Old Organ’s Story

A neighbor who married the son of Rev. Timothy Wright was moving away and cleaned out her house.

She had one more item to get out the house. Old organ.

Old organ was brown and held 61 keys and had strong pipes. Old Organ held special memories for her family. Family reunions, birthday’s, reunions, any type of family gathering… Old Organ was played and cherished.

But now, he was worthless. Not because he didn’t work but because where Neighbor was going, there were many organs.

Neighbor hired men to pull and push and turn and twist until Old Organ was outside in the world.

Old Organ, now in the world alone, sat exposed to the climate. He felt afraid. Scared. Old Organ didn’t know what would would happen.

Old Organ would have to weather the next storm of animal piss, strangers plucking his keys, kids singing with their friends and the junk men taking what they wanted…. They would pluck me apart, he thought. They would take what they want. They would tear my pipe out. They would pick at me until there is no more me left.

Old Organ sadly watched his neighbor sweep the ground of his wood that was already shedding. He remembered the songs he used to play, the holy hymns, the gospel greats.

Be not dismayed whate’er betide,
God will take care of you;
Beneath His wings of love abide,
God will take care of you.

Those words were all he could think about. Then something happened. Just as his neighbor was going into her house, a beautiful  photographer stopped and asked questions about Old Organ.

Excuse me, are you throwing your organ out?

Yes, I have to get rid of it.

Can I take it?

Of course. I am glad you came by to take it!

You play?

No. My brother does. Let me go get help.

The neighbor covered Old Organ and put TAKEN sign on the back.

Old Organ  sat, nervous. The thought about going somewhere excited him. At least he wouldn’t be pulled apart.

But before that, it had one more battle to fight.  The beautiful photographer returned without her four men from the community.

They said they would luge it where ever she felt best.

The men placed it on a wagon and tied the wagon to the car. They all jumped in and drove slowly to beautiful photographer’s church.

There, it was stored in the foyer….

The photographer then got a pretty blanket and covered the organ.

But, the Organ became an eye sore and had to go…

The movers watched and the neighbor watch and the organ waited….

This time, the photographer had to find more men to move the organ from the foyer. Walking pass was a drunk who said he’ll help. He got his buddy. Who thought it was a bad idea.

They pushed and pulled, twisted and turned and finally  it was back out in the world.

Where you want us to push this?

To the dump.

What? You don’t want it?

No. Just push it to the dump.

I know exactly what to do, the drunk said.

He took over the dolly and drove the organ into the street. It fell over and over again in the hands of the drunk. Cars were honking and no one could tell the drunk what to do.

Wood and ivory pieces hit the streets. Old Organ began to play his last doxology.  If he was to go, he would go in praise and in psalm.

 

 

Holy Temple

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I ran into my pastor, Bishop Green, when I was coming out of the post office. He was just as surprised to see me as I was him.

Super Saturday

This past Saturday, was Super Saturday.

It a day set aside for Pratt’s graduate students to present their year long projects to the Pratt Community. It’s a fun time, a time to gather and meet. A time for discussions about community, preservation, gentrification. A time for futuristic thinking. Planning. Mapping. GISing.

A time to find out about what’s being built in the city and what’s being taken down. Who’s doing what and how are they doing it and where is the money coming from. Who got a scholarship and how was it possible and how can I sign up for next time.

It’s a time to be questioned by peers and professors about how you foresee your project coming into fruition.

This year It happened virtually.

Someone had the control to mute voices. Someone had the control to mute comments. Any type of talking meant timing and/ or texting.

This time, the Pratt Community spoke about Community trying to maintain what they knew as community.