6. Music Lessons

Early in our second summer at Uniondale we made the acquaintance of Mr. Clinton Weber, a professional musician of Fort Wayne. Mr. Weber had been bereft of his wife, and their eight-year-old daughter was living temporarily with her uncle and aunt on a large and prosperous farm near Uniondale. These people were active members of our church. Frequently Mr. Weber visited his little girl and was brought to our house to call.

It soon came into our conversation that Mr. Weber not only gave instruction in piano and organ to advanced students but was the organist and choir director in one of the largest Protestant churches in the city. Mama was prompt to say that I was infatuated with the organ and religious music. Mr. Weber seemed pleased and asked me to play something for him on our melodeon. I protested that the only pieces I could play with any satisfaction to myself were certain hymn tunes, and Mr. Weber said that would be fine.

I had found that by gathering up three notes in my right hand my left was free to play the bass two octaves lower than it was scored, giving it something resembling the tone-quality of the resonant pipes in a pedal organ. When I had finished “O God Our Hope in Ages Past,” Mr. Weber leafed through the hymn-book until he found the famous Easter hymn, “Allelujah,” which, fortunately, was one of my pets.

I hope I am not making an overlong account of Mr. Weber’s great kindness to me. The fact is that Mr. Weber’s encouragement and practical assistance were of immense benefit to me later when as a college student I earned much needed money playing a church organ; and, during a long vacation when I was a theologue, a very generous salary was paid me for playing the organ during the initiation rituals of an ancient secret order.

Moreover, my association with Mr. Weber gave me an appreciation of church music at its top level to which I heartily wish every young clergyman had access. I do not know how much emphasis is placed on the importance of religious music in the curricula of theological seminaries today. I do know that when I was a seminary student not one word was ever spoken on this subject.

Getting back to Mr. Weber: I still had most of the money earned by selling the book about the Johnstown Flood, and insisted on paying my new benefactor for the lessons he gave me on his frequent visits to Uniondale during that summer and the next. The fees I paid were only a pittance compared to his charges for students in the city. I think he accepted my trifling payments only to let me feel that I was co-operating.

Four times that summer he took me back with him to spend the week-end. I not only sat close to him during choir rehearsals and his organ practice, but was given a chance to experiment with his wonderful three-manual Austin. That was a red-letter day for the youngster whose eyes swam when an organ spoke.

Mr. Weber watched me with the alert eye and ear of the person we latterly call a “talent scout.” After I had drawn on a combination of such sticky-sweets as “Vox Humana,” “Vox Celeste” and “Vox Angelica,” he chuckled and remarked, “Be careful you don’t drown yourself in all that sirup!”