By Morgan Simmons
Former Organist and Choirmaster at Fourth Presbyterian Church, Chicago
Morgan and Mary, his wife, served there together for 28 years
Earlier this month, I asked Morgan Simmons if he would share some of his life’s story with us. Imagine sitting down for a fireside chat and having the opportunity to hear him recount the blessings of being in the right place at the right time. In his humility, he wanted to leave some of this out, but of course every word is part of the story. This is Part 1 of these memoirs written just for us. I love how Morgan’s full life interweaves his love of music, gardening and needlepoint – all of which serve to point us to the sacred.
A Goodly Heritage
“The lines are fallen unto me in pleasant places; yea, I have a goodly heritage“. This ancient affirmation from Psalm 16 frames my nine decades and begs the question: Why me? Marked by the confluence of opportunity and serendipity, appearing in least expected circumstances (the Great Depression and WWII), what followed expanded exponentionally.
My first decade was marked by financial strictures. Although my father had a degree in law, he was relegated to a desk job for the Federal Security Administration at $125 a month. My mother worked for the WPA, and we took in a boarder for $25 a month! But family love bound my sister Mary and me together in a secure web.
Gardening, music and the craft of needlepointing all began in the small town with the exotic name Andalusia, Alabama. Our home was in a family complex of 22 acres, and from the age four, I had my separate plots for vegetables and roses, later adding a small concrete pool for goldfish, encouraged by mother and my grandmother Simmons, the matriarch of the family.
I bought this pre-worked canvas and frame with money my grandmother and aunts had given me for a high school graduation presentin 1947. The floral design was already stitched, and I only stitched the background.
Musical activity began with singing in the children’s choir at First Methodist Church where I came under the tutelage of Josie Lyons, organist and choir director. A formidable personage, born in 1864 and trained at what became Peabody Conservatory in Baltimore, she had a profound influence on me as my first piano teacher. How she and her husband ended up in Andalusia remains a mystery. In 1941 Mrs. Lyons suffered a breakdown and died in a mental hospital in Tuscaloosa, In the picture below, she is seated at the 1925 Austin organ where I began lessons at age 15. My first teacher Mark McGowin had far too many irons in the fire, and I was lucky to get halfhour of his time. In a disagreement with the minister about the tune for the hymn “How firm a foundation”, he threw the organ keys at the “reverend” and walked out, creating a vacuum, which I filled for several months.
When the US was plunged into pre-war preparations in 1940, my father’s National Guard unit was activated, as was that of his youngest brother Donald, whose wife Sara and young daughter Ann came to live with my grandmother for the duration of WWII. Sara brought with her an impressive record collection of classical music as well as a love of needlework. I was intrigued and enriched by both.
That same year the economic picture brightened and afforded my mother (always an entrepreneur) the opportunity to plan and execute an amazing a six-week, 8500-mile trip from Alabama to Portland, OR where my mother’s brother Marvin Prestwood and family lived. There were seven of us in a 1938 Buick, owned by a close family friend Mary Evans, who with her two daughters, joined Mother, my sister and my mother’s sister Nomy. I was the only male!!
The first stop was in El Paso where a cousin lived. The daughter of the family was a child champion rodeo rider, and I was offered the “opportunity” of riding her prize horse. My equine experience was limited to bareback riding my grandmother’s ancient mule Kate. The coral was adjacent to a railroad embankment, and when I pulled on the reins too vigorously, the steed reared up and almost threw me off. As I relaxed, the well-trained horse walked me the several blocks back to the residence. The accompanying picture captures my “Eddie Cantor” eyes!
That stop also included a shopping spree to Juarez, Mexico – my introduction to “international” travel and a different culture.
Progressing west, we toured the Grand Canyon, and had a several day stay in Los Angeles in an apartment hotel, just off Wilshire Boulevard – quite a contrast to the tourist camps in which we had cooked and slept. A greater contrast was being entertained at the posh Santa Monica Beach Club for an elegant buffet dinner, hosted by Mary Evans’ affluent cousin Charles Hilliard. I was introduced to artichokes and have been a fan ever since. Near the hotel we visited a department store where Gracie Allen was autographing a recent book. Seeing a radio and film star in the flesh was a BIG deal.
In San Francisco we attended the World’s Fair Exposition ogling at Johnny Weissmuller (Tarzan) and Ester Williams in an aquatic extravaganza, and marveling at the iconic cable cars and Golden Gate Bridge. On the way north were breathtaking stops at Yosemite and Sequoia National Parks.
The two weeks in Oregon included time at the beach in Seaside, a visit to Mount Hood, cable car rides and the discovery that Portland lived up to its reputation as the “City of Roses”!
The return trip to Alabama was equally spectacular: Yellowstone with its famous “Old Faithful” geyser and bubbling mud pots, Garden of the Gods and especially Salt Lake City for a visit to the Mormon Tabernacle, which included hearing the world class organ and a demonstration of the building’s unique acoustics where a pin is dropped at the rostrum and can be heard at the opposite end of the building. Touring Carlsbad Cavern and hearing the Park Rangers sing “Rock of Ages” among the darkened stalactites and stalagmites completed this memorable adventure.
After stints of service in Florida and Alabama, my father became the commanding officer of the German Prisoner of War Camp at Fort Bragg, NC. The family relocated there where I spent my sophomore and junior years of high school and where opportunity and serendipity came into full play.
Our spacious living quarters were only two doors away from the post chapel where I had access to a two-manual Estey organ and where I was introduced to a chaplain’s assistant Lee Sistare, a 1937 graduate of the School of Sacred Music at Union Theological Seminary and a student of Clarence Dickinson. Lee became my organ teacher and filled me with stories of church music in NYC. The dream of following in his footsteps was central to my path ahead.
Knowing my interest in a career in church music, a chaplain from IN suggested that I consider DePauw University, known for its music school. Subsequently, I applied for a Methodist Scholarship, was accepted and came under the spell of the legendary Van Denman Thompson, who began a career at the University at age 20 and continued for 47 years. He had completed undergraduate study at New England Conservatory, attended Harvard for a year and taught at Woodland College in Arkansas. While there I was introduced to the AGO and served as Dean of the DePauw Chapter, which celebrated Dr. Thompson’s 60tth birthday and 40 years of teaching. Space does not permit me a retelling an array of Thompson stories.
A highlight of my four years was the experience of hearing Marcel Dupre’ who played a recital to end all organ recitals on November 17, 1948, which included Bach’s Toccata, Adagio and Fugue in C, the Eighth Organ Concerto of Handel, Two Stations of the Cross (Dupre’), Prelude in Gregorian Style (DeLamarter), Piece Symphonique (Franck), Le Banquet Celeste (Messiaen), Variations on a Noel (Dupre’) and a Symphonic Improvisation on a Given Theme. He encored with Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in d Minor and the Toccata from Widor’s Fifth Symphony!
On the day following this musical feat, I was privileged to accompany him and Madame Dupre’ to take the train in Indianapolis to his next playing venue. Fellow student Fred Kent drove and I had the advantage of sitting in the back seat with Madame whose English was far better than the master’s. Knowing that he had played at Rockefeller Chapel and at Yale’s Woosley Hall, I asked her which was his favorite American organ. She drew up her diminutive statue and exclaimed, “ My husband is at home at any organ in the “vorld”!
(In addition to these treasures, I have a two-page hand written letter – penned by Madame Dupre’ – but dictated by the master – regarding study at Fountainebleau. It is dated February 8, 1949 on stationery from the Great Northern Hotel in NYC.)
In the summer of 1949, I sailed for Europe aboard military ship from New York to Bremerhaven, Germany and took the train to Bamberg where my father was serving as Provost Marshal. My mother and sister had preceded me in April. The Prague Symphony Orchestra had relocated in this ancient city, home of the first German Pope, and offered the opportunity of hearing Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony live for the first time.
My mother, determined to make the most of the cultural offerings, took my sister and me to Bayreuth for a Baroque Music Festival and a visit to Wagner’s home and adjacent guesthouse, which was used as a billet for American soldiers. In the midst of a large space filled with cots was the master’s Blüthner piano, which I was allowed to play!
Another highlight of that summer was attending the Salzburg Music Festival, resurrected after a twelve-year hiatis, hearing Bruno Walter conduct the Vienna Philharmonic in Der Rosenkavalier and hearing a Mozart mass at the Dom, never dreaming that 39 years later I would conduct a composition of my own in that magnificent space.
I had anticipated remaining in Germany for my junior year with studies at Erlangen University, but my father’s term of duty was cancelled early. I returned to DePauw after the fall semester began with a major physical trophy – 6’10 Beckstein grand piano, which we acquired while in Bamberg. I graduated in May of 1951 and that fall I fulfilled my dream of study at Union Theological Seminary in New York, which calls for another chapter of opportunity and serendipity.
