​​The author, John Marek, is a writer and executive director of the Anson Economic Development Partnership. 

Mine was not a musical family. None of my siblings played an instrument, my mother didn’t even like listening to music, and none of us could carry a tune in a bushel basket. I sometimes joke that I was asked to sing “solo” in fourth-grade choir – so low that no one could hear me. It’s a funny line, but it’s also not completely removed from the truth. Sister Margaret indeed  suggested that I might want to “blend in more” with the other singers. When it came time for elementary school music class, I almost always got the triangle, the least serviceable of  instruments.  

That’s why it was surprising, shocking actually, when my father brought home a used Magnus organ from Webb’s Barn consignment shop and began playing it capably. Now, to be clear, this was a tiny electric organ not far beyond “toy” status, and he was no virtuoso, but the fact that he could play recognizable versions of a dozen songs came out of nowhere. I would later learn that his father had played accordion back in the day, and Dad had picked up a few tunes. 

The Magnus Harmonica Corp. was founded in 1944. Initially manufacturing inexpensive plastic harmonicas, the company expanded its product line to include accordions, bagpipes and, starting in 1958, the chord organ. Chord organs use an electric fan to blow air over a 

series of reeds, producing sound. This simple technology allowed for a cost-effective keyboard instrument the average American family could easily afford.  

The first Magnus organs – and the one my father brought home that day – were tabletop models with six chord buttons and 15 keys. I don’t know how much they cost new, but I recall Dad saying he paid $5. The chords were marked with letters and the keys with numbers so the organ could be played without learning to read music. My father played “by ear,” but dozens of music books were available that translated the music for classics and popular songs into that alphanumeric code. A couple of those were purchased for my benefit, and I learned such exciting musical pieces as “Love Theme from Romeo and Juliet,” “Silent Night,” “Danny Boy” and “Days of Wine and Roses.” 

After a couple of years, Dad upgraded to a bigger, better model. This one was freestanding with 22 keys, a volume pedal and a whopping 24 chord buttons. It was less like a toy and more like a real musical instrument. Around that same time, I learned to read music and could play some from the church hymnal, although I never quite figured out how the chord buttons related to the sheet music. It was also around the time I was in the youth choir and asked to sing “solo.” I don’t remember the exact details, but I know that one of the songs we performed for the Christmas midnight mass required Sister Margaret to get up from the organ and “direct” the choir, and during that short interlude, one of us would have to play the big church organ. It was all for show and just for a minute or two, but I desperately wanted to be chosen. Alas, a good friend of mine, Rudy, got the gig.  

That marked the beginning of the end for me as an organist. I started violin lessons and threw myself headlong into stinking at that instead. 

The last I knew, the Magnus still held a place of honor at the historic Marek homestead. It’s a  little worse for wear now – one of my nephews decided to try playing it with a hammer around  1975 – but still playable. I’d like to think that I could still pound out a competent version of “Love Theme from Romeo and Juliet” in a pinch.