year. Fortunately, Alexander and Karl Schuke had been planning a thorough restoration and had carefully documented and photographed the instrument in its every detail. The restoration by Karl Schuke was completed in 1970. In the center of one of the long sidewalls, high above the floor of the chapel, Haupt-werk and Pedal divisions and console are housed within a chamber, which sits behind the arched opening into the room. The Rückpositiv, in an elaborately carved and ornamented frame, projects into the room. In spite of this rather "quirky" physical design, the organ has a pleasant sound and a clear presence that fills the room nicely. Professor Klaus Eichhorn was on hand to greet us and play works by Sweelinck, Scheidemann and Weckman. Although time was short, several in our group seized the opportunity to try the instrument. The organ loft is very small and able to accommodate only a few people at a time. I was content to remain below, absorbing the sights and sounds of another age in this royal chapel where kings had worshipped. I must say that exiting the palace and finding ourselves abruptly back in the twenty-first century was a bit of a jolt.

Berlin Konzerthaus

Back on the bus once more, we headed for the Gendarmenmarkt, the largest plaza in Berlin, and thought by many to be the most beautiful square in all of Europe. "Take-out" sandwiches sufficed for our lunch break and helped to keep us on schedule, as we were expected shortly at the Konzerthaus for an organ demonstration.

Dominating the large plaza, the Berlin Konzerthaus is an imposing structure. Flanked by the German cathedral (the Berlin Dom) on one side and the French cathedral on the other, it stands today as an outstanding example of European concert hall reconstruction. Originally designed in 1801 as the State Theater, it has survived many disasters and reconstructions over the past two hundred years. Severely damaged in WW II, it was first made structurally safe, and then, starting in 1979, systematically restored to its original design. In 1984 it reopened as the Berlin Konzerthaus, now home to the Berlin Symphonic Orchestra.

The organ, IV/74, built by the Jehmlich firm of Dresden, is of modern, eclectic design. Mounted high on the wall above the orchestra, the case has been beautifully integrated into the overall architectural scheme, which reflects the classical elements and lavish details of an earlier age. In addition to the attached, mechanical-action console, there is a second, movable console with electric key action, which sits on the concert stage. Organist Joachim Dalitz greeted us and gave us a brief demonstration and mini-recital while we were free to wander about if we wished. Somehow, for me, the visual aspect of the instrument in this grand concert venue seemed to promise far more in terms of sound than it actually delivered. There was absolutely nothing one could point to that was "wrong" or unpleasant in any way. But to my ears, something ineffable was missing. But there was no time now for further reflection, and we would be back again that evening for an orchestra concert. In the meantime, it was out on to the plaza again, and time to make our way across to the Berlin Dom.

Berlin Dom

This magnificent domed building, inspired by the Italian Renaissance, was built by Kaiser Wilhelm II in 1905, replacing the original eighteenth-century cathedral which he had demolished in spite of the sharp criticism of some of his contemporaries. The Berlin Dom is home to what was once the largest organ in all of Germany and the largest instrument ever built by Wilhelm Sauer. The organ, IV/113, was inaugurated at the same time as the Cathedral church itself in 1905. Sauer (1831-1916) established his own organbuilding shop in 1855. Having traveled widely, and having absorbed the ideas of such distinguished builders as E.F. Walcker and Cavaillé-Coll, he became one of the most famous builders in all of Europe. Most of the nineteenth-century instruments in Berlin were built by him, and the Berlin Dom instrument is considered by many to be his crowning achievement. Over the course of the century, many changes were made, reflecting the current trends in organ design as well as the devastation of two world wars. In 1917, the tin façade pipes were donated to the "war effort" and later replaced in 1927. In 1932, at the instigation of cathedral organist Fritz Heitmann, several neo-baroque changes were made in the Positiv. In 1942, a plan was proposed by the Rudolf von Beckerath firm for an extensive, neo-baroque rebuild which, because of the war, was never seriously considered. When the Cathedral dome was de-stroyed in a 1944 bombing raid, the organ miraculously survived unscathed, only to be subsequently damaged by theft and vandalism and exposure to the elements, as the dome remained open and was not repaired until 1953. Since then, some twenty years later a serious and thorough restoration of both cathedral and organ was undertaken and finally completed in 1996. The earlier neo-baroque tonal modifications have been removed, and once again the instrument speaks in the warm, romantic orchestral sounds intended by its builder.

The Dom is a major tourist attraction, and on the day that we were there, it was crowded with people. We were ushered up to one of the side galleries where we heard a short, regularly scheduled recital played by the young organist, Thomas Sauer. Unfortunately, I think we were in a very poor location for hearing the organ. Although we did not have programs, I recall the selections as being surprisingly eclectic for such a Romantic instrument. The program certainly demonstrated the organ's versatility in handling a great diversity of styles--perhaps not always with authenticity--but the musicianship was never in doubt. Due in part, perhaps, to my mounting fatigue and our less-than-satisfactory seats, I found my attention wandering a bit during the recital. A rather strange phenomenon seemed to be occurring. The sound of the organ and the lavish, visual grandeur with which we were surrounded were being upstaged by this extraordinarily magnificent space. In spite of the cold, drizzly day, the vast interior seemed to be bathed in sunlight, and I felt em-braced by the atmosphere in a magical, timeless, and almost tangible, way. With the familiar and rousing strains of the "Finale" from the Vierne First Symphony, the spell was broken, and we were once again on our way.

"Good Tidings" Church

We would return later to the Gendarmenmarkt for dinner and a concert, but for now our destination was the Karlshorst District of Berlin and the Evangelical Church, "Good Tidings," where we would hear and play a 1755 Migendt organ, II/22. This well-traveled little instrument has a quite remarkable history. The organ was originally commissioned by Princess Anna Amalia, sister of King Frederick the Great. It was for this instrument that C.P.E. Bach wrote his Six Sonatas and dedicated them to the princess. After Anna's death in 1787, the organ was moved to a church in the Berlin suburb of Wendisch-Buch where it remained undiscovered until 1934. Plans were made for it to become a second organ at the Nikolai Church, and in 1936 it was disassembled. During the ensuing confusion of WW II, it was moved about again and miraculously preserved from harm. In 1960 it was restored by Schuke and installed in the "Good Tidings" church. This modest and charming neighborhood church provided a welcome contrast after our earlier exposure to the grandeur of palaces, concert halls and cathedrals. We learned that Roland Münch, the man who had been curator of this historic instrument since 1969, had only recently died. In his absence, we were greeted warmly by Herr Knappe and his wife, who seemed to be members of the parish. His knowledge of the instrument and the pride and joy he took in demonstrating it more than compensated for any lack of virtuosity on his part. In spite of some language difficulty, we felt welcomed and at home. No vastness here to be sure, but instead, a warm, vibrant sound that seemed to permeate every nook and cranny of the small sanctuary in a vital, but not in the least aggressive way. After the demonstration, our three most serious players each took a turn along with Michael, and for the first time--but not the last--there was some hearty hymn singing.

Back at the Gendarmenmarkt, there was time for a leisurely stroll before heading to the Opernpalais restaurant for a dinner. We were divided into small groups at several tables for a pleasant and relaxing meal in quiet and elegant surroundings. Concert tickets were distributed and, having got our "second wind," we made our way back to the Konzerthaus for a symphonic concert of Schubert, Schumann and Mozart.

It was hard to believe that this was the same venue we had visited only hours earlier. The very presence of this large and enthusiastic crowd of serious music lovers seemed to breathe warmth and life into what had seemed to me earlier to be a rather cold and austere building. And indeed, why not? It was for this that the building was intended. Magic was afoot here. The musical "chemistry" generated by conductor, performers and audience had, at least for me, succeeded in invoking the spirit of "Music Past." This was indeed where Mozart had come to attend the premiere of Weber's Freischütz overture and where Wagner had conducted The Flying Dutchman. No longer just a group of American organ buffs, for one magical evening, we were Berliners, intensely proud of our musical heritage and of our concert house, which had literally risen like a glorious phoenix from its ashes. There was an intensity about this musical evening which I will not soon forget.

In spite of the lateness of the hour, our coach had not turned into a pumpkin, and we headed back to Potsdam for one last night, mulling over the days events and welcoming the opportunity to get a glimpse of Berlin at night.

Day Three

Wednesday began with a very early wake-up call. We had to have not only ourselves, but also our luggage collected, be breakfasted and at the entrance for a 7:30 departure. It was a tall order indeed. Even though the day was dark and drizzly and chillier than the day before, everyone seemed eager for the next leg of the journey.

It felt good to leave the city behind us, and it was interesting to see something of the rural countryside. We passed by vineyards and fields of white asparagus, the Hartz Mountains always visible in the background. Sonja's commentary enhanced our enjoyment of the ride, and she also took advantage of the travel time to provide us with some interesting historical background about our first stop of the day. As Sonja would succinctly put it in her very precise English, "Destination: Wittenberg."

Wittenberg

The small medieval city of Wittenberg was founded on the northern bank of the Elbe River in the twelth century. We were headed for the Schlosskirche (Castle Church). Both castle and church were built during the reign of Frederick the Wise between 1490 and 1511, and we were about to step through yet another window into the past. We began with a walking tour of the castle. Five hundred years embraces a lot of history as well as a lot of destruction and painstaking restoration. Of the original castle, only the exterior remains. History can be read about, and architectural details can be photographed and described. But one is never quite prepared for the experience of being there in that space and imagining what it might have been like to live within these walls so long ago.

From there we proceeded into the church. It was on the original doors of this church that Luther had posted his 95 Theses in 1517. But we had come to hear the Ladegast organ. Friederich Ladegast (1818-1905) was an important nineteenth-century builder whose shop produced more than 200 organs. Influenced by the ideas of both Andreas Silbermann and Cavaillé-Coll, he developed a sound that was a unique blend of the Baroque and the Romantic.

The original Castle Church instrument was an 1864 Ladegast of three manuals and 39 stops. In 1935 it was rebuilt by Sauer. The alterations (typical of the time) were substantial and included electrifying the action and adding a Schwellwerk. Then, in 1994, the Eule firm took on the enormous task of returning it to its original mechanical and tonal condition, although it was decided to retain the 1930s Swell. Today the organ boasts four divisions and fifty-seven stops. It was demonstrated for us on this day by organist/cantor Anne-Dore Baumgarten, who is also professor of church music at the Wittenberg seminary. Afterwards, all who wished were invited to climb the gallery stairs and play. All too soon it was time to move on, but we could not leave this historic cradle of Lutheranism without at least one rousing stanza of "A Mighty Fortress."

Out on the ancient cobbled streets, we made our way to St. Mary's, the Stadtkirche (City Church) of Wittenberg. It was here that Martin Luther preached, and here that he was married and buried. Although it is the oldest church in Wittenberg (begun in the thirteenth century), its organ, completed in 1983, is a contemporary mechanical-action instrument by Sauer of three manuals and fifty-three stops. Herr Lamberti was on hand to greet us and to demonstrate the instrument with works by Bach and Mendelssohn.

With a full day still ahead of us, we scrambled back aboard the bus and continued on our way as we consumed the "Bach's lunches" with which we had been provided. This time our destination was the historic town of Halle.

Halle

Located on the River Saale, an important tributary of the Elbe, Halle was first mentioned in the tenth century, although it is located on what appears to be the site of ancient Bronze Age and Ice Age settlements. During the Middle Ages, the river provided fish, drinking water and transport for the town's most important resource, salt. Today, Halle is a major industrial center as well as the largest city in the District of Saxony-Anhalt with a population of more than a quarter of a million people. We were headed for the famous Marktplatz at city center with its Handel Monument and the famous "Five Towers" which dominate the landscape. Our first stop would be the historic Marktkirche where Handel had been baptized and received his first communion. Here he had his first organ lessons with his teacher Zachow and played his first services as Zachow's substitute .

The church originally possessed a sixteenth-century instrument by Esauas and David Beck, which was praised by Michael Praetorius in his Syntagma Musicum. The Beck orgorgan no longer exists and in 1984, the Schuke company built a modern instrument of three manuals and fifty-six stops. Of special interest to us was the small Reichel organ of one manual and six stops. Played from the back of its beautifully carved case, it had been added to the cathedral in 1664 in order to expand the musical possibilities. Over the years, the organ has unfortunately been "tampered with," and in 1972, the Schuke firm restored it to the original mean-tone temperament and brought it back to its original specification. Students of Konrad Brandt demonstrated both instruments for us briefly, and then it was on to the Halle Cathedral for a demonstration by Konrad Brandt of the 1851 instrument by Wäldner. It was here at the Cathedral that Handel had been appointed probationary organist for one year before he resigned and left for Hamburg. Following that, we took a guided tour of the Handel museum before boarding our bus once more. Destination: Merseburg Cathedral.

Merseburg Cathedral

The history of Merseburg can be traced back as far as the ninth century. The cornerstone of the Cathedral was laid in the year 1015 and since then, the edifice has been rebuilt several times. The history of the Cathedral is a complicated one, even for this time and place. But of particular interest to us was the 1855 Ladegast, IV/80, which sits high in the rear gallery of this immense and ancient building. It was for the inauguration of this instrument that Liszt composed his largest organ work, the Fantasia and Fugue on "Ad nos." Unfortunately, the work was not finished in time, and so the cathedral organist, a pupil of Liszt, played instead the Prelude and Fugue on B-A-C-H. In 1961, the organ was "baroqued," a fate which befell so many fine examples of nineteenth-century German organ building. After the pendulum had swung back, a provisional restoration was completed in 1995. Now a more thorough and complete restoration is in progress to be completed by 2003.

At the moment, the only playable instrument in the Cathedral was a small Ladegast organ of one manual and ten stops which is being used as a substitute until the restoration project is complete. It sits quite unpretentiously down on the main floor to the side of one of the transepts. Built in 1850, it is the oldest extant Ladegast instrument. It was demonstrated for us by the organist, Michael Schönheit, who played a short program of amazing variety: Bach, Mendelssohn, Rheinberger and Brahms. Herr Schönheit's busy schedule did not permit him to linger, but since this was our last scheduled stop for the day, arrangements were made for us to stay and try the little organ. It had been a very long day--a castle, a museum and five organs. By now we were all, without exception, hungry, exhausted and chilled to the bone.

And then something quite extraordinary happened. I no longer recall who was the first to play as we gathered around the organ, but I can only describe it as a kind of magical, musical chain reaction. We were somehow enchanted by the musical sounds emanating into that huge space from this tiny organ. People came forward to play who, up until now, had only watched and listened. It was surely the most awkward console we had encountered to date--hardly "user friendly" for those of us accustomed to AGO standards. Shyness and self-consciousness were abandoned with much encouragement all around. Some only played a hymn. Some did not read music, and played by ear. Of all the things we had seen and heard on that eventful day, one moment is etched most vividly in my memory. It was nearly time to leave, and the very last to play was the eldest gentleman of our little group. There we stood, huddled together for warmth in the corner of that dark and vast space, united by the sound of this remarkable little instrument, raising our voices in a chorus of "Church in the Wildwood."

And then it was back to the warmth of our bus and on to Leipzig which would be our home for the next two nights. The light was fading and our mood was rather subdued as we rode past rural farms and open fields, reflecting on the day's events and looking forward to a warm meal and a good night's sleep. Although it was nearly dark by the time we arrived in Leipzig, our driver, Manuela, took us past St. Thomas-kirche. Just enough light remained to afford us a glimpse of this famous church where Bach had spent the last twenty-seven years of his life--an enticing foretaste of what lay in store for us tomorrow.

This article will be continued.