Prelude: Early
Remembrances
MY STORY BEGINS in the small midwestern town of Marion, Illinois, where I was born.
Marion was a typical small town, with a town square, the courthouse (Marion was the county seat), the schools, the theaters, the churches, and the stores arranged neatly around the square. I am thankful to have had the opportunity of enjoying this kind of solid background—the freedom of life in a close-knit American community.
Our family attended the First Baptist Church, and we were always in our place at every service. One of the great thrills of my life was to go back to that church a few years ago, and present a sacred concert. It gave me a feeling of nostalgia to see so many of the old, familiar landmarks, and to be able to bring the developed musicianship back to its original setting.
Had I not been raised in a Christian home, this story would have taken a different direction. Even before I
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was born, my mother gave me to the Lord, and after enjoying many seasons of a full life, I realize the significance of the words of the song, "My Mother's Prayers Have Followed Me."
The Christian character of my parents was reflected in the way they lived every day, and in the love which they gave to my brother and to me in our home. Harley is six years older than I, and in addition to the difference in our ages, there is a decided difference in our personalities. Ask me nothing about the mechanics of a car. My brother knows everything about motors. He has put his mechanical knowledge to good use at Lockheed Aircraft, where he recently received his twenty-five-year diamond pin award. Harley is a dedicated Christian, and has been active in his church—a faithful member for these many years. He was also encouraged to express himself musically, and is a talented trumpet player.
Speaking of talent, my father had a rich, full tenor voice, and although he had no formal training, he could play the piano by ear. If it is possible to inherit musical ability—and I am not at all sure that it is—then, perhaps I inherited some of my father's natural talent.
As far back as I can remember, we always had a piano, and we did a lot of harmonizing on it in those early days. I wonder where that old upright is now! It is to that piano I credit the fact that I feel perfectly at home with any piano (so long as it has all of its teeth!).
I am not certain just when the piano began to hold a fascination for me. Of one thing I am sure, it has always been the piano, for me. The piano is an instrument with unlimited possibilities. The piano can thunder, or it can
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whisper. It can ring like bells; it can murmur like running water. It can speak a charming mood in a simple setting, or expand to the complexities of a five-voice Bach fugue.
I was ten years old when my parents arranged for me to start piano lessons with a teacher who lived near by. How important that first teacher is! It is my belief that many potentially good students are soured on music at the very beginning by having an incompetent teacher.
It was through my first teacher that I made the discovery that I loved to play the piano. I did not have to be encouraged to practice. They could hardly drag me to the dinner table. Of course, I didn't always want to practice the lesson assigned by my teacher! I began to find pieces in my piano books which were much more interesting than those given to me in my lessons, many of which I remember to this day. Just ask me to play "March of the Little Sages"—and I can do it! Also, I can remember "Sing, Robin, In Your Woodland Tree," and "First Waltz of the Star Performer." Aside from the fun of making music, however, I was beginning to get an excellent training in technique—scales, arpeggios, trills—all of which is the most essential part of any pianist's equipment.
That year, while we were attending a series of revival services at our church in Marion, I became aware of my need of a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. I had always gone to church and Sunday school, but it had never occurred to me that without Christ I was lost. Our pastor had been preaching a series of messages on the second coming of our Lord. When we came home from one of those meetings, I asked my parents, "Would you
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be ready if the Lord were to come tonight?" My dad looked at me kindly, and said, "Why certainly, son, wouldn't you?"
I could not honestly answer yes to that question, and so I resolved that I would accept Christ at my first opportunity. The chance came the very next night. When the invitation was given at the close of the message, I was the first one forward. As I knelt at that little altar, Christ came into my heart. There are those who do not believe in the conversion of a ten-year-old child, but I knew exactly what I was doing. As the song has it, "I was there when it happened, and I ought to know." It was some time later when I dedicated my life to Christ for full-time service—and I never could have envisioned the wondrous channels through which my life would flow. But it really all began at the altar of that church, in the heart of a boy who wanted to be ready for the coming of the Lord.
Also when I was ten, my parents decided to move to California. The spirit of Westward Ho! has increased annually during my lifetime. Trans-World Airlines which holds a franchise to the new Pacific route, recently came out with a full page headline, SMILE, LOS ANGELES. YOU'RE THE CENTER OF THE WORLD! My mom had always felt that the Lord wanted her little family in California. The bug bit my dad by 1922, and after an enormous amount of preparation, we got under way.
I have traveled hundreds of thousands of miles since then, but the trip from Marion, Illinois, to Los Angeles, California, will remain unforgettable to me for more reasons than one.
In 1922, a two-thousand-mile trip contained adventure
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and excitement. Just think! We were going all the way to California! We planned to drive our car, take along a tent and army cots, and camp out every night! My Uncle George and Aunt Ida (my father's sister) and their children had decided to go with us. This was an added thrill, because my cousin Herbert and I were almost the same age and had become inseparable. Also on the trip was my cousin, Claude Malcolm, who was to marry an outstanding Christian girl. Together they would become air missionaries to Alaska, ministering to that territory in their plane, Wings Over Alaska.
It was a wonderful adventure for all of us, but I nearly met with disaster while doing some mountain climbing on the journey. I had climbed to the top of a rather precipitous hill at the side of the highway, and started to run back down. Suddenly I began to slide on the rock and gravel, and I couldn't stop! There was a sheer drop of about ten feet above the highway, and I was going full speed when I came to this point. Fortunately, there was a bush growing there, and I suppose that broke my fall. At any rate, when I fell onto the highway, my folks were afraid that I was dead.
It was about two or three hour's drive to the nearest town and a doctor, and I was unconscious most of the way. After many anxious moments, a doctor was found, and he pronounced that there were no broken bones. He bandaged my cuts and treated my bruises, and except for my injured pride, I was as good as new. As I recall that incident, I am sure it is only one of the many times that the Lord has graciously watched over and protected me. He has a way of preparing a bush to break the fall!
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There was a great excitement as we came into Southern California, and saw the beautiful orange groves on every side. Most of these are gone now, to make way for subdivisions and new real estate developments.
We made our home in Pasadena, and began to attend a Baptist church located near us. However, we missed the warmth and friendliness of the church we had left in Marion; and, more important, we missed the Bible-centered gospel preaching we had been hearing for so many years.
I was invited to attend a small church which met in a hall in the east section of Pasadena. When I came home I told my folks that I had found in that church what we had been missing. The rest of the family started attending and they, too, enjoyed the friendliness, the warm spiritual atmosphere, and the gospel preached in all of its fullness.
Meanwhile, I had resumed my piano studies with another excellent teacher. Her name was Mrs. Henry, and she accepted only talented students. I remember, especially, the day when she played for me one of the two-part Inventions of Johann Sebastian Bach. After she finished, she said, "What do you think of it?" I replied, "I like it very much." She was so pleased at my response that she made immediate plans to introduce me to the study of Bach. To this day, the works of Bach are my favorites. Bach has been called "the musician's musician." His genius satisfies me in every way, and I believe it was said of Chopin that when he was preparing for a recital, he shut himself in and practiced only Bach.
When I was fourteen, I became the pianist of the church we were attending. It was not so much that I was
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the best pianist available—I was the only one. To those who have heard me playing the hymns for so many years, it may be hard to believe that at first the hymns were extremely difficult for me. My classical music was coming along quite well, but hymn playing was formidable task. There was no help for me, anywhere. In my work as church pianist, I had to play for the congregational singing, as well as accompany soloists, and do other special music.
After being exposed to many situations, I began to feel somewhat more at ease with the hymns. But I sensed that playing the four parts as written—soprano, alto, tenor and bass—was hardly adequate, especially when playing for the congregation.
As I look back now, I really can't tell when I found the ability to improvise. I suppose it was in those days that I began to experiment, playing the bass in octaves and filling in the chords of the right hand. It was in those first efforts when I came up with the right harmonies, and the runs began to fall into place. The church was a happy place for me, and I wanted its music to be happy music. I wanted to create the joyful sound of notes, doing what I wanted them to do, and adding majesty to the song service from the praise in my own heart.
