After I visited Harkness Tower last year, I decided to see if it was as easy to get a tour of the bell towers at the University of Michigan as it was at Yale.
It was.
"All those years I lived there, and I never went!" I bemoaned to Kevin. So, when I planned a trip back to Michigan, I decided to give it a try. In a moment of boldness, I emailed a carillon professor to ask if I could tour the bell tower while I was in town even though classes were no longer in session. While I was on the airplane, she got back to me, telling me that we couldn't go to the Lurie Tower on North Campus (which I was more familiar with) but that I could knock on her door at 4:45 and she would show me around the other carillon on Burton Tower.
I hadn't told her I had a baby with me and wasn't sure how much favor I had curried to start with, so I left J with my friend C and headed up the elevator by myself.
Dr. Ng was warm and enthusiastic as she invited me into her office. At 4:45 she hurried us into a room where we could see the action of the bells chiming. It was like a music box, she explained. A heavy, gigantic music box with grooves to play the right notes at each 15 minute increment.
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| It's kind of hard to see, but right behind that big wheel at the front there are four smaller wheels with grooves in them to indicate the order in which to play the four chimes (it's different for each 15 minute increment) |
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| This is the system for the big bell that plays on the hour. The pulley is on the left. |
We saw a practice carillon, then the real one.
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| The Charles Baird Carillon. |
Although I had been more familiar with Lurie Tower, it was great to visit Burton Tower and learn about the history of its carillon. Dr. Ng and I climbed under a bell that she struck, and I walked around, jumped up, crouched down, stood in the center to hear the overtones, echoes, and even silence.
After we walked back inside to the carillon, Dr Ng. played a lovely, haunting piece by a BYU grad, Margot Murdoch, entitled Tea with Hildegarde. After her performance she invited me to play something. I took a deep breath. Six weeks of proper lessons nine years ago hadn't left me with any technique, and I felt sheepish pounding something out after something so lovely. I stared at the keys, memorizing where my fists would go since the keyboard was a major third off of what I was used to. Then I was ready.
"Come, come ye saints, no toil nor labor fear, but with joy, wend your way," the carillon played. And that was it.
"I . . . that was what was played on the BYU bell tower on the hour instead of Westminster Quarters," I said. Previously, it had seemed so epic to play "Come, Come Ye Saints" on my 4th bell tower (after KU, BYU, and Yale). But now it seemed so . . . inadequate. I racked my brain to see if there was anything else I dared play, and I couldn't think of anything.
"How nice to have representation of BYU here on Michigan campus!" she said tactfully, even though BYU had been adequately represented by her performance of Margot Murdoch's composition right before that. Hopefully there were some Mormons in earshot who could appreciate Come, Come Ye Saints that day.
After signing the guest book, we chatted a bit about favorite carillons in the US and in Europe, and then I headed back down to see C and our kids.
There's always a bit of a thrill in being able to broadcast yourself to a wide audience. I've felt it many times as I approach a microphone. I've felt it when I've put on a Facebook Live video. But I think the best, most beautiful way to share your voice widely just might be a carillon.
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