Circa 1911
Manufactured by J.D.
Philipps & Sons, Bockenheim, Frankfurt-am-Main, Germany.
Circa 1911/12
Imported and sold by
Rudolph Wurlitzer Company, New York.
1914
Sold by The Knight-Campbell
Music Company, Denver Colorado
 Laura Evans, of Salida, Colorado,
bought the Wurlitzer 30A PianOrchestra, #3750, on 1/4/14 from The
Knight-Campbell Music Company, 1625-1631 California Street, Denver,
Colorado. She paid $3,150.00. Laura Evans was well known throughout
the Colorado frontier mining towns as being a feisty, outspoken woman,
and for operating a "first class parlor," one that catered to a wide
range of "gentlemen" clients, which supposedly included influential
politicians from the area, too.
How many times the PianOrchestra was serviced while at Laura's place
is unknown, but it was repaired at least once, in March of 1924. The
repairman, traveling from Denver, stayed at a convenient hotel in
Salida, The Palace Hotel. For train fare, room and board, materials and
a total of twelve days of labor Laura was charged a total of $234.68. A
copy of the bill is at right.
Circa 1931
Orville Cooper, Long
Beach, California.
Probably about 1931, Orville Cooper, of Long Beach, California, a
charter member of the Musical Box Society, as I recall, came across the
PianOrchestra in Laura’s place of business. I remember asking Orville
how he had come to find the PianOrchestra in Laura’s Parlor, which was
located just down the street from the Salida train station. Orville was
sitting at a small table in his kitchen, chatting with Gene Ballard, who
was sitting directly across the table from him. Flossy, Orville’s wife,
was seated next to him. This was during a Music Box Society meeting at
Orville’s house, on Gundry Avenue, in Long Beach, California, during the
late 1960s. Several other Musical Box Society members were milling about
in the room. In response to my question, Orville glanced up and looked
at me. He slowly lowered his cigar and smiled. Nothing was said, no
sound whatsoever was uttered. Then, he looked away and continued the
conversation with his friend, Gene Ballard.
During Orville’s circa 1931 travels throughout the rugged Colorado
mountain country, he had come across two large PianOrchestras; the
Wurlitzer style 30A Mandolin PianOrchestra in Salida, and the Wurlitzer
style 32A Concert PianOrchestra belonging to Johnny Bernat, located in
the Crystal Palace Saloon in Leadville, Colorado. Orville bought the 30A
PianOrchestra, which was no longer in service. According to Orville, the
PianOrchestra had quit playing some years earlier, which probably means
during the late twenties. He said that Laura had made inquiry about
having the machine repaired, which may have been to the Knight-Campbell
Music Company in Denver, where she had originally purchased the
Wurlitzer. In any case, she was reportedly told by whomever she
contacted that the machine was obsolete and that no music or repair
service was any longer available.
The instrument was in pristine condition, with a very large
collection of music rolls; and it was complete, except for the easily
removable bass and snare drums, which Laura apparently had given to some
local boy scouts after the machine was no longer considered functional.
I often wondered who the lucky boy scouts were, and how Laura had come
to make their acquaintance.
Curiously, even though Orville was in the business of making money
with coin pianos, he considered the PianOrchestra much too "large and
unmanageable" to keep, so he sold it to the owner of the Playland
arcade, located in the fun-zone on the Newport Beach Peninsula, Newport
Beach, California. I believe Orville said the sale to Playland took
place in 1932.
1932
Playland, Newport Beach
Peninsula, California.
The details of the transaction are unknown, but probably not long
after Orville Cooper, Long Beach, California, acquired title to the
PianOrchestra, he sold it, along with the entire collection of music, to
the owner of Playland, on the nearby Newport Beach Peninsula. Playland
was one of three gaming arcades in the Newport Beach Fun Zone. All three
arcades, located within shouting distance of each other, were on the bay
side of the peninsula, facing the beach. Between the beach and the row
of mixed arcades and shops was a small amusement ride area, featuring a
small merry-go-round, Ferris wheel and the like.
I first encountered the Wurlitzer style 30A PianOrchestra in the mid
1940s. It was during an annual summer excursion to visit old family
friends, who had a large beachfront house on Balboa Island, situated
just across the bay from the Newport Peninsula. We would spend the day,
and often two or three days, playing on the sandy beach. One fine day we
took the ferry over to the "mainland" to explore. The ferry docked close
to the amusement area. In addition to various outdoor amusement rides,
which is what had primarily attracted my attention, there was an
assortment of shops and gaming arcades. Each arcade was packed with
pinball machines, claw machines and all manner of other nickel-grabbing
devices. Of the three arcades, each located within several doors from
the other, Playland was the first one I entered. I was immediately
attracted to the huge Wurlitzer PianOrchestra, which stood majestically
just inside the wide front opening. A large cardboard sign tacked to the
front proclaimed it as the "Granddaddy of all Jukeboxes." After seeing
it and falling in love with its compelling mechanical music and
intriguing mechanisms, nothing else in the "fun zone" held much relative
fascination for me. Thereafter, during the family visits to Balboa
Island, or to my Great Aunt Emma’s house, located on the Peninsula, only
a moderate walking distance from Playland, I would always manage to
visit the alluring PianOrchestra and feed it dimes.
As a side note, there were two other orchestrions on location
in the Newport Beach fun-zone during the years I made it a point to
visit the 30A PianOrchestra, from the mid 1940s up to at least 1954.
There were three arcades, each jammed full of pinball machines, claw
machines and other arcade novelties. Playland was one of them, with
the 30A PianOrchestra. In one of the other arcades there was a Nelson-Wiggen
style 6, and a Seeburg H, with clear glass panes in place of the original
art glass. The Nelson-Wiggen played well, and was delightfully crisp
sounding. I enjoyed it, but not as much as the Wurlitzer 30A located
only a few doors away. The Seeburg H was relatively sluggish and did
not play so well, and therefore was not of much interest. Although
it was impressive to see, I rarely fed it any coins.
1971
Terry Hathaway collection,
Santa Fe Springs, California.
Events leading up to my purchase of the Playland 30A PianOrchestra
were of themselves a soap-opera story. The machine needed a complete
overhaul, from top to bottom. The instrument did not play but a few
feeble notes, the pipes barely wheezing and the drum actions barely able
to strike the drums anymore. The piano action had all but fallen apart,
the few hammers still moving rarely striking the correct piano strings,
or any strings at all. A man by the name of Richard Sandoval owned the
Playland arcade. Many years earlier, during a visit to the PianOrchestra
I had tried to talk with him about the PianOrchestra, but he just stood,
with his arms crossed, glaring at me, barley uttering a sound. I never
approached him again. Sandoval was a tough and very streetwise seeming
man, and rather difficult to deal with at best. He did not mince his
words, telling you straight out that he disliked you, if so
inclined.
Fortunately, for me, Bill Allen, a Santa Ana, California, collector,
eagerly wanted to get his hands on the Playland music roll hoard. Bill
already owned a beautiful style 12 PianOrchestra, which he had bought
from Dave Bowers, so the 30A PianOrchestra itself was not of interest.
When Bill told me he was going after the music, casually asking me if I
would be interested in the PianOrchestra if anything should ever came of
his efforts, I said, yes, thinking he might just have some luck dealing
with Richard Sandoval. Bill Allen, to his credit, perhaps due to he
being a successful stockbroker, amongst other things, was seemingly
unfazed by a belligerent and unyielding attitude. No one was apparently
too tough or unsettling to tackle, no matter how seemingly obdurate that
person was. Thus, somehow Bill Allen managed to hang around Richard
Sandoval long enough to convince him that he needed to get some quotes
on fixing up the 30A PianOrchestra, since it hardly made a sound
anymore.
Bill Allen excitedly called me one morning in 1971, telling me to go
to Playland and give Richard Sandoval a quote on restoring the 30A. Bill
was quite up-front about telling me what kind of price quote he wanted
me to give. The restoration quote was to be highly inflated, high enough
to coerce Sandoval into selling Bill the 30A PianOrchestra, but not so
high as to be completely unreasonable. The arrangement was to be that
Bill Allen would appear to buy the PianOrchestra, but with my money.
Then, Bill would get first pick of all the music as his commission in
negotiating the deal, keeping up to a certain number of rolls. I would
get the rest at an already set price, if I wanted them.
Dave Bowers and I drove to Playland, maybe the following morning.
Sandoval was working on an arcade machine when we entered. I had made
some estimates on what costs would be incurred to overhaul the
PianOrchestra, knowing that it was falling apart mechanically and in
need of a complete restoration. So I was prepared to give a carefully
considered, although highly inflated, quote of about $8,000, one that I
thought would be safe for me, in the event that I actually did have to
restore the machine for Sandoval. Even though my quote was what I
considered high, it was not nearly as exaggerated as Bill indicated he
would like. I verbally gave Sandoval the quote, and he promptly hit the
roof, loudly proclaiming that my price was too high and absolutely
ridiculous. Nothing was ever written down, and there was no pacifying
him.
Richard Sandoval knew of Iver Becklund, who had a piano restoration
shop in Lakewood, California. Iver was a very highly respected and
talented restorer. Whether Sandoval had ever actually met Iver
personally, or not, is unknown to me. Perhaps he had learned of Iver
Becklund through Bill Allen, but whatever the case, as Sandoval raged
on, he basically pronounced Iver Becklund as the greatest restoration
expert to have ever walked the earth, all the while inferring that I was
not particularly knowledgeable, talented or capable in such matters. Mr.
Sandoval, looking me directly in the eyes, assured me in forceful tones
that he would be contacting Iver for an honest and fair estimate, and
that Iver was a man whom he knew to be trustworthy, reasonable and a
highly competent man. Dave and I left thinking that my getting the
PianOrchestra was very unlikely, and that this attempt at persuasion had
failed completely.
I presumed from his remarks that Sandoval would be contacting Iver
Becklund soon, if not immediately. I had no idea whatsoever what Iver
might charge, but I assumed that it would probably be lower than my
quote, since I had intentionally jacked my price up very high in order
to please Bill Allen. Disheartened, I dropped the whole matter as a lost
cause. But Bill Allen, unfazed as ever, was on a quest for the
PianOrchestra music rolls, something he dearly wanted. Without my
knowing it, and no matter how disagreeable Sandoval became, Bill Allen
kept right on pursuing him. It was not long after my botched visit to
Playland that Bill Allen, along with his friend Rudy Edwards,
chauffeured Iver Becklund over to the Playland Arcade one evening. The
idea was to inspect the PianOrchestra and to have Iver personally
deliver his quote. Whether Richard Sandoval had any part in arranging
this meeting is unknown to me, but whatever the case, I had no knowledge
of any further plans by Bill Allen to convince Sandoval to sell the
PianOrchestra.
To my complete surprise, a few days later, Bill telephoned me. He was
absolutely elated, saying that Sandoval had agreed to sell him the 30A
PianOrchestra. I was dumbfounded. Bill confirmed that I would get the
machine, while he would get first pick of all the music. The deal was
on! Then, Bill told me that Iver’s restoration quote was around $11,500,
and that Sandoval was irate, sputtering obscenities, and quite fed up
with the whole PianOrchestra thing. But only recently did I learn
through Rudy Edwards that when Sandoval heard Iver's quote he had
exploded into a furious rage, calling Iver Becklund a crook and nearly
running him off the property. Through all this, Bill Allen apparently
remained unruffled, talking his way through the situation, cooling it
off, always with the purchase of the PianOrchestra and all its music
rolls as his goal.
I was shocked at hearing the Becklund price quote; thinking how
ironic it was that my "high" restoration quote had turned out to be the
"reasonably" priced one after all. Looking back through calmer eyes, it
appears that Richard Sandoval genuinely had an interest in keeping the
PianOrchestra. However, he was quite unwilling to pay the going price of
a restoration, and, as such, was now willing to sell the 30A
PianOrchestra for what was then considered to be the very high price,
$7750.00
Bill was eager to get his hands on my money, so as to close the deal,
before anything could possibly go wrong, pushing hard to get me to
immediately set up a time to both pay for and simultaneously remove the
PianOrchestra from Playland. Knowing full well how things can quickly
turnabout, I lost no time in calling B & C Transfer, the Whittier
agent for Allied Van Lines, the shipping vendor most trusted and
commonly used at Hathaway & Bowers, Inc. I arranged for a definite
pickup the next morning, at 10 o’clock. Dave Bowers and I arrived early,
only a few minutes after Bill Allen, the three of us meeting on the
street along the back side of the Playland arcade building, perhaps 20
minutes before the appointed 10 o’clock arrival time. Bill Allen was
standing alongside his car, nervously wringing his hands, as usual. We
stood talking for awhile, waiting for the moving truck. All three of us
were jittery, impatiently wondering if we should wait for the moving
truck, or just go on in and pay for the PianOrchestra, so I could start
dismantling it, getting it ready for transportation.
Our small talk quickly used up, we could not tolerate idly waiting
around a moment longer. I gave Bill the money, and we walked to the
front of the arcade. As we walked, Bill was issuing instructions on how
to act, so that nobody would accidentally upset his deal with Mr.
Sandoval. We met Sandoval toward the back of the arcade, and, as usual,
he was intense, but today he seemed especially amiable. Bill handled him
the wad of money and got a signed receipt. Once the transaction was
complete, Richard Sandoval gave Bill Allen the keys to the
PianOrchestra. Bill handed the keys to me, as he and Richard Sandoval
started walking to the rear of the arcade, disappearing into a back
room. I concentrated my efforts on disassembling the PianOrchestra.
Soon, Bill was carrying out armloads of Wurlitzer music rolls, stashing
them in his car, coveting them as though they were gold bars. He then
unloaded the PianOrchestra roll-changer, too, getting in my way in the
process.
The timing of B & C Transfer was perfect. I had just finished
removing the front doors and side panels when the driver and his helpers
walked into the arcade. The detached case parts where carried out to the
truck immediately; the men returning with packing boxes and paper. Next,
the violin and flute pipes were quickly removed, wrapped in paper, slid
into packing boxes and hauled out. Time was of the essence, we reasoned,
since the sooner we finished the job, the less time for something to go
awry. Sandoval watched us constantly. Several Playland patrons who had
enjoyed the orchestrion over the years stopped to ask what was happening
to the machine. To keep everything going smoothly, wanting no one to be
concerned about what we were doing, we said that the machine was being
taken out for restoration, inferring that it would return in wonderful
playing condition.
Over the years clear glass panes had replaced the oak inset panels
for each of the removable case side-panels. The art glass in both of the
front doors had also been replaced with clear glass and numerous pipes
were missing. I presumed that I would be making art glass, wood panels
and violin pipes to replace what I thought was missing. In the meantime,
Bill Allen had finished carrying out the music rolls, when I noticed
that he and Sandoval began carrying out "missing" case parts, art-glass
and pipes from the back storage room. Sandoval had carefully saved all
the "missing" parts, the pipes having been plucked from the pipe chest
when they ciphered and stored safely away. I was thrilled, as one by one
all the pieces I had just minutes before noted as missing were now
accounted for.
It was not long before the PianOrchestra was mostly dismantled, the
top section ready to be lifted off and carted out. Bill Allen, nervously
standing around watching, spotted the original Wurlitzer remote coin
slot-box (for nickels). It had been screwed onto the lower chassis,
beneath the roll-changer assembly. It was still in use as a coin trip,
but had been badly cobbled, extensively modifying it in order to
accommodate an external coin chute and dimes. The carelessly fitted,
makeshift coin chute extended up and out to the right front door. The
dimes dropped through another crudely fitted metal chute into a catch
box. A modern relay mechanism controlled the PianOrchestra motor. Bill
wanted the wall-box, but I insisted that it was part of the 30A
PianOrchestra itself, especially since it was still firmly bolted to the
chassis, and had become an integral part of the orchestrion’s electrical
system. I guess Bill was happy enough with the music rolls, because he
dropped the wall-box matter immediately and completely. I was surprised
at this, I remember, because Bill was usually relentlessly tenacious and
often verbally quite aggressive when he wanted something.
I followed the moving men out to the van as they carted out the final
load, helping to finish any last minute arranging of the load for safe
cartage. In less than an hour the PianOrchestra had been completely
dismantled, the loose parts packed, and all of it hauled out of the
arcade and tied down in the moving van. I did not wave good-bye to
Richard Sandoval; Bill Allen took care of any parting words. I wanted
the truck doors closed and the truck on its way. We got into our cars as
the truck doors were being sealed. We did not pull away from the site
until the truck engine was started and ready to go. I frequently noted
the moving truck following behind us in the rear view mirror, until we
had left the Newport Peninsula completely.
In the end, it seemed that everybody basically got what they wanted.
Richard Sandoval got what was then considered to be a lot of money, I
got the Wurlitzer style 30A PianOrchestra, and Bill Allen had his pick
of the Wurlitzer PianOrchestra music. Knowing Bill, and his preferences
in music, having heard many of his coin-pianos over the years, I
reasoned that he would tend to pick out the music rolls least
interesting to me, according to his taste, which was quite different
than mine. He went for the classics, like the "Blue Danube Waltz, and
other "recognizable" tunes, leaving the "unrecognizable," but generally
snappy, old-time stuff for me. Thus, we both got the music rolls we
wanted, although Bill always considered himself to be "the winner,"
often liking to give me jabs about his "first pick," better than me,
status. I never said anything, and just let him have his sense of
accomplishment. I had gotten what I wanted and cherished, without having
to fight and deal directly with Richard Sandoval, thanks to Bill
Allen.
 The Wurlitzer style
30A Mandolin PianOrchestra from Salida, Colorado, would be the second
such instrument I would restore, the first being the 30A PianOrchestra
from Skaneateles Junction, New York. The restoration was uneventful,
the standard refinishing and replacement of cloth, leather and rubber
parts being the norm. The piano action was completely rebuilt, using
some materials of like kind ordered from Germany. The pipework was
merely cleaned and tuned, the "frein harmonic" being adjusted on the
string pipes. The bass drum was replaced with a European drum similar,
if not exact, to what Philipps would have originally used. The snare
drum was replaced with an American made shell and rims, with hardware
of the type originally used by Wurlitzer.
The roll changer was cleaned in L & R ammoniated watch-cleaning
solution, bringing back the original nickel-plated brightness for all
but a few parts where the original nickel plate had badly flaked. These
few parts, mainly some take-up spool parts, were lightly chemically
stripped and replated using a Watts nickel process, a process leaving a
thin nickel flash, without the copper or other undercoat or any
brighteners. The plating company was prohibited from doing any of the
customary buffing, grinding or polishing on plated work. A light buffing
using only a fine wire wheel was done by me on the finished work, in
order to preserve the original dimensions and sharply machined edges,
while bringing out the luster of the nickel flashing.
Tom Hozaki, Southern California’s premier craftsman in rebuilding
pumps, restored the pump. Reinforced Kangaroo hide was used for the
covering because of its softness and exceptional durability. Only one
major, but tiny series of components was to remain untouched, that being
the actual valves in the main chest, which were original, having never
been rebuilt. The PianOrchestra had been in almost constant use, in
relatively clean air, since the machine was new, so the valve leathers
had remained soft and supple. They were still clean, not gooped up with
filtered out smoke residue and dirt. Thus, the superbly made original
Philipps craftsmanship was still functioning perfectly, the valves being
tight and perfectly adjusted. I reasoned that there was no advantage to
fix what I probably could not make function any better, so I left the
original valves and valve leathers intact.
1985
Ames collection,
California.
1999
Gilson collection,
Michigan. |
