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Part 2: The Real Value of a Pump Organ

What is the value of a musical instrument if it can’t be played? If it takes up space and means something only to me? I wrestled with these questions about my huge pump organ. When the canvas binding connecting a pedal to the bellows broke and the organ wouldn’t play, it was time to do some soul searching, with a pinch of practicality.

My maternal grandfather and his siblings purchased the organ over a century ago. I played “Rock of Ages” on it for Papa as he sat beside me. Papa left it to his three daughters in his will with instructions, “One old organ that shall be kept in the family if possible and if it’s sold out of the family, the proceeds are to be divided equally among all my grandchildren.” It was moved from Papa and Grandma’s house to our home in 1985.

After Husband and I determined we couldn’t repair the broken binding, I researched the organ’s value and the cost of getting it repaired. It was made by the Estey Company, founded in 1850 and located in Brattleboro, Vermont. Something this old must be valuable, right? Not really. I found one on eBay priced $399. The only person who advertised online to repair pump organs didn’t service Tennessee and one contact who might look at it charged a minimum of $2500 to overhaul the complete instrument. That was too much.

But I wanted it repaired. Maybe because I have a picture of Mom and her two sisters when they were children standing beside the organ or maybe because I played it for Papa or maybe because Papa wanted it to stay in the family and mostly because I’m sentimental and believe that if family heirlooms are used, they are treasured.

A friend, known to his family as Builder Bob, offered to look at the organ. After he’d replaced the broken binding, I pumped the pedals and pressed the keyboard keys and nothing happened. Both of us were disappointed. Another day Bob took the back off the organ and although he knows nothing about keyboard instruments, he’s a self-taught carpenter and worked on the hydraulic machinery on nuclear submarines in the early 1960s and he likes a challenge.

Making this organ play would be a challenge. The brass reeds were black. The bellows cracked. The stops stuck. Dust, insect droppings, dead bugs filled the organ cavity. Bob and I agreed on a price and he hauled all the organ’s workings to his home workshop.

Last week, Bob put the shiny reeds, new leather bellows, heavy cotton dampening, and all the many parts of the organ in place. After he worked for two days making adjustments, I pumped the pedals and pressed the keys and played “Rock of Ages.” How I wished Papa had been beside me.

But even more I wished he’d heard my Grands say, “Can I play the organ next?” “It’s really hard to pump those pedal things!” “Listen, it sounds like the piano, but different.”

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Post Script:  Thank you Builder Bob for your work!

 

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Playing Papa’s Pump Organ

Papa sat in his easy chair beside me while I played “In the Garden” on his pump organ. My maternal grandfather, Paul Bertram, was a man of few words. When I finished the last note I knew he approved because he nodded, ever so slightly, and smiled. A closed mouth smile, his lips barely curved at the corners.

Papa’s approval was enough to encourage me to continue pumping the foot pedals to play “Rock of Ages.” After I played these two hymns, I opened the church hymnal and chose another. Papa sat as long as I played and I played as long as my twelve-year-old legs could pump the pedals.

I liked to pull out all the stop knobs to make the volume louder and it was fun to experiment by pushing some in. I didn’t know what Dulciana or Dolce or most of the other words printed on the nine other stops meant. I recognized the words Treble and Bass, but didn’t know what they meant when combined with Coupler and neither did Papa. He didn’t play any keyboard instrument, but he liked music and the organ was important to him.

Papa never talked about the days when he played musical instruments and I never saw him hold a fiddle, except in pictures, but I knew he had played one. Papa, his brother, and two sisters, Ervin, Mary and Martha, bought the organ about 1915 when they were all young adults, but not married so the organ sat in their parents’ parlor.   In the 1930s after their mother’s death, their father broke up housekeeping and lived with his daughter Mary and her husband. And the organ was moved to Papa and Grandma’s home.

During World War II, Papa and Grandma moved to Oak Ridge where he worked as a carpenter on war-related buildings. Upon their return home to Pickett County, Papa paid his siblings for their part of the organ and he took great pride in owning it. I wish I’d questioned him and taken notes. Who played it? Where did they buy it? Certainly not in the Bertram siblings’ hometown, Byrdstown, Tennessee. How much did it cost?

I continued to play for Papa every time I visited until his death in 1974 and about ten years later when it was time for Grandma to move from their home this dark stained, huge reed organ was moved to my house. Through the years I’ve played the organ occasionally and encouraged Daughter and our older Grands to play. Many notes stuck. The sounds were muffled. The pedals were stiff. But it played, until a few months ago when a pedal flopped because the binding connecting it to the bellows broke.

In his will, Papa excluded the organ from other property and left it to his three daughters with instructions, “One old organ shall be kept in the family if possible.” I believe family pieces are treasured only if they are used. So now what do I do with this family heirloom?

To be continued….

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Earworms Dig In

screen-shot-2016-10-20-at-8-33-04-amThe wheels on the bus go round and round. Round and round. Round and round. STOP! I want off this bus! This silly song won’t go away. Like wheels, it goes round and round in my brain.

Call it an earworm or a brain worm. It’s defined as a catchy song or tune that runs continually through a person’s mind, or more scientifically, it’s involuntary musical imagery (INMI). Sometimes an earworm attacks long after we’ve heard a song and often it’s an annoying ditty that we’d never choose to remember. It is probably not even a favorite song. The Wheels on the Bus is certainly not worthy of being my favorite and I don’t want to hear it over and over.

Why does this song get stuck in my brain? And how can it get it unstuck? Although psychologists and brain researchers have studied earworms, what triggers them and why they occur remain mysteries. Mainly because earworms, which supposedly last only a few seconds, are involuntary and that makes tracking them in a scientific setting almost impossible.

It’s believed there are groups of people who are more likely to experience earworms: those constantly exposed to music, those who are exposed to the same song multiple times during a short period, those with obsessive-compulsive behavior, and those who express strong emotions. So I expect that my friend who teaches school music classes and sings the same songs during school hours will hear those tunes long after 3:00 p.m. And it makes sense that people who try to do everything right would strive to hear a song perfectly and repeat its lyrics many times.

Brain researchers suggest that the size and shape of one’s brain might be a factor. Earworm frequency depends upon the thickness of brain regions and are more common in people with thick brains in the areas associated with musical memory and auditory reception. (Side note: did you know it’s been proven that the smartest people have the thickest brains?)

So I can’t determine exactly why the Wheels on the Bus gets stuck in my head, it just does. Are there ways to prevent it? I could quit music, cold turkey. No radio. No Pandora. No singing with the Grands. No concerts. But I’m not giving up music.

However, I discovered many suggestions to stop an earworm. Sing the entire song, every word, every note, every stanza – wear the song out. Or listen to other music. Or sing a different song – either aloud or in your head and hope it doesn’t get stuck. Or distract your brain by engaging in a language activity: work a crossword puzzle, play Scrabble, write a poem, or simply talk to someone.

My favorite solution comes from an article published in The Quarterly Journal of Experimental Psychology: chew gum. The articles states, “Doing so appears to reduce the numbers of wanted and unwanted songs in your head and is consistent with other studies saying gum chewing disrupts voluntary memory recollection.”

So now I have a plan to stop the wheels on the bus. I’ll chew gum and sing every verse aloud, including the verses about the wipers and the horn and the people. If that doesn’t work, I’ll play Scrabble, my all-time favorite board and online game. And for good measure, I’ll call a friend for a phone visit. I just hope she doesn’t mention the words wheels or bus.

Band Concert in the Park

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I carried Ruth’s and my folding chairs across Dogwood Park to a flat grassy area in front of the performance pavilion.To keep my Grand interested, we needed to sit close to the action at the Community Band Concert.  I greeted my friends, Mary Dell and Robert, who were seated at a picnic table just a few feet behind our chairs.  I introduced Ruth to them and to their dog Button, a hospital therapy dog.  Button is an Australian Silken Terrier, is less than a foot tall and weighs only a few pounds.  She stood on the picnic table.  Ruth tentatively raised her hand to touch Button, and Mary Dell explained that Button likes to have her chest scratched.

Button sniffed Ruth’s hand and turned away.   My Grand and I settled into our chairs while the band members warmed up their instruments.  A cacophony of sound – Ruth put her hands over her ears and looked back at Button.  Mary Dell’s smile encouraged her to stand by Button.  With one finger, Ruth scratched Button’s chest and gently rubbed her back.

The concert began.  The band played  “The Star Spangled Banner” and Ruth and I stood, as did all the 250 people in the audience.  Then my Grand crawled into my lap and I tapped my toes to the rhythm of  “Good Ole Summertime.”

“Watch those trombones.  See how the musicians playing them made them long and then short?  That’s how a trombone makes different notes, like on our piano,” I told Ruth.  We teachers think we have to make every outing a learning experience.  Ruth quickly ate the cheese and cracker snack I’d brought, and she looked back over my shoulder at Button.

Mary Dell nodded her head and motioned with her fingers that it was okay for Ruth to see Button again.  Robert put a dog treat in Ruth’s hand and showed her how to hold her hand flat.  She laughed when Button’s tongue licked her hand and then her face.  Ruth went from that first tentative touch and scratching Button’s chest to giving her treats and laughing when Button licked her.

The music played on.  So much inspiring, upbeat, summertime music performed by the sixty musicians on stage.  Robert Jager masterfully directed each song.  I tapped my foot, applauded, and enjoyed and appreciated every note.  Especially the percussion instruments when the circus came to town.  And I sat alone.  My Grand sat on the picnic table bench between Mary Dell and Robert, and Button stood right in front of her.

The hour-long concert ended.  Ruth told her new friends good-bye, held my hand, and we walked toward our car.  “That music was weird,” Ruth said.

“Weird?” I said.  “It’s different from what we usually listen to.  Maybe not weird, but different.  I like band music.”

“Me, too.”

“So do you want to come to another concert?”

“When?  Will Button be there?”  Ruth asked.  Monday night, June 23, 7:30 p.m.  I don’t know if Button will be there.  The free concert will take us Around the World on a Musical Tour.  I’m sure we’ll have fun – enjoy music that’s not what we hear every day and greet old and new friends.  All outside, under the stars, in the park.

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