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.

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.

Weddings! Part 6: A 'shameful' history

I’m a wedding know-it-all. Weddings are where my service playing philosophies came into focus over the years. But I’ll confess the sins of my youth here:

When I became able to play love songs on the piano well enough to play weddings, I did so. The preludes to weddings in North Carolina in those days included tunes like “Ice Castles,” the theme from “Ryan’s Hope,” the theme from “The Young & the Restless,” the theme from “Exodus,” “We’ve only just begun,” “A time for us,” “Evergreen.” “Close to you,” “If,” “Endless Love,” “Sunrise, sunset,” and so forth. I like to listen to 70s and 80s pop, and I still think back to those weddings when these tunes come on.

I once consulted a couple who wanted Wagner for the wedding party. Easy enough. But during the consultation, the MOTG had a bright idea: imagine after that thunderous Wagner the bride “glides” down the aisle to “Nadia’s Theme.” Oh, how beautiful that would be. It just gave her chills to think about it. Yeah, still gives me chills, too. But hey – at the time it was a novel idea, and I was a little perturbed that I didn’t come up with it myself.

After all these years since the first wedding I played in 1980, it all still makes me cringe even today. And it makes me cringe equally to think back to how I learned otherwise. Where I grew up, one becomes an expert by being shamed into it. I learned to shun those tunes at weddings because someone more liturgically savvy than I shamed me into it. It wasn’t until later that I encountered another liturgically savvy person who suggested that the love songs could still be used at, say, the rehearsal dinner or wedding reception. Good idea, not so shaming, and I have suggested that ever since without so much as a whimper of resistance.

A new fugue state

I am currently involved in a most interesting, unique project. Picture it:

1990s: Pianist Dale Tsang and I are classmates at Rice.

2020: Dale's fiancé, Bay Area-based composer David Garner, has written seven fugues for organ. Dale remembers me and asks me to premiere them!

2020: I marvel at the high quality of these pieces and thoroughly enjoy learning them. Maestro Garner has written for the art and not for the market. These pieces are not easy! But they are masterful and a delight to play. I hope they will go far. There is a soothing one "on" D (Garner prefers "on" to "in"), a pompous one on E-flat, and rambunctious ones on F-sharp, A, C, G, and B-flat.

The premiere is Friday, April 22, 2022, 7:30 pm at the Congregational Church in Berkeley, Calif.  

Meanwhile, a recording is in mind. Go here and participate!