Cookie Run
FROM CAP’N MERYL
http://www.usatoday.com/travel/columnist/getline/2005-05-09-ask-the-captainx.htm
“COOKIE RUN”
One of my readers, John Miranda, sent me a series
of Hawaiian photos and they are so gorgeous I
asked his permission to post his link here. Many
others have sent photos as well, and I may post
some on occasion, but it’s always a problem having
time to go through everything that is sent. So
feel free to send me things, but please don’t be
offended if I don’t respond. Here is John’s
Hawaiian link:
http://www.johnmiranda.com/kauai05.htm
Also, Just a reminder that my next “Ground School
for Passengers” is scheduled for May 18th. Check
for details here: www.flyingfearless.com.
Now, to this week’s Update: One reader wrote to me
and asked that I try to take some pictures of pipe
organs during my travels, and as I promised to do
so I was reminded of this “lost” chapter called
“Cookie Run.” “Cookie Run” was to be a chapter in
“The World At My Feet” but got cut due to concerns
about the length of the book. It is possible it
will be included in my
second book, due out in June 2006. So what do
cookies have to do with
organs? Read on! I hope you’ll let me know if
you enjoy it as it is
being considered for inclusion in my second book.
“Cookie Run”
The first time I ever flew as a pilot for Wien Air
Alaska to Salt Lake City, I attended a concert at
the Mormon Tabernacle and was reading the program
later that day. The program included the
startling fact that there were
over eleven thousand pipes, but I counted
exactly thirty-seven. I just
had to know where the rest of the pipes were, and
wanted to see what over eleven thousand pipes
could possibly look like.
On a whim, I found a phone book and looked for the
organist’s name, which unfortunately was very
generic-sounding and most likely difficult to
pinpoint. I was right about the name and there
were about a dozen identical listings but, to my
delight, his name was distinguished by the word
“organist” after it. I hadn’t expected that.
I called, he answered, and laughed when I asked my
question about the pipes.
I said, “My name is Meryl. I’m a pilot for an
airline up in Anchorage called Wien Air Alaska.
Have you heard of it?”
“Yes, I have!” he exclaimed. “We have a son in
Fairbanks and he flies on Wien when he comes to
visit. We’ve flown on Wien, too, when we’ve gone
to visit him!”
“Good,” I said. “Here’s the thing: I attended
your concert today at the Tabernacle and I really,
really enjoyed it. But I’ve just got to ask you,
where are all the pipes you can’t see? Are they
behind the main organ? It mentions the number in
the program but it doesn’t given any explanation.”
“How wonderful you called,” he said, “I’m really
glad you enjoyed the concert. I have to tell you,
nobody’s ever called and asked me about where the
rest of the pipes are. If you’ll come by tomorrow
after the 11:00 AM concert I’ll take you on a
personal tour and show you where they hide more
than eleven thousand pipes.”
I was ecstatic. I showed up and he did take me on
a tour—just him and me. He had me stand inside the
very largest bass pipe—thirty-two feet high—while
he played some notes. The vibration was
incredible and I’m highly ticklish, so I stood
giggling in the pipe while he played.
The smallest pipe was tiny, just three-quarters of
an inch. All these
“invisible” pipes were just in back of the main
pipes which, he informed me, were mostly just a
façade. Some of them were real, but many were put
there for aesthetic reasons, for symmetry. I had
just assumed they were all real and that they were
all visible, until I read the program notes.
There were, he informed me, a total of 11,623
“speaking” (as opposed to just for
decoration) pipes arranged in 206 “ranks” (rows).
He also showed me the jet turbine, or “organ
blower” behind the sound proof door when I asked
him how in the world enough air was generated to
drive the organ. “Just like the engines on the
jets you fly,” he commented casually. I was
astonished. I knew there must be something
elaborate, but had no idea the volume of air
actually required.
I told him I couldn’t imagine playing an organ of
that magnitude, and he asked me if I’d like to try
it! I’m not a Mormon, but he didn’t ask and I
don’t know that he would have cared. Other
Mormons have since told me that it was highly
unusual—unheard of, in fact—for the organist to
have allowed a non-organist for the Mormon Church
play the organ, and I believe it. He not only let
me play around with it, he actually cleared the
Tabernacle for me
to give me some privacy. Or, just possibly, he
didn’t want anyone to think
he was the one playing.
The Tabernacle, of course, has been widely
televised because of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir
and their concerts and therefore was a popular
attraction, but I was left alone for just under
half an hour while he disappeared behind the
scenes somewhere. I’m not an accomplished
organist, but, as I had so many years before in
Copenhagen when another organist recognized my
passion for the pipes and allowed me to play some
Bach, I played the same simple Bach piece “If Thou
Art Near.” Since that’s all I could manage on the
complicated instrument, I played it over and over,
experimenting with the different instrument
settings.
There were, I think, five keyboards, 32 pedals and
almost countless stops (making the different
instrument sounds). It would have taken me days
to experiment with all the combinations I wanted
to try. We had an organ at home in San Diego so I
was used to playing on a split keyboard, but it
was nothing like this!
I thanked him profusely, and he brought out a
small package which he handed to me. It contained
chocolate chip cookies baked by his wife for their
son, who, as he had mentioned on the phone, lived
in Fairbanks. Would I be so kind as to deliver
them? I’m very kind, as it happens, and I did in
fact deliver them. Small price to pay—in fact, no
price at all—for such a treat.
The ironic part is that chocolate chip cookies
played a part in my being in Salt Lake City in the
first place. You see, at the time, Mrs. Fields—as
in Mrs. Fields Cookies—had not yet made a huge
global splash. They were unavailable in Anchorage
where I lived and I had never heard of either Mrs.
Fields or her cookies until a flight attendant for
Wien told me I absolutely had to go to Salt Lake
City where they had the best chocolate chip
cookies in the world!
The layover hotel was the Crossroads Marriott,
situated directly across from Temple Square and
actually connected to the Crossoads Mall (Salt
Lake City is sometimes referred to as the
“Crossroads of the West”) and that is where I
tasted my first Mrs. Fields cookie—milk chocolate
with nuts, to be precise. One bite and I was
hopelessly addicted, along with the other flight
crews. I started flying that route as often as
possible, not just for myself, but to take orders
for others I made the mistake of bringing cookies
home to sample. At closing time, the cookie stand
would start selling the cookies at half-price. It
was a bit of a competition with all the other
flight crew members who were in Salt Lake for the
same reason I was.
The really neat thing is that Debbie Fields—A.K.A.
Mrs. Fields—was often on our flight between
Seattle and Salt Lake because, I’d heard, she had
a house
in Park City, Utah, near Salt Lake City. She
wasn’t the grandmotherly type
I’d pictured at all. In fact, she was this
gorgeous, delightful young woman whose cookies
were to become a worldwide sensation. When I saw
her a few years later on Oprah Winfrey she was
still trim and stunning, which would have been
really irritating except that she seemed so
incredibly nice.
I was to return to Temple Square and the
Tabernacle again many times over the years, first
with Wien and later with United. I saw and spoke
with that particular organist another time or two,
but that first time, regrettably but not
surprisingly, was also the last time I was
permitted to play the
grand pipe organ of the Mormon Tabernacle.
And just think—all for want of the world’s best
chocolate chip cookie!
And that’s my “Cookie Run” story. My guess is
most or all of my readers have seen this beautiful
organ, but if not, click here:
http://www.johnborwick.com/pictures/cross-USA/cross-USA-Images/19.jpg
Feel free to let me know if you think this story
should be included in the next book, or whether
you don’t find it “book worthy.” You can write to
me regarding this at: cookies@fromthecockpit.com
Until Next Time,
Maintain Airpseed!
Cap’n Meryl
www.flyingfearless.com (Cap’n Meryl’s “Ground
School for Passengers”)
http://www.usatoday.com/travel/columnist/getline/2005-05-09-ask-the-captainx.htm
“COOKIE RUN”
One of my readers, John Miranda, sent me a series
of Hawaiian photos and they are so gorgeous I
asked his permission to post his link here. Many
others have sent photos as well, and I may post
some on occasion, but it’s always a problem having
time to go through everything that is sent. So
feel free to send me things, but please don’t be
offended if I don’t respond. Here is John’s
Hawaiian link:
http://www.johnmiranda.com/kauai05.htm
Also, Just a reminder that my next “Ground School
for Passengers” is scheduled for May 18th. Check
for details here: www.flyingfearless.com.
Now, to this week’s Update: One reader wrote to me
and asked that I try to take some pictures of pipe
organs during my travels, and as I promised to do
so I was reminded of this “lost” chapter called
“Cookie Run.” “Cookie Run” was to be a chapter in
“The World At My Feet” but got cut due to concerns
about the length of the book. It is possible it
will be included in my
second book, due out in June 2006. So what do
cookies have to do with
organs? Read on! I hope you’ll let me know if
you enjoy it as it is
being considered for inclusion in my second book.
“Cookie Run”
The first time I ever flew as a pilot for Wien Air
Alaska to Salt Lake City, I attended a concert at
the Mormon Tabernacle and was reading the program
later that day. The program included the
startling fact that there were
over eleven thousand pipes, but I counted
exactly thirty-seven. I just
had to know where the rest of the pipes were, and
wanted to see what over eleven thousand pipes
could possibly look like.
On a whim, I found a phone book and looked for the
organist’s name, which unfortunately was very
generic-sounding and most likely difficult to
pinpoint. I was right about the name and there
were about a dozen identical listings but, to my
delight, his name was distinguished by the word
“organist” after it. I hadn’t expected that.
I called, he answered, and laughed when I asked my
question about the pipes.
I said, “My name is Meryl. I’m a pilot for an
airline up in Anchorage called Wien Air Alaska.
Have you heard of it?”
“Yes, I have!” he exclaimed. “We have a son in
Fairbanks and he flies on Wien when he comes to
visit. We’ve flown on Wien, too, when we’ve gone
to visit him!”
“Good,” I said. “Here’s the thing: I attended
your concert today at the Tabernacle and I really,
really enjoyed it. But I’ve just got to ask you,
where are all the pipes you can’t see? Are they
behind the main organ? It mentions the number in
the program but it doesn’t given any explanation.”
“How wonderful you called,” he said, “I’m really
glad you enjoyed the concert. I have to tell you,
nobody’s ever called and asked me about where the
rest of the pipes are. If you’ll come by tomorrow
after the 11:00 AM concert I’ll take you on a
personal tour and show you where they hide more
than eleven thousand pipes.”
I was ecstatic. I showed up and he did take me on
a tour—just him and me. He had me stand inside the
very largest bass pipe—thirty-two feet high—while
he played some notes. The vibration was
incredible and I’m highly ticklish, so I stood
giggling in the pipe while he played.
The smallest pipe was tiny, just three-quarters of
an inch. All these
“invisible” pipes were just in back of the main
pipes which, he informed me, were mostly just a
façade. Some of them were real, but many were put
there for aesthetic reasons, for symmetry. I had
just assumed they were all real and that they were
all visible, until I read the program notes.
There were, he informed me, a total of 11,623
“speaking” (as opposed to just for
decoration) pipes arranged in 206 “ranks” (rows).
He also showed me the jet turbine, or “organ
blower” behind the sound proof door when I asked
him how in the world enough air was generated to
drive the organ. “Just like the engines on the
jets you fly,” he commented casually. I was
astonished. I knew there must be something
elaborate, but had no idea the volume of air
actually required.
I told him I couldn’t imagine playing an organ of
that magnitude, and he asked me if I’d like to try
it! I’m not a Mormon, but he didn’t ask and I
don’t know that he would have cared. Other
Mormons have since told me that it was highly
unusual—unheard of, in fact—for the organist to
have allowed a non-organist for the Mormon Church
play the organ, and I believe it. He not only let
me play around with it, he actually cleared the
Tabernacle for me
to give me some privacy. Or, just possibly, he
didn’t want anyone to think
he was the one playing.
The Tabernacle, of course, has been widely
televised because of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir
and their concerts and therefore was a popular
attraction, but I was left alone for just under
half an hour while he disappeared behind the
scenes somewhere. I’m not an accomplished
organist, but, as I had so many years before in
Copenhagen when another organist recognized my
passion for the pipes and allowed me to play some
Bach, I played the same simple Bach piece “If Thou
Art Near.” Since that’s all I could manage on the
complicated instrument, I played it over and over,
experimenting with the different instrument
settings.
There were, I think, five keyboards, 32 pedals and
almost countless stops (making the different
instrument sounds). It would have taken me days
to experiment with all the combinations I wanted
to try. We had an organ at home in San Diego so I
was used to playing on a split keyboard, but it
was nothing like this!
I thanked him profusely, and he brought out a
small package which he handed to me. It contained
chocolate chip cookies baked by his wife for their
son, who, as he had mentioned on the phone, lived
in Fairbanks. Would I be so kind as to deliver
them? I’m very kind, as it happens, and I did in
fact deliver them. Small price to pay—in fact, no
price at all—for such a treat.
The ironic part is that chocolate chip cookies
played a part in my being in Salt Lake City in the
first place. You see, at the time, Mrs. Fields—as
in Mrs. Fields Cookies—had not yet made a huge
global splash. They were unavailable in Anchorage
where I lived and I had never heard of either Mrs.
Fields or her cookies until a flight attendant for
Wien told me I absolutely had to go to Salt Lake
City where they had the best chocolate chip
cookies in the world!
The layover hotel was the Crossroads Marriott,
situated directly across from Temple Square and
actually connected to the Crossoads Mall (Salt
Lake City is sometimes referred to as the
“Crossroads of the West”) and that is where I
tasted my first Mrs. Fields cookie—milk chocolate
with nuts, to be precise. One bite and I was
hopelessly addicted, along with the other flight
crews. I started flying that route as often as
possible, not just for myself, but to take orders
for others I made the mistake of bringing cookies
home to sample. At closing time, the cookie stand
would start selling the cookies at half-price. It
was a bit of a competition with all the other
flight crew members who were in Salt Lake for the
same reason I was.
The really neat thing is that Debbie Fields—A.K.A.
Mrs. Fields—was often on our flight between
Seattle and Salt Lake because, I’d heard, she had
a house
in Park City, Utah, near Salt Lake City. She
wasn’t the grandmotherly type
I’d pictured at all. In fact, she was this
gorgeous, delightful young woman whose cookies
were to become a worldwide sensation. When I saw
her a few years later on Oprah Winfrey she was
still trim and stunning, which would have been
really irritating except that she seemed so
incredibly nice.
I was to return to Temple Square and the
Tabernacle again many times over the years, first
with Wien and later with United. I saw and spoke
with that particular organist another time or two,
but that first time, regrettably but not
surprisingly, was also the last time I was
permitted to play the
grand pipe organ of the Mormon Tabernacle.
And just think—all for want of the world’s best
chocolate chip cookie!
And that’s my “Cookie Run” story. My guess is
most or all of my readers have seen this beautiful
organ, but if not, click here:
http://www.johnborwick.com/pictures/cross-USA/cross-USA-Images/19.jpg
Feel free to let me know if you think this story
should be included in the next book, or whether
you don’t find it “book worthy.” You can write to
me regarding this at: cookies@fromthecockpit.com
Until Next Time,
Maintain Airpseed!
Cap’n Meryl
www.flyingfearless.com (Cap’n Meryl’s “Ground
School for Passengers”)
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