Roy Wagner's musical treasure requires considerable space, with its 500-some pipes, its floor-to-ceiling relay panel filled with thousands of tiny pneumatic devices and a cumbersome blower with huge, noisy fans and belts.
The instrument's elegant console, white and trimmed in gold leaf, dominates any room. And the sound that emanates when a musician tackles its double keyboard, numerous controls and floor pedals is equally grand.
Believed to be the last remaining theater organ from a Baltimore movie house, the 1927 Wurlitzer has captured Wagner's fancy since the 1960s, when he used to borrow a key to the old State Theatre on Monument Street to play the shuttered playhouse's 2.5-ton wonder. When demolition threatened to silence the organ forever, he dismantled it and moved it to his Glen Arm home, then restored it piece by piece.
The magnificent instrument still occupies a small corner of Wagner's heart — and a good portion of his basement. But, he says, it's time to give it away.
Maintaining the organ has become a bit arduous for Wagner, 80. He wants to find a new home with enough passion — and enough space — to accommodate it, while he is still able to assist, or at least advise, in the transition.
"I have enjoyed it for 40 years," he said. "Now I would like to find a place where the general public can enjoy it. This is a fully working, historical musical instrument that people should get to hear."
Wagner says his Wurlitzer "is tried-and-true and has worked well all these years. It still plays the way it did in the theater."
Thought to have originally cost about $27,000 — a fortune in 1927 — the organ once delivered the accompaniment for vaudeville shows, headlined by the likes of Red Skelton or Abbott and Costello. It trilled during silent movies at the 2,000-seat State Theatre, which is today an office building adjacent to the Johns Hopkins Hospital campus.
Dick Smith, a professional musician who plays the organ and piano, said, "These organs were the orchestras of that era and the entertainment of the day. One pipe organ replaced an entire orchestra and could play all the same sounds plus the sound effects. You could have a police whistle, a fire engine siren and horses' hooves at the press of a button. There were actual schools that taught silent film accompaniment."
As a student attending the Peabody Conservatory, Smith would often take a taxi between downtown theaters to play during openings, closings and show breaks. He often visits the Wagners just to play the Wurlitzer, once considered the workhorse of the theater, he said.
"It really is the 1920s' version of a computer, and they built it without today's technology," Smith said. "It is an amazing machine. When you are playing, you feel like you are controlling a 25-piece orchestra with a really good sound."
Like many downtown movie houses, the State closed in the mid-1960s, and its unpaid utilities were shut off soon after. But Wagner, ever the pipe organ enthusiast, used to borrow a key from the optometrist next door, tap into electricity from the bowling alley beneath the darkened theater and play the organ by flashlight.
"Organ music has always appealed to me," he said. "I grew up hearing its sounds. There is just an oddity to the sound that can't be duplicated."
The theater organ, much louder than its church version, was part of the overall entertainment experience for crowds attending Baltimore's grand movie houses. Robert Headley, author of several books on those grandiose theaters, said the organs "were the big sound effect machines that could deliver anything." Patrons, who often waited in long lines that stretched around the block, could watch a silent movie, a stage show or a concert, he said.
"This was before TV, even before everyone had a radio," Headley said. "These amazing places with marble foyers and crystal chandeliers were like European palaces. Yet the entertainment was affordable."
Wagner has laid down ground rules for anyone who might want to accept the organ. The piece of local history must remain in Maryland, must be preserved and must be available to the public, he said. So far, he has had no takers. Maybe it's the relocation, which he knows can be daunting but is doable, he said.
Judging from his experience, the instrument needs an area with more than 300 square feet that is at least 8 feet high. A climate-controlled space would be ideal for the pipes and would mean less tuning. Imposing lobbies are most suitable for an instrument that requires this much space, he said. Maybe the State House in Annapolis, the courthouse in Towson or, possibly, the proposed Center for the Arts planned for Bel Air could handle a few tons of musical mechanics.
"Alaska has one at the state office building in Juneau," he said. "They play it every Friday."
His second choice might be a college or a school. Long Island University owns an original pipe organ that is raised from beneath the gymnasium floor. Such an instrument really requires theater-size space, he said.
"It does not belong in a home, but there was no other way to save it," Wagner said. "It sounds good here, but would sound even better in a theater."
When the State Theatre's owner planned to raze the building and scrap everything in it, Wagner bought the Wurlitzer for $1,000. He and a dozen volunteers took it apart piece by piece, including all those hefty and pencil-thin metal pipes and an 800-pound chest, which had to be lowered three stories to the stage floor.
"We filled that stage three times just with parts," he said.
Then they hauled everything to Glen Arm.
"We had pipes covering the entire basement and garage floors," said Dee Wagner, married to Roy for 55 years and nearly as conversant in Wurlitzer lore. "All I had was a clear path to the washing machine. We already had five children, but somehow, the Wurlitzer became the baby of the family."
It took two years of painstaking labor to reconnect, rewire and restore the instrument to its former glory. It also meant carving out space in the basement for 8-foot-high pipes, the blower system, and building an entire room for the many musical parts, including a drum, a xylophone and a glockenspiel. Wagner added platforms to make all parts accessible. He also removed the solid wall by the staircase to the basement and paneled it with shutters that let air flow as the organ plays.
In 1971, the Wagners held the first of many concerts, and one of those volunteer movers gave them the exit sign from the theater to mark the occasion. It still hangs over the door to the garage. Frank Lybolt, the organist who played the last show at the State, played at that first cellar concert.
Even with no formal musical training, Dee Wagner said, her husband plays quite well. But he prefers to listen as other, more adept players ply the keys. He has invited many renowned artists to play it and hundreds to hear its familiar sounds at informal concerts. Dee Wagner's guest book offers an account of the visitors who have come from around the world to hear what many call the Wagner Wurlitzer.
"Everyone wants a chance to see it and maybe be able to say, 'I played a pipe organ,' " he said.
Over the years, the Wagners hosted lawn parties and opened all the windows and doors so guests could hear the organ. Once they located a silent Western film and ran it for guests as the organ accompanied the reel.
"The film was definitely secondary entertainment," Roy Wagner said.
Most of those luxurious theaters are gone, as are the versatile Wurlitzers. The company branched out to jukeboxes and other instruments before it went out of business a few years ago.
"We have to preserve those that remain," Smith said. "Think of it as a time machine that can take you to whatever era of music you want to hear. From baroque to rock, this organ is capable of anything."
Wagner acknowledges that parting with it will be difficult, but he remains determined to return it to the public's eye and ear.
"I will miss it because it has been an extremely big piece of my life," he said. "But I want everyone to have the chance to hear the sound that can't be beat."