Colored Lights and Picnic Tables
As a child, the most fun birthday celebrations
included chocolate cake and a trip to Organ Stop Pizza. After placing an order, we’d sit family-style
at the endless rows of checkered table cloth-covered picnic tables dotted with
red glass candles. On the wall, near the
high ceiling, we watched for the numbers on the wall to illuminate in a rainbow
of colors until our order number appeared.
The moment it illuminated, we would pester Dad to go and retrieve our
pizzas and he returned with big metal pizza pans covered with melted cheese and
tasty toppings. And the pièce de
résistance would be the enormous, mighty Wurlitzer organ connected to hundreds
of pipes, a player piano, a glockenspiel, a xylophone, a compacted timpani set,
and an animated bird cage. The simple
sing-a-longs would blare throughout the hall of picnic tables, and even “In The
Good Old Summertime” could not compare to the “Chattanooga Choo Choo,” complete
with full engine introduction. You
cannot even imagine the decibel level of “Toccata and Fugue in D Minor,” my
personal favorite.
More than two decades later, my return to Arizona
includes a stroll around Arizona State University, a visit to my old residences
and schools, and dinner with an organ and pizza. Except the original location where we had
spent numerous celebrations had since shuttered its doors, leaving us to track
down the even larger recreation on the far side of the Valley of the Sun. Nonetheless, I want my sons to experience the
excitement of watching the colored numbers blink until we know our pizza is
finally ready. We arrive before the
first note of music so as to not miss a moment of memory. But despite the familiar colored numbers and
the lengthy picnic tables with red glass candles, the new and improved Organ
Stop Pizza proves to be more than I remember.
As the pipes blow their first musical blast, the
Wurlitzer rises from the “basement,” and rotates to reveal the same organist
who began his pizza-playing career when I celebrated my first Organ Stop
birthday in the early 1970s. But his
repertoire now includes a vastly more broad selection of stylings, including,
at the request of a group of graduating high-school seniors, “Bohemian
Rhapsody.” And in the upper balcony
(yes, this locale even includes a second story), a wedding party celebrates
with special tunes, hot, melted cheese on metal pizza pans, and tuxedos. We stay until the last pipe blows, until the
pizza is cooled and its cheese solidified, and until the colored lights stop
flashing – a fete of endurance I had always wanted as a child – and regardless
of their lack of overwhelming excitement that I always recall, I share some
pizza, a wedding, and a little Queen with my boys at a restaurant synonymous
with the colorful, tasty, musical delight of my childhood.
As a child, the most fun birthday celebrations
included chocolate cake and a trip to Organ Stop Pizza. After placing an order, we’d sit family-style
at the endless rows of checkered table cloth-covered picnic tables dotted with
red glass candles. On the wall, near the
high ceiling, we watched for the numbers on the wall to illuminate in a rainbow
of colors until our order number appeared.
The moment it illuminated, we would pester Dad to go and retrieve our
pizzas and he returned with big metal pizza pans covered with melted cheese and
tasty toppings. And the pièce de
résistance would be the enormous, mighty Wurlitzer organ connected to hundreds
of pipes, a player piano, a glockenspiel, a xylophone, a compacted timpani set,
and an animated bird cage. The simple
sing-a-longs would blare throughout the hall of picnic tables, and even “In The
Good Old Summertime” could not compare to the “Chattanooga Choo Choo,” complete
with full engine introduction. You
cannot even imagine the decibel level of “Toccata and Fugue in D Minor,” my
personal favorite.
No matter how many times we convinced our parents
to take us to Organ Stop, we never went often enough. We loved when out-of-town family would come
to visit so we could be sure to take them to our favorite establishment. We would submit all our most beloved song
selections, even if they were the same standards the organist would play
regardless of whether or not we requested them.
The colored lights would illuminate, and continue counting even after we
had finished our pizza, and we would practically fall asleep on the drive home
because we wanted to stay as late as possible and enjoy as much of the ambiance
of the pipe-filled hall as possible.
Even through the double-paned glass outside the restaurant, we would
hear the hum of the deepest notes and feel the windows vibrate as the music
continued to play despite our departure.
And as we drove away we would wonder when our next chance would be to
return.
Modern Love
More than two decades later, my return to Arizona
includes a stroll around Arizona State University, a visit to my old residences
and schools, and dinner with an organ and pizza. Except the original location where we had
spent numerous celebrations had since shuttered its doors, leaving us to track
down the even larger recreation on the far side of the Valley of the Sun. Nonetheless, I want my sons to experience the
excitement of watching the colored numbers blink until we know our pizza is
finally ready. We arrive before the
first note of music so as to not miss a moment of memory. But despite the familiar colored numbers and
the lengthy picnic tables with red glass candles, the new and improved Organ
Stop Pizza proves to be more than I remember.
As the pipes blow their first musical blast, the
Wurlitzer rises from the “basement,” and rotates to reveal the same organist
who began his pizza-playing career when I celebrated my first Organ Stop
birthday in the early 1970s. But his
repertoire now includes a vastly more broad selection of stylings, including,
at the request of a group of graduating high-school seniors, “Bohemian
Rhapsody.” And in the upper balcony
(yes, this locale even includes a second story), a wedding party celebrates
with special tunes, hot, melted cheese on metal pizza pans, and tuxedos. We stay until the last pipe blows, until the
pizza is cooled and its cheese solidified, and until the colored lights stop
flashing – a fete of endurance I had always wanted as a child – and regardless
of their lack of overwhelming excitement that I always recall, I share some
pizza, a wedding, and a little Queen with my boys at a restaurant synonymous
with the colorful, tasty, musical delight of my childhood.
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