Pump organ, the story
September 9, 2014, by Marilyn Elstad Jaeger
A lovely old pump
organ has had a location of prominence in our log cabin great room since 2005,
but it goes a long way back in my history. We moved to Franklin, Minnesota in 1952 when
my father, George Elstad, became principal and band and choir director at
Franklin High School. I was thirteen. This was not foreign territory for my parents.
Haakon and Marthea Elstad homesteaded
near Central Lutheran Church, between Franklin and Fairfax, in 1869. It was later known as the Distad farm. My father’s mother – his birth mother Lena
and his adoptive mother Mathilda (Lena’s sister) – grew up in Beaver Falls,
just north of Redwood Falls, Minnesota.
Their father, Martin Jensen, was the sheriff of Renville County. Mathilda married Ole Elstad in 1895. My grandparents.
My mother, Berenice Loftness Elstad Ostrom, also had
strong roots here. Her grandparents
were Einar (Hunsager) Nelson and wifeThea, who homesteaded right below Fort
Ridgely on the Minnesota River in Nicollet County. They were founders of the Ft.Ridgely and
Dale Lutheran Church, located about six miles northwest of their farm. The whole family knew of how well they
regarded their pastor, Rev. Rognlie.
Einar, 1829-1915, and Thea, 1840-1932,
are buried in the cemetery at Ft. Ridgely and Dale Church. Their third daughter, Palma, was born in
1873. She was my grandmother. Much of her early education was done in the
home by parents and servants teaching homemaking skills. According to family historian Elvina
Loftness, “music was added after Grandfather purchased an organ. As a result Palma became a part-time organist
of the German Lutheran church where she served as a parish worker.” Palma and Andrew Loftness, of Clear Lake
township near Gibbon, Minnesota, were married in 1904 and moved to homestead in
Thief River Falls, Minnesota.
I believe that same organ that my great-grandfather Einar
Nelson purchased for their Minnesota Valley home was the one that ended up in
our home in Wisconsin in 2005! For atop
the organ in the back room of Ft. Ridgely and Dale was a stick with the name
”Nelson” written on it.
Fast-forward to the 1950’s. On
Sunday afternoon drives an occasional stop for our family was at the churches
east of Franklin. The doors were always
open! Dad would sit down at one of the
pump organs in the musty little back room and play. He was good; I am still aspiring to play the
piano like he did.
A half-century later, in 2005, my husband Dick and I
borrowed a flatbed trailer from a neighbor and drove from our rural home
outside of Blanchardville, Wisconsin to pick up the three pump organs still in
the back room of Ft. Ridgely and Dale.
Dick and I had re-discovered them some years before on a southern
Minnesota journey. We learned they
now belonged to Arnemann Grender and his
sister Marie Grender Clark. Their
parents entertained musically, and their mother I think was a Rognlie. The deal was we could have the organs if we
fixed up one for Arnemann.
In 2006 Illinois friends of ours, Dan and LuAnn Detloff,
came to visit. Dan was a music professor
at Oakton Community College in Des Plaines.
I asked him to assess the three organs, and he agreed with me that two
were clearly beyond repair. We salvaged
stops and keys and woodwork but they were otherwise already falling apart.
The third organ, however, was in good shape. But not playable. Our local piano tuner told me about a man in
Wilton, Wisconsin, Verne Kirchoff, who fixed old pump organs. In the fall of 2006 Dick and I loaded it onto
our pickup truck and drove the 103 miles up through winding roads and valleys
to Wilton, between Tomah and LaCrosse.
Verne lovingly restored the organ and delivered it to us
in June, 2007. He had installed an
electric motor but I asked him to remove it, preferring the original
authenticity. He replaced the carpet on
the foot pedals. He charged $600. Along with the organ he brought pages from an
old catalog describing it: Packard Style
485 “Humanola” Chapel Organ, 1891-1904, mfg. by Ft. Wayne Organ Company, Ft.
Wayne, Indiana.
It has been a fitting accessory to our log cabin, and
played occasionally by grandchildren but seldom by me (should have kept that
electric motor!) None of the children
have room for it, and eventually we will not be here. It is time for the old Packard to return to
its roots in southern Minnesota, and more specifically, to the Rognlie homeplace
next to Ft. Ridgely and Dale Church.
Thanks Mom -
ReplyDeleteI’ll share with everyone what I already sent you - how the whole time I read this I was thinking of another Tom Waits song, a sad sweet two minute instrumental that features a pump organ - or maybe it was a harmonium. Check out Tom's piece - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fIWfRb4rbU4. Anyway, I'll be sad to see that old pump organ go, and moreso now that we know it's story.
But I’m happy to have the chance to get the story. And now, here’s a challenge to all, and this comes from Mom to me after I recently shared with her a bit of my own twelve year old story. “Very good, son,” she said, “but let’s get everyone into this.” My bit had been what I call a moleskin memoir, a 3x5 notebook full of my first homes in Minnesota and then Cook County, and I do look forward to sharing this. But first, where were you when you were twelve and thirteen? I’d love to hear from you all!
History is something between a compilation of facts and, as Michael Jackson attempted in a 'his story' tour to reconstitute a broken past, a coming-to-terms with what may linger in the present, the future perfect, and (may it be so) the future pluperfect. We cannot calculate how further generations may take to this story or any such artifact. I'll proffer this as a weak perchance:
ReplyDelete(breathe...)
The phone call on Sunday, March 19, came just minutes before I was going to go to Trinity Lutheran Church in Moorhead. The phone I rarely reached to answer was just outside my (and a generation before my mom's) basement bedroom and, by happenstance, upon the two-meter wall that fit a pump organ quite unlikely of a remarkable history, but still an instrument I remember fooling around with as a youngster and even in the interstice of intense collegiate studies... the O'day pump organ had its fix. I doubt I played it March 19th; I know I stayed and prayed in that russet atmosphere until the phone rang twice. My memories would not have been Hank's happiness of Carl Eller or Sammy White en route to some Fran Tarkenton scramble to a Moorhead basement reason to rejoice. I'm sure at halftime I and Josh and Jon would have pumped that sideboard organ in a measure of excess and ecstasy and (may I offer now) an exegesis of the afterlife: Hank, a complication unforeseen; Dad, a phone call on the unsuspecting wall; Vi and Mildred and all the threads uncoiled...
Pump organs serve as props--they are music if they're used, lots of energy no matter what. A pre-K teacher promoted 'scribble writing' to some parents' dismay: that aint education--let's teach them ABCs... No, the maybe youngish teacher said, let's let them scribble as they may. Let organs pump to suit the spirit inchoate and incomplete and maybe, as the phone rings consonantly beside, maybe then we'll hear a chorus why the object sat there, why the stops stood idly and occasionally half-pulled. Myself or my generation (if I may expand) knew where the basal music stood; let's pray in appreciation every other generation would.