PipeChat Digest #4975 - Tuesday, December 7, 2004 Speaking of Funerals by "Charlie Lester" <firstname.lastname@example.org> CMU Walls by "First Christian Church of Casey, Illinois" <email@example.com> Re: nomenclature by "Andy Lawrence" <firstname.lastname@example.org> Re: Organs in Hospitals by "John L. Speller" <email@example.com> RE: CMU Walls by "Daniel Hancock" <firstname.lastname@example.org> RE: CMU Walls by "Daniel Hancock" <email@example.com> Organs of Merged Churches to Marry at Hemenway by "Fran Walker" <firstname.lastname@example.org>
(back) Subject: Speaking of Funerals From: "Charlie Lester" <email@example.com> Date: Tue, 07 Dec 2004 10:41:48 -0800 Well, I guess it's time to blow the dust off my well-thumbed book of True Funeral Anecdotes again. Here goes! =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D Not all funerals are solemn and somber, or pitiful. Some of them are kinda fun. There was the time we had a mariachi band up in the balcony; the deceased being an affectionado of music from South of the Border ... "da-da-DAA-da-da-daaaa, oom-chi-chi, oom-chi-chi ..." (You haven't lived til you've heard "Estrellita" belted out by a good mariachi band.) To say nothing of the funeral where I played Christmas carols in the swelter of August, per the decree of the dearly-departed. That's what he requested, and what I played on the funeral chapel's tremulous spinette organ. His life-partner often marvels at how wonderful it all was and still profusely thanks me for being willing to respect his partner's wishes. And, then, not that long ago, I played my theremin for a memorial service. No, I did -not- play the theme from "It Came From Outer Space." (I'm saving that for ~my~ funeral.) I played Handel's "Famous" Largo [per the supplied sheet music] and Andrae Crouch's "My Tribute." Both duly serious and somber, as it were. Well, I guess I oughtn't admit to this, lest I be roundly chastised by the Appropriate Funeral Music Police ... but I have even played "My Way" at a funeral. The deceased was a mean alcoholic who bullied people all his life. His theme-song truly WAS, "I did it MY way" --- and to the exclusion of everyone else, as non-sober alcoholics are wont to be. It was his wife's wish to have this song sung at her husband's funeral. Who was I to argue? And there was the time when I was playing appropriately somber music at the beginning of the funeral as people were passing by the open casket at the front of the church. Suddenly, a lady scrieked at the top of her lungs, and then several people around her also began screaming and hollering. WHAT in the world?! I wondered if the dead man had come back to life, or what???! Unfortunately, the organ console was way back in the corner of the chancel so I could not get a good look. I had to wait til later to find out that the source of the commotion was ... a little field mouse! Seems that as the dearly departed's family was passing by the coffin, a little mouse scurried out from below the closed half of the lid. This was in a little country church in Maryland - the body had been lying in the church since the early morning and apparently a mouse made its way inside and into the casket; then decided to make a dramatic appearance at the worst possible time. He sat on the man's chest for a moment, staring in wonderment at the humans who were making all these loud and terrible sounds and waving their arms about. So he scurried back into the coffin! The people from the funeral home had to come up and close the casket and roll it out into the hall to fetch out the mouse. In a few moments, they rolled it back in and the service carried on. =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D A few years ago, I played for a funeral at our church where the deceased was a young man who met an untimely and rather unsavory demise, allegedly at the hands of disgruntled drug addicts, or dealers, or something. There was quite a lot of whispered scandal around his "expiration." [Whenever someone says that so-and-so "expired," I have to bite my tongue to keep from asking if they did so before, or after, the "expiration date" stamped on their can.......] I arrived a hfalf-hour or so early as is my custom. When I got there, I saw that the piano and organ had already been opened, and that there was an older lady seated at the piano "noodling." Well, "older" is a relative term. Can we talk: She was OLD. She looked like she had just stepped out of a vat of brine. She wore a big, ludicrously phony looking jet-black wig that appeared to have been made out of doll hair. The fearsome cracks in her withered, pruny cheeks were puttied in with enough rouge [and mortician's wax, probably] to last Tammy-Faye for a whole month! Completing her ghoulish ensemble were hideous-looking 3-inch-long fingernails. They were just bare nails, not painted or manicured in every way, and were quite disturbing to behold. She demurely stood and extended her hand, introducing herself as the organist from the mortuary. (Monty, that wasn't YOU in that black fright-wig, was it?!) She had come along to "help out." She said something along the line that she would conclude her services when I was ready to begin. Yeek. Whatever. I sanguinely smiled, deftly avoided the proffered handful of grotesque talons, and trotted off to the office. I needed to meet with the pastor and to get robed up, so I didn't give her another thought. Let her go ahead and play, what can it hurt? That was my first mistake... When I came out to begin the prelude, she was still seated at the piano. I nodded to indicate that I was ready to begin. She dodged the nod and kept playing. I sat at the organ and when she finally stopped and came up for air, I plunged in on the organ. Darned if she didn't start plunking right along with me on the piano! I was getting a tiny bit annoyed. It would have been nervy enough of her if she could really play. But all she was doing was "plinking and pecking" -- diddling out inane, discordant, arrhythmic improvisations and mismatched chords to the bizarre click-clack percussive accompaniment of her garish, overgrown fingernails. I got the brilliant idea to start playing stuff that I felt reasonably sure she would not know -- I blew the dust off my copy of "The Church Organist's Golden Treasury." Sure enough, she did not seem to know any of the selections. But that did not stop her from improvising along. Then, I played Bach's "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring." I kid you not: She launched into an effusive counter-melody of "When The Roll Is Called Up Yonder." By now, steam was coming from my ears. If I had not been laughing so hard at her comical ministrations, I would have gotten into a blind rage by that point. The service began, with a soloist from my choir. He sang "How Great Thou Art," an arrangement we had worked up earlier. It was not "straight from the hymnal." But you guessed it ... Miss Prune-Face-Bad-Wig-Fingernails-from-hell chimed right in! At a bridge, I modulated from Bb to B, hoping it would throw her and she'd stop. Well, it threw her; that's for sure. But it certainly didn't stop her! She fumbled around trying to find the key and finally figured out we were in the key of ... F#. The next thing on the program was an opening invocation. During which, I crept around from the organ console to the piano and stood next to the bench, making it clear I wanted to sit there. She tried to ignore me, pretending to thumb through the hymnal and turning away from me. That was HER seat by cracky, and she wasn't about to surrender it! I finally leaned over and whispered, "I need to play the piano for the next soloist." She shot me a baleful look, her beady eyes peering out from under that lacquered, polyester wig --- and s-l-o-w-l-y, reluctantly, slid off the bench. She disappeared around the corner and I assumed she took a seat in the congregation. The next soloist on the program was another soloist from my choir. She was going to sing an arrangement of a well-known hymn. (Actually, it was our arrangement of an arrangement for choir.) Again, there were to be bridges, transitions, changes of key etc. Well, I began the introduction. Suddenly, an ear-splitting, banshee wail blasted forth RIGHT behind me and into my shocked ears. The electrifying impact was just as if I had been struck by lightning. I literally leapt to my feet with an audible report of my own -- and, in the process, sent the piano bench toppling over and my music flying every which-a-way. The issuance was from the deceased's wife who was suddenly seized in the grip of anguished grieving. (The family was seated on the first pew directly behind the piano, with my back to them so I could not see them.) Before that, the room had been fairly calm -- the usual sniffles and such. But she got the whole place going, and before long there was a bedlam of screaming, wailing, shouting, beating of breasts, jumping up and down, fainting. The wife then just went hysterical, shrieking and pulling her hair, and beating on the end of the pew. She ran up to the front of the church and tried to climb inside the still-open casket. Ushers had to come running down the aisle and pull her off, then they dragged her out a side door, her high heels making little track marks in the sea of thick blue carpeting. Her piteous screams and wails echoed down the long tile hallway as they carried her away. Unbridled pandemonium reigned for some few minutes. Fat ladies in glittering dresses and hats big enough to seat 6 were either swooning melodramatically or jumping up on the pews and shrieking at the tops of their lungs, wildly waving their hands in the air. Terrified children ran in and around the aisles as their mothers, brandishing "Compliments of Blessed Rest Mortuary" paper fans, chased after them, screaming, "Come back here you, or I'm gonna smack you upside the head!" Stone-faced ushers stood at the ends of each row of pews, trying to maintain decorum but finally breaking character and joining in the mourners' chorus. The pastor just calmly stood up there and watched. He finally began clearing his voice, then rapping on the pulpit, then intoning into the microphone, entreating the congregation to please be seated. The hysterics went on a good five minutes before people got wound down again. I began the introduction to the solo once again. Well, saints be praised! I'll be doggoned if there wasn't a booming butt-in from the organ! I whirled around and saw with astonishment that Prunella had seated herself at the organ and was striving mightily to join in with the soloist and me! That is, drown BOTH of us out! Exasperated, I made wild, waving gestures with my right hand and mouthed a stage-whispered "STOP!!!" to her. She hissed, "I know this song!" I hissed back, "I don't care if you do. STOP PLAYING!" She snarled, more loudly,"But I =3DKNOW=3D this!" I snarled back, more loudly, "STOP!!!" She huffed her way off the organ bench with a scowl and disappeared into the congregation, and I finally saw (and HEARD) the last of her. F I N A L L Y, we got to the solo ... "When Peace Like a River." After the funeral, one of the deacons came up to me. "What on earth did you say to that nice lady from the mortuary?! She said you are the Meanest Man she has ever met, and that you have absolutely no idea of protocol or how to respect other musicians. She's really steamed at you and said she is going to complain about you to the pastor." Talk about your flabbergastedness! Of course, what was going on was she had showed up, uninvited and unannounced, to play--- and wanted to make sure she "earned her keep" ... e.g., get her FEE! Later, I asked the pastor to let me see the bill when it came from the mortuary. The following week when I got there for choir rehearsal, a copy of the bill was in my mailbox. Sure enough, there was an item: "Organist...$150" !!! =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D Another funeral in another funeral home ... another piece of junk to play on that hardly worked. [Some of y'all Southern California organists will probably recognize the crime scene in the following tale.......] No names mentioned .... no need to burn any bridges since our pastor does a LOT of funerals there (thankfully, I am rarely called upon to play) ..... MY LORD!! With the mind-boggling amount of dough that these places rake in, can't they afford to spend a few bucks on a decent organ? This particular mortuary does an incomprehensibly lucrative business --- they actually have caskets lined up in the hallways outside the chapels: The very minute one funeral is over, they politely but tersely shoo out all the stragglers; throw the flowers and stuff out the door =E0 la bucket brigade; then the trappings for the next show are whisked in, and so it goes, easily a half-dozen or more funerals a day, seven days a week, in some four different chapels....... Today, I was required to perform my labors for the deceased and his family on a battered, key-klanking, single-manual, electronic "keyboard" thing that was neither fish nor fowl (but a lot of FOUL). Let's see, there were buttons for "grand piano 1, grand piano2, grand piano3, Rhodes piano, electronic piano, honky [particularly ironic given the venue] tonk piano, Organ 1, Organ 2, Organ 3 (bad impersonations of various Hammond drawbar settings), string orchestra, brass ensemble, Choir, Harpsichord, Jamaican Steel Drums, and a lot of other useless crap, then ... TA DA: Pipe Organ. Right. "You can't tell the difference!" There were a half-dozen keys that did not play at all, another half-dozen that stuck when pressed (THEN, I figured out what the red dots on some of the keys meant: "Danger: Do Not Press!") and the rest of them rattled and clunked like some clattery old tracker organ from one of Virgil Fox's worst nightmares! The speaker box, one of those huge black-vinyl-upholstered guitar amp sort of affairs, sat on the floor in front of the keyboard, pointing OUTWARD toward the chapel. So, guess how easy it is to hear all those exciting Brass Ensembles, Steel Drums and Harpsichords. Right. You couldn't hear the damn contraption at all. I had no sooner started my noodle-fest when a sunken-eyed, pallored, hunched-over, gaunt-looking funeral director (right out of a Charles Addams cartoon) slithered into the organ closet with a taloned, bony finger up to his thin, bloodless lips, emitting a soft, but piercing, long "Ssssshhhhhhhhhhh" with his eyes bugging out like some poor goiter victim. He then softly intoned, with a perfect Peter Lorre impression, "Pleee-asse! Plaaay more sssohhhft-leeee, thank yue, sur." And then he vanished in a cloud of green smoke. (Okay, so I made up the last part. But he really DID look like a vampire who hadn't had a nip in quite a while.) [Then there's the "other" type of funeral director, the ones who are pudgy, corpulent, red-faced, shiny-skinned, and a tiny bit too jolly. Maybe these are the same ones as the Dracula-looking ones, just who've recently fed...?! Yikes!!] But I digresssssssssss-sshhhhhhhh! Of all the "sounds" to be had on the "Brand R" keyboard thingie, Grand Piano 2 was the least offensive so that was what I used throughout. Oh, and I have a question: Is it just a Southern California thing, or do funeral parlors all 'round the land require the "keyboardist" to play in a little room or closet off the main auditorium? Nearly all of the mortuaries where I have played out here have had this arrangement and it is VERY frustrating. Best case, there is a panel of grillework or latticework where you can at least look out through and see what's going on; worst case, you are stuck in a stuffy little room with no visual connection whatsoever, having to rely on the crackling and booming sound from a 1930s-era loudspeaker up in the corner to hear what's happening. This place did at least have the grillework; however, the casket was sitting right in front of it. I got a great view of the Dearly Departed's schnozzle -- until they closed the lid and plopped the casket spray on top, and then I couldn't see anything through the mini-forest of roses, carnations and baby's-breath. And a few pansies were blocking my view, also. I told the funeral director afterward, quite bluntly, "That piano thing in there is really tired. Can't y'all get something decent for people to play?" He said, actually very apologetically, "Well, we keep getting new instruments, and people keep tearing them up. Not a year ago we spent over $2000 on that piano (*) and it was torn up again in a month. So the boss said, 'That's it! No more money on musical instruments. When they finish tearing this one up, they can use the CD machines and that's just too bad.'" (* Talk about throwing good money after bad ... it wasn't all THAT much of a thing when it was new.) Well....... This really must be a huge, endemic, unspoken problem that is wreaking financial havoc on the funeral industry! At least, here in Southern California!! Nearly every mortuary and funeral home out here where I have played funerals -- and that's most of them -- has absolutely hideous junk in them for musical instruments, ranging from wheezing, cyphering, broken-down, "Heinz 57 Varieties" that were dragged in from a salvage yard, or some do-it-yourselfer's Handyman's Special, to ubiquitous Hammonds of varying models (even spinets - gagh) and condition, to every assorted 1960s home organ you ever saw, to, more recently, those "keyboard things" that I don't even know what you call -- they are not synthesizers per se, but what I guess you'd call sampled-sound keyboards. Again, some of them are not so bad, as long as you only have to play "Beyond the Sunset," "My Way" (yes, I did -- the family of the deceased, a mean drunk, insisted), "When the Roll is Called up Yonder," etc. Forget any sort of high-toned literature. But most of the ones that even COULD be halfway good are just pure junk either because of the condition, location, or manner of "installation." Or lack thereof. I guess you can tell I'm a bit annoyed......... I would just as soon never darken the doorways of another one of those joints again, and would not, were it for the income and, in some cases, out of affection for the deceased or a sense of responsibility to the family and loved-ones. There's something surreal, in the first place, about these embalmatoriums. It's always like stepping into some weird altered state or different dimension when you enter one. And the strange, ineffective, pathetic musical instruments in most of them just make the experience all the more strange and otherworldly. [No offense to those on the list in the Funeral Industry ... this is just an outsider/layperson's honest impression.......] Oh, and there's a rather unsettling postscript to this story that surely will produce some fine nightmares tonight. During the sermon, I stepped out into the hallway to look for a rest room. As I wended my way down the long corridor, along past the queue of waiting caskets, I came upon a door marked "PRIVATE" and with a hazardous materials logo on it. There was a little framed notice, about 6x8 inches in very tiny print, with some official-regulation wording about how human remains are to be handled discreetly and out of the public eye. Just as I was bent over reading the little sign, the door whisked open, startling me. A bleached-blond, very wrinkled, very elderly-looking woman came out into the hall, eyeing me very suspiciously as she peeled off her rubber gloves. "Maye Ah hailp yew?" she croaked in a thick, cigarette-husky, Southern accent. I couldn't help but gaze at the disposable-plastic butcher's-type apron that she was wearing over her gay-colored pants-suit. I could only be utterly thankful that there wasn't any ... er, STUFF on it. Ugh... Too freaked out by the very thought, I just retreated back into the Keyboard Closet and "held my water." =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D
(back) Subject: CMU Walls From: "First Christian Church of Casey, Illinois" <firstname.lastname@example.org> Date: Tue, 7 Dec 2004 12:47:22 -0600 What are CMU walls? Carnegie-Mellon University? Dennis Steckley "Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened."--Dr. Seuss
(back) Subject: Re: nomenclature From: "Andy Lawrence" <email@example.com> Date: Tue, 7 Dec 2004 13:43:23 -0500 Yes, there are times when a word is worth a thousand pictures! -Andy > Maybe we should do like autos and adopt those silly little > pictures........nah, they take forever to figure out! Although I > had a car once with a switch marked with a little martini glass!! > > Turned out to be a power antenna switch......the "stem" was the antenna > and the bowl of the glass was the radio wave. > A.B.Lawrence Pipe Organ Service PO Box 111 Burlington, VT 05402 (802)578-3936 Visit our website at www.ablorgans.com
(back) Subject: Re: Organs in Hospitals From: "John L. Speller" <firstname.lastname@example.org> Date: Tue, 7 Dec 2004 12:51:51 -0600 The St. Louis University Hospital (now owned by Tennant Healthcare) has = a very fine chapel designed by Ralph Adams Cram, and that has a Wicks = too. John Speller ----- Original Message -----=20 From: Travis L. Evans=20 To: PipeChat=20 Sent: Tuesday, December 07, 2004 10:30 AM Subject: Re: Organs in Hospitals Here in St. Louis at St. Johns Mercy, I believe its a small Wicks in = their chapel. Though the only time I've been in there, the console was = locked.
(back) Subject: RE: CMU Walls From: "Daniel Hancock" <email@example.com> Date: Tue, 7 Dec 2004 13:00:59 -0600 What are CMU walls? Carnegie-Mellon University?=20 Dennis Steckley They are Concrete Masonry Units, typically 4 x 8 x 4/6/8 blocks, and probably better-known as "concrete block." I believe it, along with the Styrofoam acoustic drop-in ceilings, are the norm for funeral homes around here. Daniel Hancock Springfield, Missouri
(back) Subject: RE: CMU Walls From: "Daniel Hancock" <firstname.lastname@example.org> Date: Tue, 7 Dec 2004 13:03:54 -0600 Pardon me, the dimensions should have read: 8 x 16 x 4/6/8. The variable dimension is the thickness of the block. =20 Daniel Hancock Springfield, Missouri What are CMU walls? Carnegie-Mellon University?=20 Dennis Steckley They are Concrete Masonry Units, typically 4 x 8 x 4/6/8 blocks, and probably better-known as "concrete block." I believe it, along with the Styrofoam acoustic drop-in ceilings, are the norm for funeral homes around here. Daniel Hancock Springfield, Missouri ****************************************************************** "Pipe Up and Be Heard!" PipeChat: A discussion List for pipe/digital organs & related topics HOMEPAGE : http://www.pipechat.org List: mailto:email@example.com Administration: mailto:firstname.lastname@example.org List-Subscribe: <mailto:email@example.com> List-Digest: <mailto:firstname.lastname@example.org> List-Unsubscribe: <mailto:email@example.com>
(back) Subject: Organs of Merged Churches to Marry at Hemenway From: "Fran Walker" <firstname.lastname@example.org> Date: Tue, 07 Dec 2004 12:41:40 -0600 Greetings, Pipers, I bring you news of good cheer! Fran Walker, aka An Old Frump email@example.com M.M. Northwestern University Organist, North Shore United Methodist Church 213 Hazel Avenue, Glencoe, IL 60022-1775 847-835-1227; fax 847-835-1243 firstname.lastname@example.org http://www.nsumcglencoe.org/ Evanston, IL From The Evanston Roundtable Paper, 12/1/04 Pipe Organs of Merged Churches to Marry at Hemenway By Victoria Scott It promises to be a marriage of passion if not of convenience. Preparations= =20 for a church wedding have been underway since early November, and even in=20 the experienced hands of the Walter Bradley Organ Company, Rockwell=20 Associates Architects and Zigmil Construction, they will not be complete=20 before January. The exact date of the ceremony is yet to be announced. But when the organ=20 from recently closed Covenant United Methodist Church weds the organ from=20 Hemenway United Methodist Church at 933 Chicago Ave. sometime early next=20 year, wedding bells will echo far beyond the Hemenway sanctuary. Matchmakers for the nuptials included organist Ed Spytek and Pastor Lisa=20 Telomen. Mr. Spytek was music director at Covenant when, three and a half=20 years ago, the denomination put the congregation on notice that they would= =20 close the church if membership did not increase sufficiently to meet=20 operating expenses. The 35 or so congregants were whittling away at their=20 healthy endowment to pay the bills. Soon afterward, Mr. Spytek says, he initiated conversations with Hemenway=20 Pastor Telomen about uniting the two churches. Those talks culminated last= =20 December in a vote by the small Covenant congregation to join with the=20 South Evanston church. One of the stipulations of the move was that Mr. Spytek and the organ would= =20 come along. Combining the organs, says Mr. Spytek, "is symbolic of the= merger." For Hemenway the "bigger and better organ," says Pastor Telomen, "is a=20 visible and audible sign of how we're stronger as a united congregation." For former Covenant members who joined Hemenway at Easter, their organ will= =20 be a reminder of a church that for years played a strong role in North=20 Evanston. The familiar pipes, a focal point in the Harrison Street church,= =20 will again be front and center in Hemenway's reconfigured chancel. For connoisseurs of music the rebuilt organ promises to be both marvel and= =20 curiosity. Marrying the two instruments will create a unique hybrid, says=20 Mr. Bradford. He knows of nothing like it in his 25 years of building and=20 repairing organs. The marriage is a match of opposites =96 the big, deep voice of one organ=20 complementing the higher, lighter voice of the other. The Hemenway=20 instrument, a 1930s Austin, is a "romantic organ with lots of eight-foot=20 pipes," says John Peters, a longtime Bradford employee assigned to the=20 project. Its forte is "foundation sounds," he says =96 providing volume but= =20 not variety, adds Mr. Bradford. It is an organ suitable only for accompanying hymns, says Mr. Spytek,=20 adding, "It can't play Bach." The Covenant organ, by contrast, is a 1970s Schlicker with a baroque sound= =20 consisting of "very few eight-foot pitches," he says, and "a lot of=20 high-pitched pipes." It will benefit from the deep tonal quality of the=20 Austin, says Mr. Spytek. An early bidder for the Covenant building intended to use it as a church=20 and wanted the organ, derailing plans to move the Schlicker at Easter, says= =20 Mr. Spytek. But the deal collapsed, and in July Methodist officials gave a= =20 green light to the "organ transplant." After that, says Mr. Spytek, things proceeded as fast as possible. A loss=20 of heat in the now-deserted church would ruin the organ. Speed was= essential. The project began with architect Ellen Galland's redesign of Hemenway to=20 accommodate the new organ. It involved lowering the floor at the back of=20 the chancel by two feet and moving the reredos forward. Mr. Bradford's four-man crew worked two and a half days to dismantle the=20 organ at Covenant. They began with the wind chests that are the lungs of=20 the organ. These chests, and not the keyboard or console, are actually the= =20 organ. The Hemenway organ remains behind the north wall of the chancel. The=20 combined organ will use the Covenant console. The wind chests, bare of pipes and plaster, look like a simple wood frame.= =20 In fact, they house a very complicated mechanism. When the organist presses= =20 a key on the console, the action closes an electrical circuit and energizes= =20 electromagnetic coils in the wind chest. The coils exert a magnetic=20 attraction that acts to exhaust air from the chest, thereby allowing a pipe= =20 to play. The Bradford crew members are transporting the parts of the organ to their= =20 new home in pickup truck, a process that will take weeks. The unusual=20 shuttle system allows them to rebuild the instrument a little at a time so= =20 the Hemenway sanctuary is still usable for services. While some workers screwed together the wind chests at Hemenway, others=20 disassembled the pipes at Covenant, laying them out in neat rows on the=20 church's empty pews. Many of the pipes are made of an alloy of tin, lead=20 and zinc, but others, to create a different tonal quality, are made of wood. In all, 1400 pipes and more than 4,000 parts must be moved and re-assembled= =20 before the organ is ready. Complicating the project is the fact that=20 electrical technology from two eras =96 the 30s and the 70s - requires=20 updating and coordination. The resulting instrument should be worth the wait. Pastor Telomen thinks=20 the organ will not only enrich Sunday worship services but will "help=20 [Hemenway] deepen and broaden our outreach to the community." Mr. Spytek, who is planning dedication concerts for spring, sees the new=20 organ as "an exciting prospect for the [growing] church. It's a big update= =20 for them." He and Pastor Telomen and Walter Bradford are all awaiting the sound of the= =20 organ's first breath. No one knows exactly what that sound will be.