on Richard Forrest Woods – Part 11

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

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Life with Dick

During my tenure at St. John the Divine in Houston, we did the Fauré Requiem one Good Friday. Dick had studied the work during his time in Paris with Fauré’s pupil Nadia Boulanger, and he told me that ever since then, he had had a perfect performance of it in his head. But he knew that a perfect performance was not to be had. He knew that he and the choir could only strive for perfection yet never achieve it, but I don’t think he ever gave himself permission to be human. Nowadays, accepting our limitations and simply doing our very best in the presence of God are standard fare in books on church music, but Dick never quite got there on the acceptance-of-our-limitations part.

Dick also had a ‘perfect’ Holy Eucharist in his imagination, from prelude all the way through the liturgy and the postlude, but he was always disappointed week after week when it never was achieved. He was always a little peeved after church. I once asked him how he felt each Sunday after having led hundreds of people in traditional Episcopal liturgy. He thought that was a ridiculous question and sarcastically answered that it made him “feel on top of the world.” Although I still sympathize with him on the elements he accused of marring a perfect Eucharist [and there were always plenty, a few of which included the celebrant using the wrong words or otherwise stumbling over the liturgy, the choir missing a cue, the organ having a cipher, one of us playing a wrong note, the sermon being useless, a microphone not being turned up in time, a small child screaming, an old lady coughing for fifteen minutes before finally leaving the room, the crucifer not holding the cross straight, a candle burning out, etc.], today I would disagree with Dick over this hypothetically perfect – and fully unattainable – Eucharist. I think he was howling at the moon and that it just made him unnecessarily tired.

While composing this biography, as I reflected on Dick’s stated desire for that elusive, perfect Eucharist, I realized that St. John the Divine was actually quite liturgically conservative in those days, just like Dick – perhaps more than he admitted. The clergy and servers took liturgy seriously; their movements and actions were well planned and smoothly executed. With very few exceptions, they were always vested and fully clothed underneath; long-sleeved shirts, ties, dresses, no jeans, no sandals. Celebrants celebrated with all the right words for the most part, usually missing only a word or two when they tried to recite liturgy from memory without having practiced first. Celebrants began Eucharist with the opening acclamation rather than with that most maddeningly human-centered and garden-party-oriented ‘Good morning.’ Even at the announcements following the Peace, rector Larry Hall never said, ‘Good morning.’ Rather, he always welcomed the assembly in the name of Jesus Christ. Neither did he use announcement time following the Peace to read out announcements that were already in print. He underscored the important ones, encouraged everyone to digest the others on their own time, and got back to the liturgy (exceptions noted at the end of this post). Upon reflection on those days, I truly appreciate that rector’s approach to liturgy. Everything was quite proper. Even the contemporary service, then just in its infancy, was faithful to every word of Rite II, with only the music, dress code, and sense of complete propriety relaxed.

Dick and I agreed that ‘Good morning’ betrays an unsettling willingness to interrupt timeless liturgy with temporal tripe. The first words out of the celebrant’s mouth, whether ‘Blessed be God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit,’ or, ‘Good morning!’ will set the tone for the rest of the hour, like it or not. Even the congregation of liturgically rock-solid Rite I Christ Church Cathedral in Houston in those days proved that just about any congregation may eventually go where it is consistently steered. During the 1990s, the Cathedral had gotten a new dean, who was into the ‘good morning’ nonsense. It wasn’t long before he began waiting for a response in kind – and got it. Before you know it, the Cathedral congregation was responding enthusiastically, “Good morning!” to begin Rite I each week, and never batting an eye. They also absorbed without a whimper that dean’s affinity for Rite II, which he not-so-subtly sneaked in the back door by celebrating Holy Baptism as often as possible, thereby forcing Holy Communion into Rite II on those Sundays. Dick would have blown a gasket to see liturgy turned into such a personal playground. Clyde Holloway and Bruce Power at the Cathedral fixed it for themselves by retiring/resigning, and one of them even returned after that dean was gone.

But I digress.

Another example of congregations being willingly misled is in the printing of hymn texts in service leaflets or projected onto screens, diabolical practices that started in the late 1990s in churches everywhere. Hymn texts alone were now printed or projected as some sort of perceived convenience. But musical notation and a multitude of additional information for each hymn were now absent, and congregations everywhere who followed this practice began to regress into the most musically ignorant in modern Christianity.

Dick would have lost his mind at all this, and I nearly have. I have maintained all along that musical ignorance aside, there is little that looks more ridiculous than a white-collar congregation singing sturdy hymns of the faith not from the sturdy repository of music called the hymnal but rather from a flimsy service pamphlet they are going to throw away upon exiting the building.

But I digress again.

Despite the propriety of the liturgy on a general level at St. John’s, the time of announcements following the Peace was often a cringeworthy wild card. We never knew what was coming, whether a small troupe doing a silly Rally Day skit or the Senior Warden singing a stylized rendition of Happy Birthday to the rector. [True story. In 1992, the Senior Warden sang ‘He’s turning 50 in the morning’ to the tune ‘Get me to the church on time.’] Apparently, we musicians were the only ones bothered by that shift in tone during otherwise fairly respectable liturgy. Since the liturgy was so dignified and the shenanigans so base, the contrast was that much more cringeworthy. I often wanted to slip out of the room or crawl under something. And both Dick and I felt extra-conspicuous to be observing all that silliness while vested. We felt like we had shown up at a crawfish boil in tuxedos.

Next time: Dick’s complaints

on Richard Forrest Woods – Part 10

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

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The Choir of St. John the Divine, Houston

My first experience with the choir was at my first regular Thursday evening rehearsal in 1990. From day one, I saw how dedicated they were to Dick. I saw how dedicated they were to great music. I saw how dedicated they were to fine liturgy. And I saw how dedicated they remained, even as ‘renewal music’ gained ground all around them. This choir was a collective workhorse, and their love for each other and for all that Dick taught them never flagged:

"[It was quite the] … impact that Richard Woods’s friendship, example, musicianship, and professionalism made on a 23-year-old fresh out of LSU grad school. It seems like yesterday. I’m always happy to share interactions about Dick Woods. He was a force!”

“What a talented, dedicated, humorous combination of a man he was. I miss him … and all of the individual choir members we were blessed to spend time with praising God, sharing beautiful music, and nurturing souls. … I am always saddened when I remember how sick and how heartbroken Dick was at the end. He gave so much and loved so much. … No one that was fortunate enough to know him can ever forget him. He shaped all of our lives, for the better, and made us all better musicians along the way. What beautiful music we made. I always felt like he deserved so much more than we were able to give him in return. I truly loved that man.”

“Dick was able to get more out of a choir, perhaps even beyond his own technical abilities. It was just the way he brought everyone together around the music.”

The sextons always had coffee prepared for Thursday evening choir rehearsal. The choir would arrive early to chat and visit, and then Dick would call out, “Let’s go, please!” to begin rehearsal. [“Let’s go, please!” was going to be the subtitle of this biography, if published.] There was a break about midway through for more coffee and conversation, and then the second half. Dick was all business during rehearsal but was all in for the visiting before, in between, and following. Dinner with the inner circle often followed rehearsal. I was honored to have been invited.

Dick insisted on a clear, vibrato-free sound from his sopranos and altos. He also required a certain dress code when the choir processed in the aisle: black flat shoes for the women, no dangly earrings, and modest hairstyles. He put in writing these and other policies prescribing how to process, how to hold one’s folder, how much space to leave between pairs in procession, how to acknowledge the altar and turn into the stalls somewhat sharply, etc. I have followed suit with similar rules for my own choirs.

Dick and the choir stayed busy. They went on tours to England in 1982 and to Eastern Europe in 1990, the repertoire for each of which they recorded stateside. They also presented occasional Evensong at sister parishes in Houston and sang a major work every Good Friday. This choir embodied the fact that a church choir is probably going to be their director’s Sunday School – and this choir was that perfect Sunday School class. They embodied the importance of gathering in church with other human beings and to having fellowship one with another. Worshipping God was one thing, but doing so among kindred spirits was indispensable, and they knew that.

The choir was populated by many strong personalities who wasted no time making their approvals and disapprovals known to the rector. They didn’t care so much how the choir was treated, but they were quite the watchdogs for Dick’s treatment. They stood up for him, and I know he appreciated that. Thanks to Dick, they were also respectably well-versed in liturgical matters, and they deserved – as the tithing parishioners most of them were – to be heard as lay experts in such matters.

Dick and others of us would go out for dinner and drinks after Thursday rehearsals and for lunch after church on Sundays. I developed a ravenous craving not only for the food but also for that fellowship, and I have never stopped organizing similar small groups in my succeeding positions. Every time I go out with folks following a rehearsal or performance or service, I think of the St. John’s choir. Every time I go to a British pub or to get Mexican, I think of those days. That is no exaggeration.

Next time: Life with Dick

on Richard Forrest Woods – Part 9

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

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Some writing on the wall

Dick succeeded Mr. G. Alex Kevan as Organist/Choirmaster for the parish. During my tenure, I discovered many photos of Mr. Kevan and many anthems and service pieces he had written. His music program for the parish appeared to be squarely grounded in the great American musico-liturgical heyday of the 1950s-1970s. Therefore, it is reasonable to assume that the Rev. Thomas A. Roberts, who hired Dick in 1972, was equally grounded in that liturgical heyday. But Father Roberts died suddenly and unexpectedly the following year and was succeeded by The Rev. Maurice “Ben” Benitez.

Fast-forward to 1993: rector Benitez was now Bishop Benitez. He was unable to attend Dick’s funeral. He prepared a letter to be read aloud during the funeral. In it, the bishop related the story of his and Dick’s first sit-down at St. John the Divine in 1974, during which he insisted Dick include ‘renewal music’ in services. He then reported that Dick sighed deeply and asked resignedly, “Well, do I have to do that every week?” That short anecdote reveals that when Dick took the post under Fr. Roberts, perhaps it was in the sort of environment that would feed his musical and liturgical soul. Perhaps based on the legacy of Alex Kevan and Fr. Roberts’s direct recruitment, Dick saw at St. John’s an opportunity to ply his trade unimpeded. But this story also bears out how easy it was – even in the 1970s – for St. John’s to drift into musical licentiousness, notwithstanding its ultra-conservatism otherwise. But Dick’s response in that story also suggests that he was accepting of where things were heading. As a former lecturer on church music at the Seminary and having served as the head musician at several parishes around the country, he knew very well the ‘renewal movement’ was on the rise, and perhaps he was increasingly resigned to the fact that the movement would probably catch up with him, no matter where. Although Benitez was demonstrably one of Dick’s biggest fans all the way to the end, that meeting was a turning point, a sort of writing on the wall, by my calculations. Dick soldiered on, and when rector Benitez became Bishop Benitez in 1980, the next rector, the Rev. Laurens A. “Larry” Hall embraced the same trend in music, yet to a much greater degree. Dick soldiered on.

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The annual parish hymn-sing each Thanksgiving Wednesday was a highlight. It was an evening of Thanksgiving dinner in the parish hall, followed by about an hour of hymn singing with piano and small orchestra. We did nothing else like it all year. It was always a full house, and I loved seeing everyone enjoying themselves outside of liturgy. In 1991, Dick was particularly inspired to compose arrangements for the orchestra for many of the hymns for the event. He had learned that rector Larry Hall could not attend that year, and so Dick felt freer to do his own thing and had a surge of creativity. The two of us stayed at the church one Friday evening until 4:00 am the next day, composing arrangements and making copies. We were nearly derailed by the rector, though, who had been insisting there be an element for children during the event. But Dick felt it wasn’t a children’s kind of event, and I felt the children would be just fine singing hymns along with everyone else, just like on Sundays. Larry announced in full staff meeting one week that since he was going to be away for it that year, he wouldn’t push the children thing; otherwise, he would have pulled rank. He seemed truly irritated.

Larry and Dick had worked together long before I arrived, but the meeting just described was the first time I sensed Larry losing patience with Dick, and I became uncomfortable with the realization that Dick and I might have been on thinner ice than I first thought. Things didn’t feel transparent. I began to wonder if Larry merely tolerated Dick since he ‘inherited’ Dick from one of Larry’s best friends and one of Dick’s biggest fans, former-rector-now-bishop Benitez. I woke up to the sense that Dick was somehow in the rector’s way and that I was likely guilty by association. I became manifestly ill at ease for the duration of my tenure there.

Next time: The Choir of St. John the Divine, Houston

on Richard Forrest Woods – Part 8

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

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The red sea, a.k.a. the sock drawer

[This post is a rant on how things were, not on how they currently are. Anyone familiar with the parish of St. John the Divine, Houston, will know that things are now much improved from the days (1990s) I am describing herein. But it’s where Dick Woods and I worked, and it warrants description]:

The original worship space for St. John the Divine, Houston, now still in regular use as its chapel, was completed in 1940. Other buildings, including the nave, were completed in 1954, designed by Karl Kamrath (1911-1988) a Houston-based devotee of Frank Lloyd Wright. The exterior of the church proper is striking, with its heavy limestone walls and high-pitched roof with low-hanging eaves. Faithful to its architectural style, it looks like it naturally, literally, organically ‘grew’ out of the earth. But this author never found the interior very beautiful nor very worshipful. Thanks to acoustical-paneled ceiling, cork flooring under the pews, and wood veneer everywhere, it looked less like a church and more like the attic of a high-end suburban house. The room seemed to call more attention to its severe architectural style than to God. Furthermore, there was thick, red carpet in all three aisles, in the side chapel, and throughout the chancel and sanctuary. I called the room ‘the red sea.’ Any reader familiar with the acoustic that results from all that carpet can also appreciate my bonus appellation ‘sock drawer.’

A renovation of sorts of the nave was slated to be rendered between Christmas 1992 and Easter 1993. During the renovation, Sunday services were moved into the gym. I played a most interesting digital organ that could say things like ‘Hey!’ and ‘Yeah!’ and make the sound of dentist drills. I never discovered a suitable use for such sounds during Rite II, but I would have enjoyed it, and the choir would have welcomed the diversion. Anyway, the nave renovation was not intended to make any major changes but rather to spruce up what was already there. The carpet was to be replaced, and so I threw a Hail Mary and spoke up about this chance to improve the acoustics. But not only were acoustics not on the table and we were wasting our time resisting it, Dick and I would also have been painfully incompetent bulls in that particular china shop, anyway. Neither he nor I had the vocabulary nor the finesse nor enough time to educate the parish with any degree of success in matters of acoustics and worship. Furthermore, he was very sick and in the final weeks of his work, and so I was sounding the carpet alarm alone and in vain.

The 1992-1993 renovation transformed the narthex and hallways outside the nave into much more useful spaces, but it left the nave proper unchanged in all ways except cosmetically. The red carpet (which had faded over time to near-orange) was replaced by new, lower-pile red carpet. [It can’t be ignored that a longtime Vestryman, who always had the ear of the rector, made his millions … selling carpet.] The ugly wood veneer throughout the room was replaced by new, equally ugly wood veneer. The trusses and ceiling were re-treated and achieved a modicum of aesthetic and acoustical improvement. A not-so-heavenly host of spotlights was added. The rector wanted those lights and got those lights and at the very first services held in the renovated space, Easter Vigil and Easter Sunday 1993, announced, “These are my lights.” That was kind of endearing: not only did it elicit some snickers as to how those new bright lights got there, but it also let everyone know to whom they could complain – and that he wouldn’t be listening. Nowadays, bright lights in church are normal, but that was everyone’s first experience with them in those days, and they were quite jarring to behold the first time. Some choir members wore sunglasses in protest during rehearsals held in the chancel.

Furthermore, I swear I saw hearing aids on the fellow selling and installing the new sound system. And since another old fellow who was going to be operating sound each week was also hearing impaired, I was not encouraged by that particular ‘renovation.’ [I was right. The sound and lights systems became nightmarish places of steep learning curves, usually during Sunday preludes (lights) and sermons (sound). Even the rector called out during more than one sermon and told the technician to just disable the wireless mic and switch to the pulpit mic to avoid the constant, shrieking feedback.] But oh, you should have heard that room while the old carpet was out. For one glorious week between the completion of work and the installation of the new carpet, it was heaven on earth during practice time. No one knew it at the time, but that carpet-free sound was a preview of another, future renovation finally done right. I’ll get the dear Reader there eventually.

Next time: Some writing on the wall

on Richard Forrest Woods – Part 7

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

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The parish of St. John the Divine, Houston

In the early 1990s my professor Clyde Holloway, Organist-Choirmaster at Christ Church Cathedral, Houston, would shrug his shoulders in mild defeat when discussing St. John the Divine, Houston. He said (paraphrased) that St. John’s always … just … kind of … proudly lingered on the fringes of Episcopalianism. There was always … a vague sense … more of … Hey look at us over here … rather than … Hey let us help you with your struggles. Friends of mine have put it more bluntly: “They were just Baptists posing as Episcopalians.”

Dick arrived at St. John’s in 1972. By the time I got there in 1990, it was the third-largest Episcopal parish in the country: 4500 members, right behind St. Michael and All Angels, Dallas (#2), and St. Philip’s Cathedral, Atlanta (#1). And being situated at the portal of River Oaks Boulevard leading into one of the most affluent neighborhoods in the country [anyone who has driven down that street knows what I’m talking about], it was among the wealthiest churches of any sort in all of Houston, and it was helmed at the time by the nation’s highest-paid Episcopal priest.

Speaking ever so subjectively, I’d say St. John the Divine represented a high-level, complex system of self-preservation. With so many successful white collars on the parish roll, it should come as no surprise that there was a careful, corporate approach to the management of the parish. Everything stayed clean, well-organized, and in relatively decent repair although aging by that point. Deferred maintenance was common so as not to overspend, but emergencies were handled straightaway. Money was spent copiously but deliberately. But there was also a vague sense that although the poor were welcome in the door, the rest of us will handle things around here, thank you. I sensed early on that we artists were welcome as members of the parish but would never be members of the club. There were plenty nice enough individuals about, but the parish as an entity seemed to take a greater interest in being the Church of St. John the Divine for River Oaks than in being an outpost of Jesus Christ for all people. Dick sensed all this, too, and we discussed it many times. It’s hard to say unequivocally, but he and I always detected something just a little … cold … about this parish.

On many fronts, St. John the Divine was always one of the most conservative parishes in the country. Members were the ultimate conservative in matters of wardrobe – everyone was dressed to the nines, and not just on Sundays. The parish was painfully conservative in social matters, which was usually [and was here] an extension of painfully conservative scriptural approaches. And of course, they were fiscally conservative. On another hand, the parish was refreshingly conservative in liturgical matters, delivering well-orchestrated, faithful liturgy at all services. That is about the only sector where the parish’s conservatism overlapped with Dick’s.

The parish lay clear at the other end of the spectrum on musical matters. While many other outposts in the diocese were still on an unchallenged, steady diet of motets, anthems, and organ music, St. John the Divine was always clamoring for spirituals, praise choruses, piano music, and ‘renewal music,’ as it was called in those days. Folks didn’t notice or didn’t seem to care about the irony of singing campfire choruses while wearing cufflinks. Virtually no one but us folks in the choir stalls thought twice about the National Anthem being shoe-horned into such Sundays as Lent I just because it also happened to be Boy Scout Sunday, or onto Pentecost just because it also happened to be Memorial Day weekend. Dick and I were in the dissenting minority, but we always dutifully pulled out all the stops for the assembly to sing their hearts out to their country. Dick always longed for them to sing sturdy hymns of the faith so well. I suggested we passive-aggressively carry big mixing spoons around, in protest of the blissfully ignorant mixing of church and state going on.

We nearly had mutiny in the congregation one Sunday when the choir sang the Messiaen O sacrum convivium and I played his Le Banquet céleste during communion. A couple outspoken parishioners hated it all, said that “the music today was awful; just awful,” and left truly angry. One of them even made a groaning sound and bent over like an old man to illustrate how painful it was to sit through that music. When I related that story to Clyde Holloway, he shrugged [as he did at the beginning of this post] and said, “I guess some people just don’t like to be challenged in God’s presence. We do Messiaen at the Cathedral all the time, and people just file by and say, ‘Nice to hear Messiaen again. What’s on deck for next week?’”

Self-preservation existed on various fronts and levels. The tragedy is that the various versions of self-preservation were seldom compatible. There was general toleration on each side, but both sides chose to feel threatened at every turn. Dick was trying to preserve a tradition and an art, but there was fear that he was holding the parish back from bursting in full glory onto the renewal music scene. Dick, meanwhile, felt further threatened because he felt his training meant little to nothing to anyone within those walls, which then put him deeper into survival mode.

A new contemporary service materialized in those days. While it got on its feet, its budget was embedded in the music budget at first, and so a new double threat emerged. ‘They’ felt threatened that Dick was going to cheat them or pull rank, and Dick felt threatened that ‘they’ were going to become the preferred service for the entire parish and he’d be washed up and/or sent away. Then, as with most contemporary services, when the service had ripened enough to get its own budget, the threats still didn’t go away. Dick still felt threatened that they were going to take over and start getting some of his budget for themselves. And so the us-vs.-them cold war continued.

Next time: The red sea, a.k.a. the sock drawer

on Richard Forrest Woods – Part 6

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

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Gary and Austin

After returning from Paris in 1964, Dick went to work for two years as organist at the [Catholic] Cathedral of the Holy Angels in Gary, Indiana. Interesting choice of denomination. Was there to be no more Episcopal work, especially after what happened in Wichita? LINKLINK Was this cathedral just a suitable choice after returning from Catholic Paris? Or was it just any suitable gateway back into the U.S.? Was Dick trying to live somewhat closer to family back in Pittsburgh? I have no evidence one way or another.

While there, Dick dedicated the Cathedral’s then-new Casavant organ on March 28, 1965.

That’s all I have for Dick’s time in Gary, Indiana. The Cathedral did not respond to my initial queries. As I said in the post on St. James in Wichita, one can only wonder if perhaps the Cathedral didn’t want to discuss it or if they’re just lousy about returning messages. Bell’s Rules of Order state that neither case is acceptable.

In 1966, Dick left Gary to begin a post as Lecturer in Church Music at the Episcopal Theological Seminary of the Southwest, Austin, Texas. By 1969 he was listed in the faculty directory as Adjunct Professor in Church Music and Organist of Christ Chapel. He taught liturgy and music, directed the Chapel choir, and played for the services.

At the Seminary he organized and hosted five-day Summer Schools of Church Music. By 1971, that was now called Summer School of Church Music and Liturgics, for which he was listed as ‘dean’ in promotional materials. He invited luminaries such as Clyde Holloway, Alec Wyton, the Rt. Rev. Chilton Powell, Bishop of Oklahoma, and several Seminary professors to perform and lecture.

Dick designed the Holtkamp organ, Op. 1835, in Christ Chapel at the Seminary. He played the dedicatory recital on May 9, 1969. Walter Holtkamp himself was present. The program is here, courtesy the awesome library research staff at the Seminary.

Also during those years, Dick wrote a booklet on liturgy and music, presumably as a music resource for the liturgies to be included in the upcoming edition (1979) of the Prayer Book. Other than the present blog, about the only other Internet mention of Dick is as the author of that booklet, which still shows up in searches for him:

From World Church in Brief, published by Diocesan Press Service, December 1, 1968 [71-11]: “Associated Parishes, Inc., has issued a new brochure ‘Music for the Liturgy of the Lord's Supper,’ intended for use with the Trial Liturgy. The booklet was written by Richard Forrest Woods, lecturer in Church Music at the Episcopal Theological Seminary of the Southwest, Austin, Tex.”

In May 1971 Dick was invited to perform during the International Festival of Organists held in Morelia, Mexico. He would subsequently return there a handful of times. On one of those trips, he purchased a ring that he wore for the rest of his life and which now lies with him in his urn, along with a watch that he also wore for years. I remember seeing the ring every day in the early 1990s. It was a hammered abstract in gold; it looked like a melting-down in progress. You can see it in a photo here. The watch was just a watch as far as I know, and I don’t know where he got it – black band, gold trim, analog. Perhaps it was a gift or some reminder for him. Incidentally, these accessories were part of a refreshingly old-school gentlemanly persona, from which I learned a lot. Dick carried Montblanc pen and pencil in his shirt or coat pocket, and he always wore coat and tie [with a single, centered dimple in the knot] on Sundays or whenever he had a meeting. When not at a Mexican restaurant, his drink of choice was scotch and water. His Mexican drink of choice was margaritas straight up, no salt.

In Austin, Dick also continued to practice his craft in the field, first at St. David’s and then at St. Matthew’s. St. David’s was a repeat of Wichita, I’m sorry to report. Dick was fired for being gay, and that was that. He moved on to St. Matthew’s, apparently as an interim, judging from the accounts I have gotten from that church.

Then in late 1971 / early 1972, assertive and headstrong rector the Rev. Thomas Roberts got in touch and invited Dick to be the Organist/Choirmaster at the Episcopal Church of St. John the Divine in Houston. It’s always nice to be recruited outright, and the money was probably better. So off Dick went in the summer of 1972.

Next time: St. John the Divine, Houston

on Richard Forrest Woods – Part 5

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

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Paris

“Going to study in Europe” has been a thing for American musicians for decades. France, Germany, and the Netherlands have tended to be prime territory, but the list of teachers and their locations covers the entirety of the continent, and a list of their American students contains some of America’s most household names of our time. Dick’s generation of organists and church musicians routinely went to Europe to study playing, improvising, and conducting, and they tended to come back to rather successful careers.

After his appalling dismissal from St. James in Wichita, Dick somehow made his way to Paris for two years, 1962-1964. I don’t know where his funding came from, but it does not appear to have come from the popular and bountiful Fulbright U.S. Student Program that usually comes to mind when discussing American study abroad. It could be that Dick’s years in the Navy Band gave him some connections and/or some funding or at least ignited the idea of studying abroad.

Dick studied conducting privately with Nadia Boulanger, who taught some of our most acclaimed American composers, including Aaron Copland, Leonard Bernstein, even Burt Bacharach. Boulanger herself was a pupil of Gabriel Fauré. Dick received valuable, firsthand insight into the Fauré Requiem from her. It was from that study that he developed a ‘perfect’ performance of the piece in his head, which he told me about when we were once preparing the piece at St. John the Divine, Houston. He told it with a sense of longing rather than of celebration, because he knew that neither he nor any choir could pull off the perfect performance rattling inside his head. I found that oddly defeatist in tone, and it informed my observations of him from then on.

Surely training abroad is life-changing, but Dick never discussed it much. However, he was passionate in talking about Boulanger’s insistence on learning all about Dick the man, so that they could cultivate the deepest musical foundation possible. She would insist they take long walks so that she could learn about him. This probably explains why her roster of students is so diverse. The way Dick talked about it made it sound like therapy! I wish I had been older and wiser to know more of what to ask him and how to process the information.

Dick also studied organ with Jean Langlais at the Schola Cantorum and with André Marchal privately. Normally, one does not study concurrently with multiple organ teachers in Paris, because inter-animosity tends to run high (it’s a French thing). But Marchal had taught Langlais, and their mutual admiration endured. Marchal even subbed for Langlais on occasion at the Schola.

During this time, Langlais recorded the complete solo organ works of César Franck, the first recording of its kind. Dick and another classmate (perhaps Allen Hobbs, perhaps Ann Labounsky) pulled stops for it. Dick once wryly told me that he ‘turned pages’ for those recordings [Langlais was blind!]. He also told me that he screwed up a stop change once, which forced a furious Langlais into an extra take.

Somehow, Langlais screwed up Dick’s playing, to put it bluntly. Dick told me that Langlais insisted that the third beat in a measure always be very strong. Whether something got lost in translation from Langlais’s mouth to Dick’s ears or from Dick’s memory to my ears or from my memory to this blog, I cannot say. But I saw [and heard] firsthand that Dick’s third beats in his playing were always rushed outright rather than merely strong, and it skewed his hymn playing. My own teacher Clyde Holloway taught me that I should always endeavor to sound like Dick when playing for church so that the congregation would never be distracted by being able to tell the difference between us. That’s a noble professional tenet, but on the point of third-beat heaviness, I just couldn’t. Sorry, Clyde, and sorry, congregation.

On June 6, 1964, Dick was among the first four Americans to receive the Diplôme Schola Cantorum, with distinction in organ playing and improvisation. That translated back in the U.S. as ‘Dr. Woods’ from then on.

Next time: Gary and Austin

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.

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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.”

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“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.”

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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

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.

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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

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.

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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