The lady across the street would play “Beer Barrel Polka” on the hammond organ. The organ was in her living room and when my family walked over to visit, she always played the organ for us.

I remember watching her tiny frame slide onto the organ bench. Her hair was styled into a French twist and her nails were painted a deep red. Her spike heels were fun and flashy. They were a novelty for us—my family dressed more utilitarian . . . for comfort.

When she played, her shoulders rocked back and forth with the music. Her elbows would swing to and fro as her hands glided across the keyboards—and her left foot (wearing spike heels) bounced left and right, up and down, on the pedals . . . all to the rhythm of “Beer Barrel Polka.”

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Roll out the barrel, we’ll have a barrel of fun
Roll out the barrel, we’ve got the blues on the run

— Jaromir Vejvoda (1902-1988) Czech composer

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She was a lovely woman with lots energy—and this was quite a show. Everyone loved it. I often wonder if my mother had visions of my sister and me playing the organ like that. A few years later, in 1965, she bought us an A-100 Hammond organ for Christmas. I was in the third grade. My sister was in the ninth.

We were already taking piano lessons and organ lessons soon followed for my sister. I remember her playing “Pipeline” and other popular tunes at Kiwanis pancake days, talent shows, and telethons. I doodled around on the organ, but did not really play much—I enjoyed the sounds and the tremolo—I was fascinated with all the drawbars. However, I don’t think either of us were cut out to perform lively popular music or be “performers.”

Several years later, my sister enrolled in the local community college and studied organ—“real” pipe organ music . . . Bach and other classical composers.

When I was fifteen, she talked me into taking organ lessons. Our teacher was music director at a local church. As soon as students were ready, we learned to play music for church—hymns, anthems, the doxology, preludes, and postludes.

When we had prepared enough music, he would give us a chance to play for a service at his church. It was a big deal. It was a large church with services broadcast on the radio. When my sister played, our family would gather around the radio and listen. I am not sure why we didn’t just go to the service in person? That seems obvious now, but we were not Baptists and this was First Baptist Church.

My sister and I continued to play the organ in church. I went on to earn a performance degree  (B.M.) in organ. I spent thirty years as a church organist in various churches—Methodist, Lutheran, Baptist, and Episcopal.

Why did I become an organist—was it all because of “Beer Barrel Polka?” Well, maybe. I bet mother would never have bought the organ if it weren’t for the lady across the street. My sister would never have studied organ if mother had not bought that Hammond organ—and then my sister would not have talked me into taking organ lessons at the community college.

What started out as small, innocuous event led to my profession—and life’s calling.