Mr. Vanner and I arrived safely in New York City aboard the liner
S.S.Gargantua on 22nd December 1997. I always travel by Imperial Star -
certain delightful privileges having been awarded me by the managment of
that company since I advised them on the construction and installation of
the various automatic musical instruments that adorn the vessels of their
fleet.
 
The Gargantua is of course my favourite; a truly magnificent boat built in
the most extravagant manner imaginable. For example: the Ship's Chapel
seats eight hundred, and though the restrictions imposed by naval
engineering prevent it from having exactly the acoustic of San Vitale in
Ravenna - on which edifice it is closely modelled - it nevertheless manages
to stump up a decent four second reverb., and the organ is perfectly
bewitching. There is a little Italian-style case on the 'west' gallery, and
an enchantingly pretty one-manual console of antique type, where any
passenger so inclined can while away the journey playing the 'durezzi e
ligaturi' of Frescobaldi on the Voce Umana (if the movement of the bat is
not too disconcerting). Lift up the music desk, and there is revealed the
roll-player for the main organ, built on the system devised by Horatio
Cordy-Bassett of Boston. The pipework of this splendid instrument, laid out
on Compton lines to save space, occupies three concealed chambers to the
'north', 'south' and 'east'. The rolls available include most of the major
organ and orchestral repertoire. On this journey I had the pleasure of
programming the registration for certain new rolls, including a terrific
version of Arthur Honegger's 'Pacific 231' - a real *tour-de-force* ....
but I digress.
 
On arrival, we took our usual suite of rooms in the Hotel
Swank-Hochhatte-Mirabelle on Fifth Avenue, and busied ourselves with all
those activities that only a tourist in New York can enjoy. Of these I will
say little, except to note that we left no stone unturned in our daily
quest for the full Gotham Experience, and that no department store or
retail outlet was safe from our rape and pillage. We made a very
satisfactory acquisition in the category of *rare fauna* (a companion for
our pet giraffes, Abraham and Edgar) of a species previously unknown to us
(a jpg. of this animal, christened Otto Meredith Bumpe, and believed to be
of Scandinavian origin, will be forwarded to interested parties on
request).
 
By Christmas itself, we were ready to turn our thoughts to higher things,
and took ourselves to Midnight Mass at St. Ignatius Loyola, at Park and
Eighty-fourth, where you will recall there is a large new instrument not
entirely unconnected with your present narrator. There, through the
kindness of the Director of Music, Kent Tritle, we had seats in the choir
gallery, and were able to talk part in the most splendid service, which
included two shifts of clergy, dancers (both male *and* female!), an
orchestra, a full 'son et lumiere' display, nine or more well-loved carols,
much of Handel's 'Messiah', and about two thousand red poinsettias. We
reeled back out onto the snowy street at about half-past two on Christmas
morning.
 
Christmas day was delightfully sunny, and was devoted to large meals and
long walks. By the twenty-sixth (known to us British, for some strange
reason, as 'Boxing Day'), we were ready for our trip to St. Gladys. Of
course one goes to the Basilica by No.1 Subway: the view of the huge
building from the Manhattan Valley Bridge at 125th and Broadway is
unforgettable, as is the sumptuously appointed marble and mosaic station at
Hackenback Square, where you alight. At those times of day when the church
is open to the public, an escalator takes you directly from the platform to
the visitor centre at the west end of the nave. The experience of rising
out of the ground to greet the seven-hundred-foot vista is unforgettable.
 
On this occasion we were met at the top of the moving stairs by Brad Jaeger
III, the distinguished organ builder and curator of the Hackenback Organ.
With characteristic charm and exhibiting tremendous depth of knowledge, he
then gave us a tour of the building, telling much of the history I have
already outlined, and leading us inexorably to the console of the Great
Instrument we had come to visit.
 
Brad Jaeger's ambition to become involved in some way with St. Gladys dates
from visits as a child (his father was a distinguished professor at nearby
Columbia University). He was so struck by his first ascent of the famous
escalator at the west end as never to be able to erase the experience from
his mind. At the same time he was captivated by the gloomy sounds issuing
from the few working portions of the organ, and thus his vocation was born.
Hanging round the building in his vacations, he began to make contact with
the musicians, and latterly with those entrusted with the unenviable task
of keeping some part of the great organ in working order. Then, as a young
adult, came his period of training, with some of the most notable organ
building companies on the east coast, and finally his appointment to the
post he had so long covetted - that of Curator to the Leviathan (financed
by a trust set up under a codicil to Hackenback's will).
 
Brad stood with us at the Skinner five-manual console, delighted to explain
to us just what he had found when he arrived in 1973. As previously
mentioned, only portions of the chancel section were then working, several
of the chambers were sealed, and the key to the basement organ shop was
lost. On his first day, he stood in front of that locked double door, and
wondered what to do (I can imagine him doing so, possibly adjusting or
polishing his spectacles as he weighed up the situation). Then, in a moment
of uncharacteristic violence, he picked up a discarded fire-extinguisher
from a dusty corner and hurled it against the door. The lock gave way, and
one half of the door swung open. Brad described to us in his own words what
he found: -
 
"There in front of me, blocking the doorway on a huge wheeled dolly, was
the Harry Willis six-manual console: probably the largest drawknob console
ever made, finished from top to bottom in funereal black polish, and
covered with dust. Its hundreds of knobs and several tiers of coupler tabs
were all blank. I felt against the wall for a light switch, found one, and
turned it on. Of the many bulbs that once hung in that shop, several still
worked, and a few worked for more than the first few seconds. Stretching
back under the vaults of the crypt, and dimply lit by a handful of dusty
lights, I could see organ material of all kinds going back as far as I
could see. Pipes, chests, bellows, windlines, and mechanisms of all kinds
covered the floor and leant against the walls. There were so many things
stuffed in there that they almost met in the middle, leaving only a tiny
winding gangway down the centre, which led off into the murky depths.
 
"At first I was scared to go in. For I while I actually thought I might
find Harry Willis's skeleton somewhere at the back of all that stuff. I
started by mending the door and putting a new lock on it, and while I did
so I had a long think. Then I went out and bought a box of light bulbs and
a dozen lawyer's pads, and made a start.
 
"I started at the door and worked inwards. The first few days I just made
lists, and more lists. You can imagine the kind of thing - 'Bay three, left
side: 4 trems (Sknnr. pttrn.); 1 whiffle-tree Sw. eng.; 1 zinc string bass
16' 32 notes unv. #35 2/9m (mtl.)'. I would take a flask of coffee and
sandwiches down there, and work until I could do no more, coming out at
night to sleep. After a week I had penetrated about a hundred feet into the
gloom, and could see something glinting in the distance. I peered ahead,
and then put down my pad and pencil and decided to abandon caution and
method and just go out exploring. As I walked down that long subterranean
aisle (it goes right out under the hillside, you know), I found that there
were further brick-lined tunnels to right and left, and large locked doors
with carrying intriguing signs, such as 'TURBINE ROOM', 'BLOWER ROOM 6B',
or '50" MAIN - NORTH ACCESS'. I carried straight ahead for the time being,
because what had caught my eye in the distance were the glinting windows of
a glass-windowed office.  When I got to it, I found the door was open. I
reached for the light switch, and was greeted by the most amazing sight.'
 
(To be Continued)
 
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Note:  opinions  expressed on PIPORG-L are those of the  individual con-
tributors and not necessarily  those of the list owners  nor of the Uni-
versity at Albany.
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