(Editor’s note: Persuaded by a family member, Royce Eckhardt recently agreed to write his memoir, a narrative which in large part describes his journey and adventures in becoming a church musician. I encouraged him to submit a brief excerpt of his life story for Overtone readers. Here is his “slice of life.” J.K.
At age seven I was advised (by Mom) to begin piano lessons. In those days, almost every youngster took piano lessons—it was the thing to do. Nowadays, kids are occupied with soccer, hockey, basketball, swimming, cell phones and texting. Piano lessons—not so much. Little did I know at the time that it would lead me to my life’s vocation and career. For five years I took piano lessons but was not always willing and steadfast about the practicing.
A natural interest and inclination took over, however, and after school I would scoot over to the nearby Covenant Church, our home church, where a Hammond organ was at my disposal. I was fascinated (those amazing drawbars!) and used whatever skills I’d developed in piano instruction to play simple things on the organ and devise special harmonies. That interest continued and developed until I could play hymns fairly well and started playing “by ear” and composing simple anthems and hymn arrangements. I am guessing that I was 11 -13 years old during this time of getting “organized.” And in the absence of anyone more able and skilled, I became church organist at age fourteen.
When I was perhaps eleven or twelve, I was recruited to serve as pianist for the local Gideons chapter’s monthly meetings. My father was a member, along with several uncles and other men mostly from the Covenant Church. They enjoyed singing the old gospel songs, and I enjoyed playing them. In time I developed a more improvisational style, also known as the “Jazzy Jesus” style. We met in the basement of the public library in a room with an old upright piano, last tuned, I suspect, sometime during the Hoover administration.
One Sunday morning at the Covenant Church, an itinerant evangelist held forth as the guest preacher du jour. At the conclusion of the service, he told the congregation of an upcoming series of “revival meetings” he would be holding in a small town approximately forty-five miles from my home town. Turning from the pulpit in my direction, he announced, “and I want this young boy here to be my organist.” He had recruited me right there on the spot, before God and the assembled throng.
I had no idea what I would be getting into. At age fourteen I was unable to drive, so Dad and Mom faithfully drove me every evening to the weeklong, citywide revival meetings. That led to travel with the evangelistic team the following two summers, serving as organist/pianist in various cities in the Midwest and in Canada.
This in turn led to a call from a nationally known evangelist to join his team for a weeklong citywide “crusade” in Rockford, Illinois. This was clearly a big deal for a young organist, including local television appearances, full-page advertisements and photos in local newspapers.
I accompanied the group singing of gospel songs of the day and also the various soloists and instrumentalists. As noted in these newspaper clippings, I was billed not just as an organist, but as a “Hammond organist!” And the hyperbole describing me in the promotional media rivaled that of modern-day politicians. I look back with embarrassment. The evangelist who first recruited me was a bit of a trumpet player. In some of these gatherings, he entertained the folks by playing the trumpet (Bb) with his right hand and accompanying himself with his left hand at the piano (C).
Later, upon entering North Park College, I needed to declare a major at some point and enter a specific curriculum in that field of study. After pondering this for two or three seconds, I chose music. The choice was between a Bachelor in Music Education teaching degree or a Bachelor of Music performance degree. Almost all of my music colleagues chose “music ed” as a surer guarantee of a job. But I envisioned the possibility of that degree landing me in Dead Moose Junction, New Hampshire, teaching middle C to squirrelly third graders. That clearly didn’t appeal. (My hat’s off to the music educators who teach music appreciation and music skills to primary children. I have great admiration for their work. They do what I could not.) So, I entered the Bachelor of Music program, organ major, hoping that somehow a way of livelihood and career would open before me. It would be my first formal study in learning to play the organ. My instructor was Edward Mondello, who later became the principal organist at Rockefeller Chapel, University of Chicago.