A dream come true
Wasn’t there ever something really special you just HAD to have? A doll at Christmas. The perfect diamond earrings. Third row center tickets to a Springsteen concert.
I think we all have a “must have,” whether it was in elementary school or midlife. It’s unexplainable, really, except in your mind.
Thus it was with me. The object of my desire? An antique pump organ.
“Why?” a friend asked me, not mincing words.
“Because,” I said, “I’ve always wanted one.”
OK, may not ALWAYS. But many, many years at least. I grew up practicing on a two-and-a-half octave Hammond organ (the one where you played keyboard with your right hand and chord buttons on the left hand). It was all right, though not particularly fulfilling.
One day, my mom caught wind of someone at church getting rid of an old upright piano. Sure, it was nearly a full step out of tune and two full octaves stuck in the damp days of early spring, but it had all 88 keys. Definitely, a step up.
Still, there was something so grand about an organ, especially when you grew up in churches where organ music was as natural as turning on the lights.
When I bought my first house – a century-old two story in Canal Fulton, I quickly went about equipping it with antique pieces. And that was when I came in contact with my first pump organ. It was beautiful – all carved and appropriately ornate.
But the price tag – OUCH!
Before I knew it, I’d relocated to Wooster to an apartment where a pump organ just wouldn’t fit. And so the dream dimmed for several years.
The first house Husband and I bought together was circa 1914 and beautifully restored. It had this gorgeous entry foyer with a staircase that just kind of took your breath away.
It was the perfect spot for my pump organ –as soon as I found it. I looked and looked and looked – but the elusive pump organ had gone missing. The ones I did find didn’t work and/or were obscenely priced. It was something I wanted, sure, but I couldn’t exactly retire on it.
And then came the Nipper. And before we knew it, we were in the market for another house. So long, little piece of history.
Hello, mid-century ranch home.
A good house for a Rat Pack-style wet bar, for some “Mad Men” –style lamps. Unfortunately, not a really good setting for a pump organ.
So life went on. I inherited some beautiful pieces and I bought a few fun pieces. But I all but forgot about the organ – until a month ago.
I was out for a solo Sunday drive when I noticed a few dressers at a storefront with an “open” sign in the front. I went in and immediately sighed … nothing much here at all – comic books, a Jenny Lind bed, a few 60-year-old chairs. Nothing much.
The proprietor was friendly and, after speaking to the few other patrons, turned and greeted me.
“Hello,” I said, three steps from the door.
And just then, a patron stepped to his right to look into a few boxes and I saw it – perfect, mahogany, bench included.
It was not A pump organ, it was THE pump organ. It was a 1906 Packard and it worked beautifully. Most importantly, it was ridiculously cheap.
The rest is history. It now occupies a prime spot in the living room and looks like it was built to be there – sorta.
As you can imagine, it has been quite a mystery to The Nipper, who hasn’t quite figured it all out. In the meantime, he is happy to pump while I play, which is fine, because otherwise it’s like trying to play while working a StairMaster.
When I play it, I know I do not do it justice. It apparently began in a church in Ashland and has been well cared for since churches moved to the electric versions. Still, I can’t help but think of all the hymns it has played, all the people who worked its stops and its delicate keys.
And I’m glad I finally have my pump organ. Silly as it seems, it really seems at home.
I think we all have a “must have,” whether it was in elementary school or midlife. It’s unexplainable, really, except in your mind.
Thus it was with me. The object of my desire? An antique pump organ.
“Why?” a friend asked me, not mincing words.
“Because,” I said, “I’ve always wanted one.”
OK, may not ALWAYS. But many, many years at least. I grew up practicing on a two-and-a-half octave Hammond organ (the one where you played keyboard with your right hand and chord buttons on the left hand). It was all right, though not particularly fulfilling.
One day, my mom caught wind of someone at church getting rid of an old upright piano. Sure, it was nearly a full step out of tune and two full octaves stuck in the damp days of early spring, but it had all 88 keys. Definitely, a step up.
Still, there was something so grand about an organ, especially when you grew up in churches where organ music was as natural as turning on the lights.
When I bought my first house – a century-old two story in Canal Fulton, I quickly went about equipping it with antique pieces. And that was when I came in contact with my first pump organ. It was beautiful – all carved and appropriately ornate.
But the price tag – OUCH!
Before I knew it, I’d relocated to Wooster to an apartment where a pump organ just wouldn’t fit. And so the dream dimmed for several years.
The first house Husband and I bought together was circa 1914 and beautifully restored. It had this gorgeous entry foyer with a staircase that just kind of took your breath away.
It was the perfect spot for my pump organ –as soon as I found it. I looked and looked and looked – but the elusive pump organ had gone missing. The ones I did find didn’t work and/or were obscenely priced. It was something I wanted, sure, but I couldn’t exactly retire on it.
And then came the Nipper. And before we knew it, we were in the market for another house. So long, little piece of history.
Hello, mid-century ranch home.
A good house for a Rat Pack-style wet bar, for some “Mad Men” –style lamps. Unfortunately, not a really good setting for a pump organ.
So life went on. I inherited some beautiful pieces and I bought a few fun pieces. But I all but forgot about the organ – until a month ago.
I was out for a solo Sunday drive when I noticed a few dressers at a storefront with an “open” sign in the front. I went in and immediately sighed … nothing much here at all – comic books, a Jenny Lind bed, a few 60-year-old chairs. Nothing much.
The proprietor was friendly and, after speaking to the few other patrons, turned and greeted me.
“Hello,” I said, three steps from the door.
And just then, a patron stepped to his right to look into a few boxes and I saw it – perfect, mahogany, bench included.
It was not A pump organ, it was THE pump organ. It was a 1906 Packard and it worked beautifully. Most importantly, it was ridiculously cheap.
The rest is history. It now occupies a prime spot in the living room and looks like it was built to be there – sorta.
As you can imagine, it has been quite a mystery to The Nipper, who hasn’t quite figured it all out. In the meantime, he is happy to pump while I play, which is fine, because otherwise it’s like trying to play while working a StairMaster.
When I play it, I know I do not do it justice. It apparently began in a church in Ashland and has been well cared for since churches moved to the electric versions. Still, I can’t help but think of all the hymns it has played, all the people who worked its stops and its delicate keys.
And I’m glad I finally have my pump organ. Silly as it seems, it really seems at home.
Published: April 5, 2011
