George Wright was a dear and close friend of Jesse and Lucy Crawford. When Jesse Crawford died in 1962, George Wright played for the funeral service. Here are Wright's memories of the most famous theatre organist of his time.

In the mid 1960s, an organ builder asked me about any forthcoming projects. I told him that Mrs. Crawford had granted me approval to record a memorial album of some of her late husband's recorded output. The gentleman's attitude was, "Why are you bothering to do that? No one remembers Jesse Crawford anymore." I was a bit startled, but hardly believed him. Now that we near the closing of the century, it appears to be true that hardly anyone remembers this man in the ways that I cherish.

Current opinions of Crawford's art seemed to have been formed from listening to the Decca LPs, which were recorded on two different studio organs in California. In my opinion, those organs were unsuitable vehicles for Crawford's style of playing.*

It is my personal opinion that some of Crawford's very best playing was done at the Wurlitzer store in Chicago on the second factory installation. (The first is best forgotten.) The stoplist of the second has been erroneously misquoted by an unknowledgeable but well-meaning organ historian. There was no Tuba there. It was really a Style D Trumpet extended to 16' in the pedal. Two rather useless ranks were Aeolian and Dulciana. There was no Clarinet. I mention the 16' string on the pedal because it and the other 16s were beautifully recorded by the Victor engineers from Chicago. The chimes and chrysoglott were unenclosed. In the final analysis this left Crawford with about eleven ranks which he utilized economically and most effectively

During the years of our acquaintance, the only time I ever heard Jess use vulgar language was in reference to the two-manual Wurlitzer in the New York store. Despite other opinions, this was only a Style E with the usual two stock tremulants -- Main and Vox. Crawford was obligated to use this facility because the train trip to Chicago was too costly and time-consuming with his New York Paramount Theatre duties. This store organ turned out to be an interim venue prior to the 1929 studio organ in the Paramount Theatre office building. Eventually, Crawford managed to finagle a regulator and tremulant for the Style E Tibia. The New York Victor engineers were, however, unable to cope with the live acoustical characteristics of the store studio. There are no 16' pedal tones on those recordings. Only the 8' Trumpet was used. This interfered, of course, with most attempts at artistic registration -- a gruesome fact that annoyed Crawford no end and brought on the aforementioned vulgar language. I must say that I admired his restraint for I might have been tempted to use even a more vivid and socially unacceptable vocabulary.

The completion of the Paramount Studio organ in 1929 proved to be a milestone in Crawford's recording career. This organ was owned by Paramount Pictures Theatres, Inc., and not by Crawford. He had, however, the final authority over the stoplist, installation, and regulation. I can personally vouch for the lack of temperature control in the Paramount organ studio. It was a sweatbox with absolutely no ventilation or cooling. Ann Leaf and Fred Feibel told me of their extreme discomfort during broadcast and recording sessions. The same condition applied to the Chicago store where the Gene Goldkette Booke-Cadillac Hotel orchestra was crammed into the studio with Crawford for the joint recording of Kentucky Lullaby and I Want to Call You My Sweetheart. The unenclosed chrysoglott made its presence known in both selections and blended beautifully with the orchestra. Crawford said that several orchestra members were affected and nearly overcome by the extreme heat and humidity.

A repossessed Wurlitzer was installed in the NBC radio studios in the Merchandise Mart in the early 1930s following Crawford's return from England. This organ was used by Crawford for his network solo organ programs, but he soon wearied of that organ and arranged to play his solos at the WENR studios with an NBC affiliation. There the organ was quite beautiful and its mellow, rich sound perfectly suited the mellow, rich Crawford style. On radio I had heard Irma Glenn, Larry Larson, Dave Bacal, Helen Westbrook and probably others play the Merchandise Mart organ, so its sound was quite familiar to me. This impression was confirmed in 1944 when NBC requested me to evaluate the organ during my journey to New York. I thought the organ sounded very thin, harsh, and reedy. The Tibia was regulated to be very thin with a squealy top regulator and fluttery shallow tremulant to match. WENR was delightful, as was the hybrid Wurlitzer-Kimball organ in the WGN studios -- so beautifully played by Edna and Preston Sellers and Len Salvo.

I have rambled on and on about organs without getting to the heart of the matter; however, I am compelled to remember the beautiful Wurlitzer at the Empire Cinema where Crawford recorded some appealing popular songs such as My Love Song and The Old Spinning Wheel. I have always felt that the British recording engineers for Victor Records were more competent than their American counterparts.

I first met Jesse Crawford at the Hammond practice studios in New York. He was reserved, but warm and cordial in the company of his new wife, Lucy. I was surprised when he asked me to play for them. I could tell that he was pleased, and it delighted me that Lucy invited me to dinner in their New York apartment. They had a house in a wooded section of New Jersey, but spent Mondays through Fridays in the city for the convenience of Crawford's radio soap opera and teaching schedule. He didn't demean the soap operas as being beneath the dignity of his former stardom. A good amount of bread was being placed on the Crawford table from the radio income. His principal professional interest was apparently centered on the Schillinger Harmony System which he had studied with the originator in the company of such persons as George Gershwin and Richard Purvis.

The apartment was comfortable and unexpectedly plain. In the small drawing room sat a grand piano, a Hammond Concert Model E, two Vibratone speakers, and a small dining set. We had several cocktails and one of Lucy's good dinners. The atmosphere was warm, congenial and relaxed and this young man was, of course, in seventh heaven to be in the company of his boyhood idol.

I met with the Crawfords infrequently until 1947 when I decided to delve into the Schillinger System. From then until 1951, I was a regular caller at the Crawford apartment for a lesson, which invariably stretched into a brief cocktail hour or impromptu dinner.

In 1948 I dropped some of my numerous radio activities to be at the Times Square Paramount Theatre as organ soloist. During this time my lessons continued, but Crawford informed me in no uncertain terms of his complete disinterest in hearing me perform at the theatre. He said that the storm and strife of his inseparable marital and professional careers between 1926 and 1933 at the theatre were unpleasant and better forgotten. He could never forget that Helen had remained in his place at the theatre after his resignation following a Depression-era salary cut dispute. Crawford's feelings about the Paramount did not extend to the eighth floor organ studio where he played for NBC well into 1939. He said that he was careful to avoid the theatre stage door and always used the Paramount Pictures office building entrance and elevator on Broadway.

Several times I took Jess and Lucy into the wilds of Harlem to hear Charlie Stewart who played swing and jazz on a straight Model B Hammond with a Solovox which he had mounted beneath the left end of the lower manual. Charlie played with little or no vibrato and felt no need for Vibratone speakers. He used the Solovox in its low 16' foot register in the manner of sultry, funky Duke Ellington orchestral tone clusters. Charlie and his wife and I had met at the Hammond practice studios. I was captivated by his original style which was very different from that of the lemmings who attempted in vain to copy Crawford or the "Tico Tico" lady. Charlie said it was safest and advisable to take a taxi directly to his club. Jess and Lucy were genuinely impressed with Charlie's style and warm personality. Charlie, in turn, was blown away at being visited by the famous Jesse Crawford. Jess always said that he respected originality in a player. The copycats turned him off.

I frequently hear complaints that Crawford's recorded music was slow, funereal and devoid of anything jazzy. It may have been true that some of the old Victor 78s contained lugubrious dirges, but one must remember that Crawford was under contract to play musical material dictated by those in charge of artists and repertoire. They had the final word. To refute the complaints, I offer a brief list of some of the titles, which I consider to be jazzy, or at least rhythmic:

Dancing Tambourine
High Hat
The Dance of the Blue Danube
Valencia
Barcelona
Siboney
I Love to Hear You Singing
Tip-toe Through the Tulips With Me
I'm Confessing
What Are You Waiting For, Mary?
At Sundown

This is, of course, an incomplete list. There may be other songs that may be jazzy in the ears of the listener. Throughout Crawford's playing there runs a thread of steady rhythmic pulse -- even in the ballads and some of the very slow material. Crawford was not sloppy in the slightest about his playing on the 78s. He was, in fact, extraordinarily meticulous and demanding of his musical self. He confided in me that Victor released some material not approved by him. This material, he said, contained glaring wrong-note mistakes caused by fatigue or a hot, unventilated studio. These included "I'm Confessing" and "The Birth of Passion."

In 1951, I chose to leave New York because of my inability to face another season of intolerably humid summers and frigid winters. A vicious old crone in Florida delights in spreading misinformation regarding my New York departure. In retrospect, I can see that I was badly overworked in radio and at the theatre and facing an attack of professional burnout. Also, I had a premonition that radio and the new infant of television were deserting New York for the California studios. My feeling proved to be accurate and I was glad to be back in California.

In 1952, I was overjoyed to learn from the Crawfords that they would make their home in Los Angeles where Jess would establish a teaching studio at the Hammond dealer's retail store on Wilshire Boulevard. The self-appointed mentor was formulating plans for the installation of the basement pipe organ. This person showered the Crawfords with unwanted attentions, but they played along with the game of new recording contracts at Decca and a superior organ for recording. Some of these events materialized, but Crawford become increasingly annoyed at being shown off socially as the principal jewel in the royal collection. Lucy had become completely disenchanted with the obligatory social scene and she bade Jess to go it alone.

By this time I had resumed my Schillinger instruction which had quickly been transferred from the Wilshire Boulevard studio to the Crawford residence. They had purchased a charming, rustic cottage on Lookout Mountain Drive. There was ample extra land for a spacious garden where Lucy's green thumb quickly produced floral wonders. Lucy served us a delicious lunch and a powerful martini, followed by the omnipresent strong black cigar. In retrospect, Lucy and I could tell that the cigars had caused the emphysema which led to Crawford's death.

I can only say that I came to idolize Crawford personally as well as artistically. He was kind, full of humor and he had an undying love of good music. The shelves of the record collection were filled with a fine assortment of classical works of composers ranging from Shubert through Schuman, Brahms, Tchaikowski, Franck, Ravel, and Debussy. It seemed that E. Power Biggs was the favorite classical organist.

The "Poet of the Organ" said it was absolutely untrue about receiving that title from a famous French composer. It was strictly grist emanating from the publicity offices of Victor Records. A number of years later, Carmen Cavallaro modestly caused himself to be billed as "The Poet of the Piano."

Poet or no, how can I possibly express my feelings for such a good person and my profound respect for his unique artistry. I can only say that I was honored by his warm, sincere friendship, and that we were drawn together by music and not just by the organ which, after all, is only an instrument waiting to respond mechanically to good music performed by a good player.

As a final remembrance, I choose a line from the lyrics of a Crawford favorite Irving Berlin song:

The song is ended, but the melody lingers on.

-- Hollywood 1995

All photographs courtesy of Stephen Ross from the Simonton Collection
Copyright © 1995 The American Theatre Organ Society, Inc. All rights reserved.

*These opinions are those of the late Mr. Wright and not those of ATOS.