Note by note: Dupré Cortège and Litany

I haven’t combed through a piece since my Franck series. So let’s dig into a piece today:

The Dupré Cortège and Litany is uncommonly beautiful. Dupré was often heavily gothic and chromatic, but this early work seems to come from a young Dupré still being a romantic.

The piece is a transcription of a transcription of an original. It began as incidental music for a handful of players for a stage work. Then it became a piano transcription. Then it became the organ transcription, which was written on a train at a presenter’s request. Then it became an organ & orchestra piece. All that to say that with so many layers of transcription present, I feel emboldened to make tiny alterations here and there, whether to honor Dupré's insistence on wall-to-wall legato or to preserve my hands and wrists against tendonitis. From the scores of times I have performed this piece, I dare any listener to point out the alterations. :)

Measure 1: The opening registration is one of the most optimistic I’ve ever seen. What organ will have those stops, let alone have them on those manuals? We all know that adjustments must be made from organ to organ; the composers are always the first to say so. But what on earth was Dupré thinking here? Not even Saint-Sulpice had all that! Anyway, my opening registration will be on some sort of string. Not too much, because I’m going to bring in the entire ‘string section’ at measure 13. For these first measures, don’t put breath marks where Dupré doesn’t. Wall-to-wall legato was the name of his game.

Measures 4-5: Don’t be a hero with those widely-spaced chords. We can hear the panicked lunging from chord to chord there. Just use a dead Pedal with the manual coupler on to help you through those wide reaches, then you can touch a Pedal divisional piston on the downbeat of measure 6 to bring the Pedal back to life for its bass function. Dupré wants it coupled, anyway, so you don’t have to remove the coupler there.

Measure 9: This is one of those spots where breaking so many voices sounds too much like a major event. I tie the alto C# to mitigate. Depending on the organ, acoustic, etc., that may not be necessary. I do break all repeated notes going into measure 10, since that is a phrase point. Although Dupré doesn’t ask for a breath there, his writing repeated notes creates a break.

Measure 13: I bring on lots of strings there and maybe even a 4’ flute, if it’s gentle enough. A super-coupler would be nice, but only if the chests go that high. I punch the piston for this section on the final sixteenth-note value of measure 12, during which the hands are ‘taking their breath,’ and that also gives the Pedal some crescendo into 13. It’s a nice effect, once you have the piston timing and the manual release worked out.

Measures 15, 18, 28, 31, 33-36: Those ‘Celesta’ moments (the questionable English directive in the score there) can be handled in several ways, I feel. If you have chimes, go for it. If so, I recommend playing only one note at a time, rather than octaves. Also, standard chimes may go out of range in measure 34, in which case you could raise those four notes an octave. Other than chimes, use anything that has some contrast but doesn’t take over the texture – those notes are only rhythmic filler and don’t need to be stentorian. Depending on the organ, I will play only the lower note of the octaves, with a 4’ stop in the mix to produce the upper octave. Bonus: doing that will also make measure 31 easier. Finally, I have found that playing the ‘Celesta’ notes on a manual below that of the right hand will make traveling back and forth a little easier, especially for measure 33, where I do some extravagant ‘thumbing’ to keep everything legato.

Measures 17-18: I am not sold on the sudden appearance of the upper Pedal octave there. Depending on the organ, it’s just too much. On organs weak in the bass, chances are that the Pedal has been strengthened to balance, in which case that upper octave suddenly takes over, however momentarily. Musically, I can’t find a good reason for that, and so I often omit those upper octave notes.

Measures 20-22: I omit the alto C# at the end of 20 and the beginning of 21, plus the ensuing alto Bs in 21. Ditto the alto E in 22. All for the legato of the upper voice.

Measures 20 and 22: I will crescendo a bit (not too much) in those measures. Dupré’s crescendo in 23 seems a little late to my ear, and it’s also harder to achieve there because the Pedal notes have suddenly gotten busier.

Measure 24: I move Dupré’s decrescendo into that measure, again because the Pedal notes are about to get busy in 25.

Measures 30-31: Again, with so many voices breaking across that barline, it can sound like a major event. I tie both left-hand notes while breaking the right-hand and Pedal notes. Notice that the upper G# of the left hand can then tie to the lower note of the right across the bar.

Measures 31, 35, 36: I rarely play the high octaves of the left hand. They are often too screechy.

Throughout the Litany, don’t break where Dupré doesn’t write a rest or a breath mark. And hold all notes full value, even those that lead into a rest.

Measure 49: The right hand can be kept more legato if you can configure the manuals to be adjacent to each other.

Measure 52: Note that the right hand is given a breath mark and the left is given a staccato, both of those suggesting a sixteenth rest, in Dupré’s practice. The Pedal is given nothing, which indicates legato into 53. Multitask with those voices!

Measures 57-60: I reverse the hands there, playing Dupré’s left-hand part with the right and vice-versa. Clever, no? Also, our Positif Cromornes are usually wayyyyyy too loud there (not to mention too buzzy), and so I mitigate that by starting the Litany on a slightly larger registration from the beginning, to balance.

Measures 71-73: For a smooth crescendo, I punch a new piston every two beats, beginning on the quarter rest in 71, all the way through the downbeat of 73.

Measure 73: Dupré is calling for another optimistic registration that only Wanamaker will have. I bring on all the 16- and 8-foot stops I can find, plus a few 4-foots, omitting brighter Prestants. There will be opportunity to add more later.

Measure 76: As in measure 52, decide how you want to handle the various parts at the end of that measure. The closing D-sharps in the soprano and first tenor are melodic and should not be broken. The Pedal is asked to repeat low G#. That leaves the Bs and G# in alto and tenors, which I do break – that seems just enough to acknowledge the phrase break without creating a chasm.

Measure 77: The final eighth rest in the right hand is misaligned in the engraving and should occur with the high C#, with the other two rests.

Measures 77-80: Notice the Pedal voices should release at separate times. The right-foot notes hold to the downbeat, while the left-foot notes release prior.

Measures 85-92: Get out your Gleason book and review pedal substitution and two-plane pedaling methods! I substitute only on the final Pedal notes of 89 and 91. The rest can be done in a two-plane, one-foot-over-the-other situation. This is one of those spots best played from memory.

Measures 85-86: Unless you have a console assistant, you may safely ignore Dupré’s cresc. poco a poco. The hands and feet are too busy there.

Measures 96-97: Don’t break all notes at the end of 96. Always legato with Dupré, unless otherwise instructed. However, I do break the alto Cb, because it is about to become a melodic B in measure 97.

Measure 102: This requires a general piston to reconfigure the organ. You have to separate the Swell from the Great, but we want the Great to remain strong somehow. So this is where I bring in the missing Prestants I omitted in measure 73. This will keep the Great strong, even while it says goodbye to the Swell. I also do not couple the Swell to the Pedal for this entire passage coming up. I can’t come up with a good reason for the Pedal to have all those reeds droning in those strong octaves, while the more important upper parts of the Swell are struggling to be heard (usually on weak American reeds). Although I don’t couple the reeds to the Pedal, I will enhance the Pedal in some way, to keep it from sounding too distant, whether I add to it another coupler or some quiet Pedal reeds.

Measure 103: Dupré calls for full Swell there, but I have found that better clarity is achieved from leaving the 2’, mixture, and 4’ reeds off. A more noticeable contrast between the flues of the Great/Positif and the Swell reeds is clearer without so many additional flue pipes of the Swell mixture playing as well. Plus, that will leave more opportunity for a smoother buildup later on, especially on smaller instruments.

Measures 103-119: I leave out lots of second-alto notes in the Swell, in service to the legato of the melody. You may take or leave these suggestions, but remember that no one has ever caught them from one of my performances! Again, in the name of clarity and contrast, sometimes it’s better to leave something out. (That’s a nice way of saying that Dupré went a little overboard with the notes there.) Here are the second-alto notes I leave out: measure 104, beat 2: alto E and G# / measure 105: alto F# / measure 106: alto E and A / measure 107: both As in the alto / measure 109: alto B / measure 110: alto B and final C# / measure 113: alto B / measure 114: alto B / measure 117: alto E / measure 118 and 119: alto F#s. Also in this entire passage, pay attention to breath marks or lack thereof – always legato unless otherwise instructed.

Measure 108: the Pedal has a breath mark, which I apply to the right foot but not the left. To break them both seems excessive.

Measure 116: the eighth rest in the Pedal is for the right foot, not the left.

Measures 120-121: This is one of those terrifying moments requiring a change of manual and a change of registration, with nearly no available limbs or digits to pull it off. In 120, I make sure the right foot plays E with the heel, which I then slide forward on the note to get my toe over a general piston. Then I am able to punch the piston with the right toe for the downbeat of 121, omitting the tenor F# entirely. That solves that particular problem. The fingering for the downbeat of 121 is another matter: Try playing the final eighth note of measure 120 in the right hand with fingering 421 [stacked], substituting to 532 [stacked]. That frees up 4 and 1 to stretch down to the Great for measure 121. If your fingers are long enough AND if your right toe is accurate with its piston timing, all this can be achieved perfectly legato. As always, that’s worth the work in the practice room.

Measure 124: I punch another general for a little more buildup, depending on the organ.

Measures 125-126: As in measures 52 and 76: decide what you want to apply the staccatos to. Again, it is just too eventful to break everything, especially since some of the notes are sixteenths and will sound too clipped if broken. I break the upper two notes of the right and tie the B. I break the left-hand G# and carry the C# legato into 126. I apply the staccato to the right foot but tie the left.

Measure 127 into barline of 128: Right hand should break the high B but not the A just under it. I also break both notes of the left hand into that barline.

Measures 130-136: I omit the right-foot note to use the foot for punching more pistons, a new piston every other barline. Then I add the right-foot E back in, in 136 or 138 depending on the organ, which makes for a nice continuation of the crescendo. Also for this section, don’t speed up or suddenly take off. This page needs to be grand, not hurried. And be clean about the chordal trading between the hands I release each chord at the same time as the appearance of the next one, rarely releasing earlier unless the acoustic asks for it.

Measures 139-140: I don’t break the left hand into 140. No need.

Measure 140: I return to a tempo again there. The half notes are long and exciting enough, especially if I punch another piston for each, for a final buildup.

on Richard Forrest Woods – Part 4

This is one of many installments of a biography of mentor and friend Dick Woods. See here for the entire series.

*******************

Wichita

After leaving grad school at Tulane after only one year, it was on to St. James Church, Wichita, estimated arrival 1955 and estimated departure 1961. Dick founded a boychoir at that church. Judging from the choral sound he cultivated from then on, it would appear that English boychoir had become his choral ideal early on. I have the vaguest recollection of him mentioning singing as a boy chorister in Pittsburgh. If I’m not making that up, then it makes sense that his musical tendencies would have had their first bloom at that early age. (It would also suggest that he was a cradle Episcopalian or at least had discovered Episcopal ways early in life.) At any rate, he gave the Wichita youngsters things they had never experienced – fine liturgical music, a wondrous blend with fellow voices, a sense of propriety in church, and a sense of belonging. Such were the hallmarks of his work for the rest of his life.

But being gay in the mid-twentieth century was often met with hostility, to say the least. And with extremely rare exception, being gay in a position of church leadership was best kept secret. Dick was abruptly dismissed from St. James for whatever reason, but anyone with their finger on the pulse of church attitudes in those days would probably be correct in assuming why. I’ll let a former chorister and a couple clergy from those days complete this post:

“Mr. Woods lived on the second floor if [sic] an old house the church had bought at the edge of its parking [lot], just next to the rectory. It was crummy quarters, but I think he was comfortable there, and very close to his office, the church and the wonderful organ he loved so much. I believe he had a hand [in] making that organ functional once more after some long neglect. I loved to sit alone in the darkened nave, feeling the music pulse through me, as he rehearsed.

“The church. It was both a shelter and a betrayer for me. It did gift me with some temporary self-esteem, and left me with a lifetime appreciation of some inspiring classic religious music, as well as helping me find a place of comfort and excitement for music in general. I thank Richard and the church for that. I forgive the church their ignorance for the evil they visited upon so many of us.”

***********************

“Against what I have learned was some considerable opposition, Richard succeeded in organizing a boys choir at St. James … In the relatively short time he was our choirmaster, he did some very remarkable things with the choirs, as well as with many of us as individuals, myself included … I am very much aware that Richard Woods was one of those essential persons [who helped shape my life], and I would like to know more about him and his life.

“Mr. Woods, as we called him [… was …] strong and intelligent, but [he was a] very private man. I don't know how he related to adults, but he quickly connected with us, and he was an excellent and patient teacher. He paid close attention to our concerns and listened carefully to what we had to say…

“… I missed him deeply when he so suddenly disappeared. Mr. Woods was the only adult in my life that I felt cared about me, and I am pretty certain at this point that he knew that I was being abused and neglected in my own family. While there were a few qualifications necessary to being appointed head choirboy, there were others who probably deserved the position more than I. In retrospect, I am certain that he tilted the table in my favor because he knew that my self-esteem badly needed something just like that. Was that an adult who was paying attention, or what? I was totally stunned at his departure, and the instant disbanding of the boys choir. It had become the high point of my young existence, and truthfully, the only place where I felt competent, safe, respected and wanted. While I know there were others of us who felt similarly, nothing was ever said to us, and I don't think that there was any understanding anywhere within the church community that this was a traumatic event - at least for the kids. The church was no longer my safe place, and I dropped out of church entirely a couple of years later. Incidentally, that dysfunctional congregation split right down the middle shortly thereafter, and a new church was set up out in the eastern suburbs, where the controlling wealth resided. St. James had always been the anchor church, but I believe it struggled mightily for many years thereafter.

“It was only several years later that I managed to obtain any explanation for what precipitated Mr. Woods’s dismissal and, because I got it third party, I still do not know if I got the whole story, or the whole truth. However, it came to my attention when there had been a kerfuffle at the church involving Richard's primary accuser, who had apparently been involved in yet another dysfunctional event, was confronted and reportedly admitted that she had not been truthful about Richard. She disappeared from the congregation, and nothing further was said, to the best of my knowledge. Connecting the dots and examining the whole thing with my more mature understanding of politics and group process, it seems to me that Richard was defamed and that his accuser manipulated his opponents among the Vestry to oust him, with the pretense of squelching a scandal.

“… He showed up for us and for me. He gave freely to us way beyond what was required of him professionally, and left us far better than he found us. He came into my life when I was twelve years old and gave me attention that I got nowhere else. He instilled confidence and taught us cooperation and teamwork. Today, 60 years on, I remember the love and caring he unselfishly gave us, and am eternally grateful. And, he taught me to sing, a gift which has given me comfort for a lifetime.

“In exchange, Richard was not treated well at St. James. I have heard that he was ridiculed by some of the Vestry for his ‘sissy boy choir.’ And, in retrospect, I highly suspect that he was unfairly and inappropriately dismissed. We were not allowed to see him, thank him, or even say goodbye. While I can't speak for the adults among us, I know that this was a traumatic parting for the kids he had trained, cared for and nurtured, and I suspect it must have been traumatic for Richard, as well. I sincerely hope that he went on to a life that returned to him the rewards he so richly deserved … I pray for him and wish him Godspeed in Eternity.”

**********************

Without these quotes, I’d have nothing about St. James. No one from the church responded to my queries. Short of visiting in person and pinning someone down to look up the history, I’m left to wonder if no one wants to talk about it or if they’re just really bad about returning messages. In either case, I don’t have time to beg. At any rate, tragic though the Wichita portion of Dick’s story is, it provides a clearer understanding of a certain prickliness he became known for and of his mistrust of church administrations in his later years.

It is from the quotes above that the idea came to produce a biography of some measure. These people and their heartfelt admiration of Dick inspired me to offer them more information, although I couldn't necessarily offer them a happier ending. Although Dick’s situation didn’t change a whole lot after Wichita, he still brought an untold measure of the profound to many scores of people along the way. Those people know who they are and why they admire him and cherish their memories with him. This series is for them now.

Next time: Paris

Things I will never know

Though an expert in my field, there are some things I might never know:

I heard of a counterpart elsewhere, who was reported to have ‘blown the search committee away’ at his interview. I will never know what that’s like.

I may never know what my lasting legacy looks like.

I will probably never know what it’s like to be invited to play in the you-have-arrived venues.

I will never know what it’s like to be invited onto a management roster. And I will probably never know why I wasn’t. And I will probably never have the nerve to ask.

Other than my dissertation research and what I have observed from others, I will probably never know what it’s like to study in Europe.

I will never know what it’s like to be a distinguished professor with an endowed salary.

While I have seen it happen to others, I will never know what it’s like to be directly recruited for a position.

I do know, gratefully, what it’s like to perform for a national convention. But apparently I will never know what it’s like to perform for a regional.

I do know what it’s like to win a piano playing competition, for I won every one of those I ever entered. But I will never know what it’s like to win an organ playing competition, for I have placed second in every one of those I ever entered, that is, if I made it past the application stage at all. But the audience prize I did win once, plus the teaching position I ‘won’ in 2005 have been plenty to celebrate, and I am grateful.

I will probably never know what it’s like to perform an organ concerto with orchestra.

Thank goodness I will never know what it’s like to get to the greener-looking grass on the other side of the fence and discover that it’s fake. My teacher Clyde Holloway always believed that we are always where we belong, and I am grateful that I have never landed where I didn’t belong. I chose wisely for college and graduate school. And as a professional, I have taught in a functional institution all this time, one devoid of backstabbing. I have had supportive deans. I have seen mutual support flourish among students and faculty. Our students have come first in all ways. My salary was not affected by the downturn of 2008 nor by Covid. I am in excellent health and have a loving wife. When I gather with counterparts, I hear horror stories of institutional or interpersonal dysfunction, stories that make my disappearing hair stand up, and I realize afresh just how good I have had it all this time.

And so, while I might wax nostalgic for what never was, there is no complaining about what currently is. I know that much.

on Richard Forrest Woods – Part 3

This is one of many installments of a biography of mentor and friend Dick Woods. See here for the entire series.

*******************

The early years

Richard Forrest Woods was born in Pittsburgh on July 26, 1929, to Forrest A. and Nell [Nelle?] Woods. He had two older siblings Betty L. and Billy G. Richard studied organ with Marshall Bidwell at the Carnegie Institute of Technology, now Carnegie Mellon University. He apparently began his ecclesiastical career at what he called “Trinity Chapel,” Sharpsburg, Pennsylvania. There were two “Trinity” establishments there in those days – Holy Trinity Catholic parish and Trinity Episcopal Church, and I haven’t uncovered evidence to answer definitively which one he served. My guess is he was playing for the Episcopal one, judging from the year (1949) of his acquisition of his 1928 Episcopal Prayer Book. He was twenty years old then and was surely earning extra money playing for church while enrolled at Carnegie, though perhaps he might have started there even earlier as a youth. At any rate, since he primarily served Episcopal parishes throughout his career, the Episcopal Trinity makes sense here. And since this Trinity appears as the first entry in his list of professional posts written in his Prayer Book, then Dick must have considered it his first ‘real’ job.

Immediately after college, Dick enlisted in the Navy Band on cornet and secondarily on keyboard instruments. [It is interesting that his father appears to have played trumpet in the John Philip Sousa band.] Presumably he learned the cornet from his father and/or from participation in school and/or college bands. His enlistment date is given as October 25, 1949, but his boot camp date appears to be October 1950. Surely one of those is incorrect, probably the Boot Camp date. By May 1953, he was rated MU2 [musician petty officer second class], and by April 1952, he was promoted to MU3. He was stationed:

Naval Training Center, Great Lakes [Ill.], October 1950–January 1951

Naval School of Music [Virginia Beach], January 1951–July 1951

Commander Cruisers Atlantic Fleet 156, August 1951–August 1952

Naval Base, New Orleans 152, August 1952–August 1954

After his discharge, he stayed in New Orleans and enrolled at Tulane University, presumably in organ but perhaps in conducting. While enrolled, he was the Organist/Choirmaster at Grace Episcopal, 3700 Canal Street mentioned in an earlier post. Historical note: by 2012, long-term dwindling attendance further aggravated by Hurricane Katrina sent the Grace congregation into disbandment. The campus closed on January 5 of that year and was later acquired as a satellite campus for Bethany Church headquartered in Baton Rouge.

Tulane didn’t do it for him – he left after a year.

Next time: Wichita

Please do/don’t touch!

At a former church post, I ‘presided’ over two Aeolian-Skinners. And I babied them and fed them and took care of them and named them. And I developed and maintained ways to share them with other organists as much as possible. I was determined to find the middle ground between locking them up and opening them wide. During my tenure there, I posted a notice on the music rack containing a list of my ‘house rules’ and a chart of available memory levels (I had 216 to spare). My house rules outlined exactly what I would consider good and bad regarding heavy technique, light switches, eraser crumbs, and what went into which trash/recycling can. Some people thought all that was much ado, while others appreciated the frank heads up. Since the organs were Aeolian-Skinners, I gave not one whit about what anyone thought one way or the other. All went well, and I ended up banning only one person during my seven-year tenure.

I have previously discussed the unnecessary fortressing that has gone on in our churches since 9/11. But our churches are fortresses today, and they (as fortresses) are here to stay. At that same church with the two Aeolian-Skinners, I would no longer be allowed in to play them now, if I were not on the schedule that day. Easy enough to get on the schedule, but as I have asked before, how much security threat does a guy in a suit and carrying music and organ shoes pose, and where on earth could he be heading once in the building? But there we are.

I have previously discussed the evils of console clutter. But the ‘don’t touch’ rule is as damaging as the clutter. It is a common joke among organists that the tighter the security, the more the organ in question just needs a good church fire. However, the church organ is most often the only one the church has, and so the incumbent as its curator must protect it to some extent. There is no universal solution to be had in this blog, but I will remind the dear Reader that open-console hospitality helped lead to my career choice and has remained my model, and I have always maintained such hospitality by paying it forward.

We are our instruments' curators and stewards. It doesn't matter how much we love or hate an organ; it’s probably the only one we have. Ensuring its wide appeal requires us to be something other than militaristic to visitors, and protecting it against damage requires us to be something other than nice to abusers.

That's the console. However, lock up the chambers tight; you don’t want vandalism in there. Check doors and locks regularly. Should something go horribly wrong in the chamber, the list of potential culprits should be kept as short as possible. The only people who need keys to the chambers are you and your building superintendent. On the other hand, be willing to escort visitors through your chamber, if it can be done safely. It is a fascinating place to visit, and such a visit may hook a potential organist or organ builder.

Be bold with protective measures, but be as hospitable as humanly possible. As our instruments’ curators and stewards, we are the rule setters, and therefore we must set rules. Hook new organists any way you can, which surely involves giving them access.

on Richard Forrest Woods – Part 2

This is one of many installments of a biography of mentor and friend Dick Woods. See here for the entire series.

*******************

The lay of the land

I received many scores and books from Dick’s estate, courtesy David Templeton. Among those materials was a copy of the 1928 Book of Common Prayer, which a twenty-year-old Richard Woods (only one year younger than the book) acquired in 1949, most likely in Pittsburgh, where he was enrolled at the Carnegie Institute and playing at Trinity [Episcopal?] Chapel in Sharpsburg at the time. On the inside facing page are his signature Richard F. Woods and year of the book’s acquisition, 1949.

Five years later, he affixed on the inside front cover a small sticker pre-printed with his name and address, 1318 Soniat Street, New Orleans. At that time, he was enrolled at Tulane University and working as organist/choirmaster for Grace Episcopal Church on Canal Street.

Then some eighteen years later, he added more. On the inside facing page under his signature is a complete listing of his professional posts from 1949 to 1972:

Trinity Chapel [–] Sharpsburg, Pa.
Grace Church – New Orleans, La.
St. James Church – Wichita, Kan.
Holy Angels Cathedral – Gary, Ind.
St. David’s Church – Austin, Tex.
St. Matthew[’]s Church – Austin, Tex[.]

For whatever reason, his final two positions do not appear: Chapel Organist and Lecturer [later Adjunct Professor] in Church Music at the Episcopal Theological Seminary of the Southwest, Austin, and later Organist-Choirmaster [Director of Music] at the Church of St. John the Divine (Episcopal), Houston.

There are numerous notations in the margins throughout the book, usually of a practical or clarifying nature, perhaps for Dick to impart to his students or, less likely, as reminders for himself in carrying out his routine field duties. Perhaps he taught his Seminary classes from it. Perhaps he kept it on his shelf to preserve it, while he used a church copy for his field duties. Perhaps he treated it as the single man’s ‘family Bible’ containing life milestones. If that last scenario is true, then Dick’s highlights of his life revolved around his service in the Church. In any event, the penciled listing of church positions is invaluable. Several posts not mentioned in his obituary are included in it.

Apparently, this particular Richard wasn’t “Dick” until midway through his career. He was always Richard in print and on stage. However, some folks who knew him prior to his years in Texas refer to him only as Richard. Best I can tell, it wasn’t until the Texas years that people more commonly began calling him Dick.

Dick didn’t talk about himself. He didn’t talk about past positions. He didn’t even talk much about his crucial years in Paris. That’s one reason this biography didn’t take a formal publication route. Details of Dick’s personal and earlier professional histories are vague and hard to come by. The anecdotes from others are not only tantalizing but also sometimes entertaining. Enter Mr. Bruce Power:

Bruce Power was one of Dick’s best friends in Houston, one of those friends Dick could confide in, one of those friends who kept secrets, one of those friends who was always around and on time, right where needed. Officially, Bruce was the Assistant Organist/Choirmaster at Christ Church Cathedral, choral accompanist at St. Agnes Academy and Strake Jesuit Preparatory, and prolific freelance accompanist. Personally, Bruce loved people and loved to discuss the world with them. He and Dick were definitely kindred spirits on that score, and the world surely came into sharper focus during their conversations, many of which took place over margaritas, fajitas, and cigarettes at the original Ninfa’s Mexican restaurant on Navigation Boulevard in Houston.

Bruce told me that he still misses those days. He and Dick talked about everything under the sun, especially philosophy. And music. Just music. Not the organ. Dick also sprinkled in nuggets of wisdom from his time studying in Paris with Nadia Boulanger, who was a whole-world renaissance woman. What Bruce and Dick didn’t talk about very much was Dick. He just wasn’t the type. He did tell Bruce once that as a teen, he would sneak out his window at night and go party in Pittsburgh! Whatever ‘party’ might mean. But knowing Dick, I suspect he just wanted to be around artistic folks who weren’t buried in their work, folks who could discuss all arts, politics, traveling, and human acceptance.

Next time: The early years

Dude, who ARE you?

I can’t keep this quiet any longer: I found a unicorn. I have kept quiet about it for more than a year, but it’s time to expose this story to the world.

On Christmas I of 2023, my wife and I decided to check out the Lutheran Church of Hope in West Des Moines, Iowa. Many of our neighbors go there, and thousands of others do, too. We had heard so much about the traditional service that we just decided to give it a go. Of course, we had heard a lot about the more ‘usual’ services there, too, and no, thank you. The Lutheran Church of Hope is a mega church that happens to be Lutheran. Or it’s a Lutheran church that happens to be mega. To the Reader who has trouble using ‘traditional’ and ‘mega’ in the same sentence, you’re in good company. But hear me out:

So we walked in without having done any research beforehand. Let’s just go see. Imagine my pleasant surprise to find the chapel bright, airy, modern, quite Lutheran chapel-ly looking, well-enough removed from the arena next door for the swarming masses, and not a stitch of carpet anywhere. And imagine my even more pleasant surprise to see a three-manual Allen in there. All good signs.

The organ was being played on by a fellow who was vested and improvising his way through Christmas carols for a prelude. I thought snarkily, “Yeah, this must be the fellow they pay $25 a week to play this one service, and then he goes to his ‘real’ church job. Let’s just see how this goes.” Then I listened more closely and discovered that this fellow knows what he’s doing, and he’s worth far more than $25.

This was shaping up to be Traditional enough. But the screens, like your sins or the long arm of the law, will always find you out. No hymnal, no bulletin, and no music on the screen. Hymn texts only. Can’t escape it. We endured a non-traditional and very loud greeting on the screens from a couple staff members, on a video that was to be played at all services that weekend. But then back to our traditional service. This fellow launched into the opening hymn, and I sat straight up – oh, this guy is no joke! Thrilling introduction, hymn in same tempo, lots of colorful harmonies. And all improvised. Okay, man, who ARE you? Where did they find you? And how have I not known about you around here? I MUST find you at your ‘real’ church job and listen to more.

The first part of the service went quite traditionally, with the hymn playing continuing in its commanding and supportive way. Then when it was time for the sermon, this guy slid off the bench and approached the center and began to preach. Okay, dude, who ARE you??! This fine organist is also the preacher?? Well, let’s hear what he has to say.

A lot, apparently. He began to explain the scriptures like no one I had ever heard before. I learned the finest points of scriptural linguistics I had ever heard from anyone before or since. Dude, I ask you again, who ARE you?

The offertory was a sparkling improvisation at the piano this time, to illustrate the idea of ‘light’ from the lectionary for the day. And the rest of the service continued in a similar high quality. Someone else celebrated.

Well, this guy wasn’t done. For the postlude, he improvised a freaking fugue on the final hymn. I was completely undone. Finest service playing I had heard in years. My wife encouraged me to go introduce myself. I said, “No! I’m too ashamed!” But yes, I did go introduce myself and ask for some time over coffee sometime to learn more about him. Coolest unicorn I ever encountered.

The Rev. Dr. Richard Webb is listed as Professor and Lead Pastor for the Chapel at the Lutheran Church of Hope in West Des Moines, Iowa. He studied organ and choral conducting at Kansas and then went to seminary. He was an organist seeking to be a pastor. Now he is a pastor who also happens to be an organist. He was hired at Hope to be a pastor first, and the rest just sort of came along and he was able to handle it. Although his talents as an organist are formidable, he has neither the time nor the inclination to be an organist except for Hope’s purposes. [Oh, so THAT's why I hadn't heard of him!] He resurrected the Holtkamp at the former University/First Christian Church in Des Moines, which is now the Hope-Elim campus. He plays that organ regularly for organized hymn-sings with the Hope family. And of course, he plays from memory and improvises interludes, preludes, and postludes in his usual flowing and masterful way.

Hiding his talents under a bushel? Not in the least. He is a pastor, and he serves his congregation. He does it with the Bible first and the organ second. Because he can.

My wife and I couldn’t wait to attend the Chapel service again the following Sunday, expecting to enjoy this some more. That time, he was playing but wasn’t preaching. As it turns out, he plays that service every week but preaches for it only about once per month. So on our second round there, we endured a different Hope pastor’s preaching, complete with a sports video. I’ll stop there.

I never thought I’d be attending Bible study again. But I even Zoom into Pr. Richard’s weekly men’s Bible study whenever I can. He is a fount of knowledge, and I don’t mind gushing about it here. If I have piqued your interest, you now know where to find a unicorn.

on Richard Forrest Woods -- Part 1

Richard Forrest Woods (1929-1993) served as Organist/Choirmaster of the Church of St. John the Divine (Episcopal) in Houston for the final twenty years of his life, during the last three of which I was his assistant. You are now reading the first of MANY posts forthcoming, of an unofficial biography of Dick, interwoven with my own memoirs and interpretations. There is a reason for that potentially convoluted approach:

Dick retired in 1993, just before the Internet came into its wholly ubiquitous presence. The first substantial mention of him on the Internet is an earlier post of mine with some photos, published seventeen years after Dick’s death, with nothing else emerging online since. After posting that entry, I heard from several people around the country who sang under Dick or knew him or otherwise knew of him. They had discovered the blog post and wanted to know more. I was particularly moved by one fellow who sang as a boy chorister in the early 1960s under Dick at St. James, Wichita. He shared the heartbreaking story of Dick being dismissed from that position on false charges and the boychoir being immediately disbanded under the don’t-ask-any-questions-you-kids mandate typical of the times. But he remembered the sense of dignity, purpose, and musical beauty that Dick introduced to him and his fellow choristers, and he was keen to learn more about Dick’s whereabouts after that. When I connected this gentleman with a couple members of the choir at Dick’s final post, St. John the Divine, Houston, I saw admiration flow in their writing, an admiration I have come to expect from all who worked with Dick.

For decades myself, I have been in a similar frame of mind as that former boy chorister: revisiting my past with lessons learned, hoping to learn more, searching for closure or more information, revisiting happy memories, and better understanding the bad ones. It was then that the inspiration came to research all of Dick’s previous positions, as sources and eyewitness interviews were available. I had planned a full-length, publishable biography, but for most of his previous positions and family history, the history is so scant and so haphazardly preserved (if preserved at all, in that pre-digital age) that there would be very little foundation on which to construct a document of any scholarly merit. Furthermore, my attempts to reach a few folks who knew Dick during his pre-Texas era failed. Without their input and insights, a would-be document would have suffered even more.

Then I thought I might deposit what I had into an archive somewhere, such as with the Association of Anglican Musicians or the American Guild of Organists. But then I realized that anyone searching for Dick, who more than likely would be more admirer than scholar, wouldn’t find that. And so it is here in public, in a looooong series on this website, as a tribute not only to Dick but also to those who loved him and cherish their days with him. I hope that any readers here who might be admirers of Dick Woods will reconnect somehow with this ‘renaissance man’ [Bruce Power’s endearing term] who served all too briefly among them.

For now, a few acknowledgements while I gather my notes and start writing:

John Gearhart, Dick’s successor at St. John the Divine, Houston, and my boss for one year there, has been gracious and forthright with his memories and perspectives. Although he never met Dick, he provided me with much-needed insight into the political and administrative workings of that parish that affected Dick. The support I have always received from John and from his former wife Laurie has been a welcome and calming presence in my life since first meeting them in 1993.

Bruce Power, who during Dick’s years in Houston was Assistant Organist/Choirmaster of Christ Church Cathedral, was one of Dick’s closest confidantes and kindred spirits. His insights into Dick as a friend have been invaluable in enriching my understanding of the man beyond the musician. Dick once told me that he considered Bruce ‘a true friend,’ and I know from my own friendship and collaborations with Bruce since 1990 that that was more than superficial praise. [Update: Bruce died October 2, 2025, a month shy of his 70th birthday. I am shocked and saddened, but I hope that he and Dick have found a way to reunite in the spirit world. They deserve another scotch and water with each other.]

Ron Wyatt, recently retired from Trinity Church in Galveston, was Dick’s executor, friend, champion, sounding board, and much-needed voice of reason over a span of decades. It has been a pleasure to reconnect with Ron, hear more stories, bust a gut in laughter, and shed a tear or two.

To a person, the many people I have been able to visit with and learn from have been united in their devotion to the man Richard Woods, who brought them together in music from day one. Their care in tending to Dick and his memory is inspiring. And their ‘stories’ match: Dick changed their lives through music and friendship. Their multi-faceted insights have brought to this author an immeasurably enriched awareness of a man I worked for and worked with, but whom I knew for only thirty-seven months.

Many more installments to follow. Next time: The lay of the land

The Christmas church hopper strikes again

It has been a few years since I was free to roam on Christmas Eve. The thrill has not waned, and I am happy to report that this year, some disappointments have waned.

My wife and I attended three services; two on Christmas Eve and one on Christmas morning. All three with organ, naturally. Two with choirs. And a bishop in a pear tree. We sang and sang, and we heard choirs and organ voluntaries and about 1.25 good sermons out of 3. No one played "The Chord," if you know what I mean.

I have blogged before about the magic of Christmas for me when I spend half of it in church. That's just my thing. Suit, tie, cold weather, people everywhere -- it just thrills this heart of mine. My hat is off to the musicians who work and work to pull it off each year. I miss the Christmas madness that occurred on my own organ bench each year. Depending on the church, I used to play between two and five services each Christmas Eve and Day, but no more. (I divide my time between two states each year and am unable to serve a congregation regularly anymore. In case you wondered.)

Only because it's on my mind and because it's part of me and this is my blog: The ubiquitous screens just don't do it for me and probably never will. I am dumbfounded by the useless information on them, and I am equally dumbfounded by the sudden lack of information on them when it's time to sing. The movie clips from Elf to illustrate heavenly concepts during the sermon don't do it for me and definitely never will. The regular organist handing off Christmas Day to someone else doesn't do it for me -- unless they're handing it to me, which I'm glad to have.

But, hey, the magic is still there, and I have been refreshed this year with some much-needed forays into three other worshipping circles, none of which I had previously encountered at Christmastime. As of this writing, Christmas Day 2024 is sixteen hours old, and so I hope yours was grand and that you have discovered some magic along the way, too.

Commencement: Well, that's one solution

It would appear that the days of School of Music Commencement on School of Music stage are over. I didn't see that one coming, but it does pose a few solutions, however draconian, to my aches and pains in this series of posts.

Since 1990, my school of music had held its own Commencement ceremonies in its own auditorium, with the organ serving as the processional vessel of choice, played by yours truly. No canned Pomp & Circumstance. No assembling an overworked brass quintet or full band or orchestra. Just me. All other units across the campus held their exercises in larger venues. Then the huge arena was built several years later, and those units moved in there, but we got to stay in our own house. That was always cozy and meaningful, especially for our own graduates.

Covid knocked out ALL Commencement exercises for a time. Then as things came back, the School of Music was moved "temporarily" into the arena, coupled with another similarly-small-sized unit, to allow for proper social distancing. Now, such appears to have become a "tradition." So there we are, relocated, and no one I know of has raised a fuss about it. Neither will I.

As I've described in the other posts under this tag, our Commencement exercises have always had their problems. But the meaning of being on one's own stage for one's own Commencement is now lost on a class of students who never knew the difference. So they are none the wiser, and I myself will not complain about not having to "work" the event (after all, there's no organ to play in the big arena). It all gives me an extra week or so of summer vacation. No one is going to miss me at the cattle call in the arena, and I'll not apologize for deliberately missing a ceremony, away from which the current administration continues to chip the finery.

Any of you liturgical church types see a similarity between this and your own situation at church? My condolences -- your situation is worse than mine.