I’ve always wanted to write an article about my love for pipe organs. I realized this while reading a book review of The Organist: Fugues, Fatherhood, and a Fragile Mind, by Mark Abley. This is his latest book, and is about his father, Harry Abley, a cathedral organist, and his life-long struggle with depression.
His father managed this depression by his devotion to playing the pipe organ. Music lightened his mood and helped him in his work and family life. I think that for me the pipe organ has always been a joy.
My love of the pipe organ began early in my life. As a young boy, I envied my sister who substituted as church organist for daily Masses. Our parish organ was a two manual, ten or twelve stop pipe organ – that in my father’s day was hand pumped (he took a turn at this). To me, however, it was stunning and made (at least I thought it did) the floor tremble.
In my own elementary school days my music teacher decided that I would be ideal to accompany the singing at the daily (usual Requiem) parish high Mass. The instrument was a one manual, five stop electronic organ, but again for me it filled our small parish church resoundedly.
Later I graduated to a two manual (two half keyboards) Hammond organ at St. Paul’s high school, and as a novice to a harmonium whose reed stops actually did create the sounds.
My greatest joy, however, was for the first time to play the three manual Casavant pipe organ at St. Ignatius parish in Winnipeg. To me the sound was magnificent and it still lingers in my memory.
My brother was also fascinated by pipe organs and also liked to re-build them. Often I would be treated to long concerts as he practiced, or I would get to help him by turning pages or pulling stops at difficult changes of registration.
My great joy, however, was to sit at the console and play (very simple compositions), and hear the organ’s many voices. A favourite place to do this was at Loretto Abbey on their two manual Casavant that was originally in the chapel at the Jesuit Seminary on Wellington St. (the first Loretto Abbey).
Sitting at the console of a pipe organ (provided it is not more than four manuals high) is a marvelous experience. I wonder sometimes as I am watching them if Formula One drivers have a similar experience manipulating the computers and devices of their racing cars while the motor thunders and the constant gear changes roar.
Probably the organ console is much safer. But perhaps not for an auditor.
One day as I sat dutifully listening to the changes of registration my brother was experimenting with on the grand organ at Quebec city’s basilica, a tour entered the church. Just as a senior passed near my pew, my brother decided to end a composition with full organ (all stops open). As he did so, the tourist gasped and clutched her chest. To her “Mon Dieu!”, I concernedly replied, “Ce n’est rien – c’est seulement mon petit frére!”