A few years ago Q. David Bowers sent this author two large boxes
stuffed with the paper remnants of his long and in-depth adventure into the
world of automatic musical instruments. Amongst the yellowing papers was an
undated, hand-typed nine-page manuscript on Mekanisk Musik Museum
letterhead, complete with typos and numerous corrections thereof. The text,
written by Claes O. Friberg, probably circa 1975, and who died in April of
1996 at the age of 51, was obviously meant to be published by the Musical
Box Society, after editing and a bit of co-authorship by Dave Bowers.
However, apparently this was never done.
Nonetheless, the manuscript, which in hindsight ought to be
interesting to collectors today, illustrating a bit of drama from the past,
has been slightly edited and is presented below. Claes, who had been in East
Germany 15 or more times by the time he wrote this, adds humor to his
adventures behind the Iron Curtain, telling of his early adventures—when he
was just beginning his search for interesting instruments there—this being
about 1972:
Behind the Iron Curtain -- by
Claes O. Friberg
Some Background
|
| Claes O. Friberg, circa 1975, happily seated at a player piano in
the Mekanisk Musik Museum. |
There is one thing that most collectors of automatic musical instruments
have in common: they are all irresistibly attracted by the unusual -- the
unknown, just like an explorer in the jungle of Africa. We all know that
special feeling it gives to search in dusty, previously unexplored corners
of an old antique store, with the hope of finding a priceless example of a
music box. Honestly, this digging in old rubbish only rarely gives any
tangible results, and nowadays it is almost impossible to find anything
truly sensational. I have spent the best times of my youth going through
piles of piano-rolls in dirty attics in my native Denmark in the hope of
finding a roll played by Jelly Roll Morton, or a ragtime selection played by
Scott Joplin, but the only result that I have achieved till now are 58
copies of Maidens Prayer, 70 copies of At Dawning, 46
copies of By the Waters of Minnetonka, 53 copies of Rose Marie
-- and the list could go on. I have a friend who likes to compete with me on
rolls. The other day I discovered that he has 24 copies of the Duo-Art roll
Medley of Plantation Songs. I discovered that I just have 18 copies
of that roll, so if any one of you has some copies I would like to buy six
or seven rolls featuring the Plantation Songs so I can maintain my
status.
I have always wanted to own some really big orchestrions of the type that
used to stand in German restaurants many years ago. So I went on some trips
to Bundesrepublik Deutschland, or West-Germany as you call it in America,
and visited the different gast-hauses as they call them over here in Europe.
When walking into these gast-houses I had to order something in order to
make a good impression on the owner of the place, and since beer is the only
thing you can get in these small places I would then have to order a glass
of this liquid. The conversations were always very friendly -- Germans like
to talk to foreigners who speak their own language, and I have always been
very good at learning languages. The result of such a conversation was that
the owner had no such instrument himself, but he would refer me to a
gast-haus in a nearby village where they might have some valuable
information on such an instrument. All this was a very hard task. I have
nothing against beer, but as I had to drive my car also this gave me some
problems. Fortunately, most gast-hauses have many plants and flowers, so
much of the beer disappeared in the flowerpots. I have always feared to
return to these restaurants after this crime of killing their flowers, but I
did not intend to harm anyone else and did this so I would not harm myself.
A number of electric pianos and smaller orchestrions indeed turned up
from time to time, but it seemed as though all the large ones were nearly
gone. The normal reply I got when asking about what happened to the large
instrument was either: “We burned it 15 years ago,” or “There was a friendly
American here who bought it. I think his name was Bowers, or something like
that.”
 |
| Front view of the Mekanisk Musik Museum, circa 1975, at
Vesterbrogade 150, Copenhagen, Denmark. |
At that time I only had a faint idea of who this Bowers could be, but
strangely enough this same person should be the one to bring new dimensions
into my search for instruments. When he started the first preparations for
the Encyclopedia of Automatic Musical Instruments several years ago
he wrote to me and asked me a few details about some European instruments.
He explained to me in a later letter the whole idea of the Encyclopedia,
and I became fascinated of this project and promised to write some articles
on various subjects, and help with the preparation of the book through old
catalogs, technical descriptions, scales for instruments, etc., etc.
When working on my part of the project I also looked at the geographical
factor and discovered that there were two main areas where instruments had
been produced in Germany. One was Waldkirch, where the organ industry was
flourishing and where Weber produced his orchestrions, and in the nearby
town of Freiberg where Welte had its factory, and in Vöhrenbach, not very
far from Waldkirch either, where Imhof and Mukle had their business. The
other center of music was Leipzig, where the orchestrion and music-box
manufacturers and dealers were numerous. In Leipzig there were such
prominent names as Polyphon, Zimmermann (makers of Adler and Fortuna
music-boxes), Kalliope, Lochmann, Monopol, Orphenion, Symphonion,
Troubadour, Hupfeld, Dienst, Losche, Popper -- just to mention the most well
known.
I had been in the Waldkirch area several times, but I had never been in
Leipzig because that is in Der Deutsche Demokratische Republik; or East
Germany as we usually call it in the Western world, and no one from our
world ever goes to East Germany. However, it took me only approximately 30
seconds to decide I wanted to go to Leipzig and the surrounding areas to
find information for the Encyclopedia -- and to find instruments.
What a challenge -- the first instrument collector from the western world
ever to put his feet on East German land -- the first one to put his hands
on a large Hupfeld Helios or Pan orchestrion standing in a Leipzig
restaurant.
From the moment that I decided to visit the East to the moment when I
arrived there was a long waiting time. All sorts of formalities are
necessary, but the arrangements worked out very well. Dave Bowers once told
me that he asked the East German government about permission, but that was
refused, so I was very afraid that something should go wrong. However,
Denmark has a friendly relationship with DDR, so I was allowed to go. Since
then, I have been there at least 15 times, and just before I arrived in
U.S.A. to go on a nationwide musical tour led by Dave, I spent a week
traveling to Berlin, Leipzig, Dresden, and some smaller towns. I am now a
good friend of the Hupfeld family and the Bacigalupo family, just to mention
a few, and I have the best connections to the government. I continuously get
interesting historical information out of the country, and also I have the
permission of exporting instruments to other West-European countries. It was
a lot of hard work to get the license for exporting instruments, and it only
worked out because of the formal friendship between Denmark and East
Germany. In recent times, Dave Bowers has joined me on some of these trips,
and Bonnie Tekstra came along on one. We had the unusual status of being
able to travel unimpeded, with visas that allowed us to go anywhere without
having to state our itinerary beforehand.
Leaving Denmark for East Germany
I thought that it would be interesting for members of the MBS here in
U.S.A. to hear about a complete different world behind the Iron Curtain, so
let me explain how a typical early visit to DDR took place in the days
before I obtained a universal visa, about 1973 when the Encyclopedia of
Automatic Musical Instruments was a new title. A bit of dramatization
has been added here just for fun, but the scenario is quite real, including
my actual meeting with people once involved in the industry:
First I had to call up my travel agent in order to get hotel reservations
in advance. Without these advance-reservations neither I nor any other
Westerner could get visa or permission to go into the country. The travel
agency then contacted an East German travel agency who contacted someone in
the government, who investigated your personal facts -- your occupation,
reason for visiting, and many other details. When this was done the hotels
were contacted, and after a while I heard from my travel agency that the
reservations were okay.
The first time I picked up my tickets I asked them to send me an invoice,
just like they did for trips they arranged for me to other countries, but
they insisted on getting payment right away. “We don’t know if you ever come
back,” they told me, “and we have had some bad experiences.” This was indeed
inspiring. Actually, it wasn’t. I smiled grimly and issued a check.
The day of the departure arrived, and I took my suitcases down in my
Toyota car and headed for the ferry boat. I had arranged to drive in my own
car in East Germany. Compared to other European cars my Toyota is rather
large. I planned to find, buy, and take a number of music boxes back to
Denmark. I carefully selected this car a few years ago, because it could
accommodate two Welte Vorsetzers, a Polyphon 22-1/2” disc-changer, 10 to 12
smaller music-boxes, two barrel organs, one Ariston disc organette, three
Gem Roller Organs, approximately 300 Red Welte rolls, plus some 88-note
rolls and other types, and, if packed correctly, also a tracker-bar pump.
Unfortunately enough, this hypothetical cargo was not what I ended up
buying, of course. Finding and buying a huge Polyphon 25” disc-box with disc
bin, instead of a 22-1/2” changer, was a catastrophe, and did not leave
enough space for the Welte Vorsetzer. However, sometimes I had to throw a
few 88-note rolls out so I could get the Vorsetzer loaded.
The ferry boat that I traveled on with my car went from Gedser, which is
a harbor in the southern part of Denmark, directly to Warnemünde in East
Germany. The trip takes nearly two hours according to the timetable, but it
is always delayed. It transports mainly trucks and trains that are going
transit from Denmark to West Germany and West Berlin, but the builder of the
ship must have had an off-day when he designed it. All trucks will have to
drive backwards into the boat, and the entrance is so narrow that this takes
quite a bit of time to do. Therefore this East German ferryboat is always
very delayed, and I plan my arrival a bit late so as to conserve time. Only
once it was not, so I missed my boat and had to wait a whole day for the
next one.
On Board the Ferry
Onboard the ferry boat I found some offices where had to wait my turn,
then report to officials in charge. This took quite some time to go through.
In each small chamber there were two persons sitting. I went with my
documents to one of them. In the meantime the other one was staring out into
the air as though he was looking at some invisible tableaux taking place.
The first guy gave me the once-over visually, then looked very carefully
several times through my passport and other papers. He then made some notes
and turned me and them over to the other officer. With him, I went through
exactly the same thing again, while the first man was now looking out into
space, perhaps seeing things invisible to me. All this went very slowly.
When the second officer was finished with me he compared notes with the
first. I was lucky and was directed to proceed to the next office. In each
office something different happens, always with two inspectors checking each
other’s findings. They call it control. I tried to content myself
with looking into the air at nothing, wondering if perhaps it was an
enlightening experience. I have tried it several times -- the last being
when I was listening to a boring speaker at a gathering of music box
collectors in England -- but I must be doing something wrong, as I have
found no satisfaction. I must still have much to learn.
After I passed through all formalities I was allowed to go to the
restaurant on the ship. This is really fantastic. The architect did not
create much space for the trucks or on the car-deck, but when it came to the
restaurant he was been enormously generous. There were at least seats for
300 to 400 persons. I paused to think that there was only room for about 25
trucks on the ship if fully packed (which was seldom the case) and not many
cars. What the architect had in mind, I do not know. Perhaps each driver was
to bring five or ten friends? The first time I was in this gorgeous
restaurant I was in a room with perhaps six truck drivers, two train
engineers, and one private person I could not put into any category --
perhaps he was a spy? -- and myself. The highlight of the menu was a
cheeseburger.
Going Through Customs
Coming through the customs procedure was very exciting. A number of
people have been killed when trying to escape from East Germany, and it is
always a very unusual feeling to stand at a line that can be so dangerous,
even though I was going in -- not out. I learned to be very afraid of making
sudden moves, for the customs people watch carefully and will ask questions
about what I was doing. I learned to always sit quietly in my car while
looking very friendly, and, if possible, socialistic.
My passport was then taken and put through a hole that leads to an
extremely secret room. Rumors says that here they have complicated devices
that can detect if your passport is false, and all sorts of machines to find
out about your intentions in East Germany. No one has ever been in such a
room that I know of, but I have a very certain feeling that all they have
are two persons of the type described earlier, each looking very carefully
at the passport and holding it up against the light, while the other stares
into emptiness, after which the roles are reversed, or something like that.
My passport appeared again though another hole and now it was time for
what seemed to be the most serious part of customs. Earlier, I filled out a
form saying how much money I brought with me in different currencies. I have
a warning to everybody that goes to DDR: It is illegal to take money out
of DDR, so if you arrive there with East German money in your possession,
you are automatically carrying contraband goods, you are a criminal, and you
will be arrested. You might have obtained the money from someone else who by
mistake took out the money, but that is no excuse, so be careful. Often they
will look in your wallet to see if the amount declared is right.
Next in the process, my car was thoroughly searched. They looked with
mirrors under the car, and jumped up and down in the seats regardless of my
protests in an effort to find hidden things. Next, they investigated the
motor. Talking about motors, the population of East Germany is not used to
such large cars as a Toyota, so I learned to be prepared to answer all
possible questions about the technical details of my motor. I have decided,
or almost decided, to print a small leaflet telling everything about my
Toyota that I can give to people passing by.
Next came the investigation of my personal belongings. A typical
conversation will go like this:
- Customs-Officer:
- Open your suit-case.
- Claes Friberg:
- Yes, certainly.
- Customs-Officer:
- What is this?
- Claes Friberg:
- Toothpaste, Sir.
- Customs-Officer:
- Open it.
- Claes Friberg:
- Of course.
- Customs-Officer:
- Tastes O.K.
- Claes Friberg:
- It’s the best quality, Sir.
- Customs-Officer:
- (sarcastic) Thank you. What is this?
- Claes Friberg:
- (showing a small Kodak Instamatic Camera) It’s
a camera.
- Customs-Officer:
- That small! I can't believe it. How does it
work?
- Claes Friberg:
- I'll show you -- Click! (CF takes a photo of
the customs control).
- Customs-Officer:
- (shouts) How dare you -- did you not see the
sign saying that photographing is not allowed!
- Claes Friberg:
- I'm so sorry, but you asked me to demonstrate
it.
- Customs-Officer:
- No I did not, no further discussion, I must
confiscate the film and the camera.
- Claes Friberg:
- Please Mr. customs-officer; I have photos of my
family on that film.
- Customs-Officer:
- I said no discussion, it is against the law to
take photos here, and you can be happy that I do not ask you to leave
our socialistic country immediately. I will destroy the film, and keep
the camera here until you return again.
- Claes Friberg:
- Well, O.K. -- thank you for not putting me in
jail.
- Customs-Officer:
- What are these postcards you have here --
pornography?
- Claes Friberg:
- No, sir, they are from my museum in Copenhagen
-- have you ever heard about the Mekanisk Musik Museum?
- Customs-Officer:
- (ignoring the question) They are advertising
material from a capitalistic country, and I will not allow you to bring
them into our country. And besides what are these -- records -- six of
them. What is that?
- Claes Friberg:
- This is pleasant socialistic music from
Leipzig, Mr. customs-officer.
- Customs-Officer:
- Well, could be, but we will have to listen
through the records first before we can allow you to take them with you.
- Claes Friberg:
- Well, never mind, take them as a gift for
yourself, I do not need them.
- Customs-Officer:
- Are you trying to corruption on me? You can be
happy that I do not report this.
- Claes Friberg:
- My, My, My.
- Customs-Officer:
- What do you say?
- Claes Friberg:
- Oh, sorry I was just advertising for my museum
-- it will never happen again.
- Customs-Officer:
- We will keep the records here and listen to
them when the high-custom-officers are all here tomorrow, and you can
come back and get our decision on the records two days from now -- we
will have to ask the government.
- Claes Friberg:
- I hope you will enjoy them -- By the way, we
have a special record deal on our MMM records we can offer you....
- Customs-Officer:
- Stop -- no imperialistic and capitalistic
advertising, I told you.
- Claes Friberg:
- Oops.
- Customs-Officer:
- What is this now -- a big book -- is it the
bible.
- Claes Friberg:
- Oh no, it is the Encyclopedia of Automatic
Musical Instruments -- a fantastic reference work on automatic
musical instruments by Q David Bowers: You see, I collect such things,
and I must say that I helped Mr. Bowers quite a bit when he wrote the
book. It has got 1008 pages and the price is just.... I mean it is a
prize book.
- Customs-Officer:
- Open it!
- Claes Friberg:
- Oh yes -- so you are interested in automatic
musical instruments -- why didn't you tell me? Well, see, look at this
-- it covers all fields from music-boxes to street-organs -- and here is
a photo of me -- do you like it? Let me show you the various sections of
the book. First we have...
- Customs-Officer:
- Stop, stop, stop -- I can’t read one word of it
-- it is in English. We will have to keep the book and find out if it
contains paragraphs that are against our anti-imperialistic and
socialistic and communistic ideas.
- Claes Friberg:
- Well, O.K. I am glad you will do that. I'm
always delighted when someone shows interest in the instruments and
their history -- and besides I have one more book with me, so that's
O.K.
- Customs-Officer:
- Are you completely out of your mind -- give me
that book also.
- Claes Friberg:
- (silently) why can't I keep my mouth shut?
Behind the Iron Curtain
After more formalities the trip continued, and I drove south down to
Berlin, which usually was my first stop. The roads are not very good, but
still it is rather safe to drive because you will never find any heavy
traffic. A small East German car cost five times as much as a big American
car, and you had to send in your application for a car two or three years in
advance. This reduced the traffic, and accidents only rarely happened. Most
houses were without paint -- if you tried to paint the house the paint would
fall off within a few months, because of the poor quality, so there was no
reason for starting the painting job.
After the war some big towns were partially in ruins, and in West Germany
new houses were soon built. However, in the DDR, that is, East Germany, they
had a great idea. They removed the ruins, and made big squares with the
names of Lenin-Square, Karl-Marx-Place. This was very popular, and much
easier than just building new houses. The DDR territory was not as badly
hurt as West Germany, so there are still lots of old houses where people can
live, and they do.
From my viewpoint this creation of big open places in the middle of the
towns was a bad thing. I tried to locate the old factories that made music
boxes and other instruments, but this was nearly impossible, because the
streets did not exist any more. Also the streets had many buildings missing.
These were torn down and never rebuilt. Few new buildings were constructed
either. Living quarters became cramped, and many mansions that in pre-war
times might have accommodated one family were now divided into a half dozen
or more apartments with many more people.
In Berlin I found the old Bacigalupo factory, which is still operating.
Mr. Giovanni Bacigalupo was 87 years old when I visited. As I write this, he
has been active until a few months ago. His sight is not very good any more,
so he has stopped arranging new music on barrels, but the work shop is still
repairing and hiring out organs in East Berlin. Mr. Bacigalupo has been a
good friend of mine for many years, and he is one of two persons that are
allowed to smoke in my car. His company Bacigalupo Söhne, the successor of
Cocchi, Bacigalupo & Grafigna, was the company in the world that made the
most barrel-organs. Although this can be debated, I feel that the company
made the best quality barrel-organs in the world. In the MMM we have around
10 barrel-organs that all have been restored and repinned by the Bacigalupo
factory during recent years. I think this is interesting because it is today
actually impossible to go to a factory and say, and I am imagining Seeburg
as I write this, “I bought from you in year so-and-so a KT Special
orchestrion, and will you please service it or trade it in for a newer
model? This happened to me in East Berlin with Mr. Bacigalupo, and it has
been a most wonderful feeling.
The Hupfeld Factory
I wished I could have done the same thing in Leipzig when I visited the
Hupfeld factory. I told them that I had a model A Phonoliszt-Violina, and
that I wanted to have either a Violina Orchestra Model I or II, but that I
could not make up my mind whether of the two models would be the best for my
purpose. I was very interested also in acquiring a 10-roll changer with
remote control installed in the instrument. However no one seemed to know
anything about the instruments, so I was told that these were not carried in
stock any more. I thought that this was bad service, and I asked to talk to
Mr. Hupfeld himself, not expecting any results. However, 10 minutes later I
found myself sitting in the cafeteria together with Mr. Günther Hupfeld.
All this needs an explanation of course.
In the late 1920s, the Zimmermann brothers had much influence on the firm
of Ludwig Hupfeld A.G., as they made pianos that sold well, but, in
contrast, Hupfeld’s pneumatic instruments that used these pianos were in a
rapidly declining market, due to amplified phonograph music and the radio
being played in public places, and to other causes. A bank that had much
money invested in Hupfeld forced the factory to merge with Zimmermann. When
this happened Zimmermann brothers put the company founder, Ludwig Hupfeld,
out of the game, and fired a large part of the staff. Among those terminated
was one of the inventors of the famous Phonoliszt-Violina, Karl Gustav
Hennig. The son of Ludwig Hupfeld, Günther Hupfeld, got a job at the factory
as supervisor -- a position that he carried on until his death in December
of last year.
Under the Zimmermanns it was decided in 1928 to sharply curtail the
making of pneumatic instruments and to phase them out completely by 1930.
These were hard times for the trade in Europe as well as in America.
Hupfeld’s troubles were compounded by a new interchangeable metal valve unit
that was now installed in many instruments, but did not function properly
and caused so many difficulties that it was discontinued.
In the 1930s only normal pianos were made by Hupfeld, together with
furniture, billiard tables, and toys. When the Second World War started,
military goods became an important part of the business.
When the war ended in the spring of 1945, Russian troops rushed in to
occupy what became East Germany. Immediately, the situation changed to that
of a Communist regime. The Hupfeld family had to leave their stately mansion
and move to a 2½ room apartment. They got two hours to leave the house when
the Russians came, and today the old house serves as a home for children.
More About the Hupfeld Family
I met the Hupfeld family in their small apartment first time in 1971 and
I have been there many times since then. Mr. Hupfeld was always happy to see
me, and he gave me much valuable information. He liked to smoke and I always
brought him 200 American cigarettes. When we sat down and discussed the old
days he always went out into the small kitchen and opened a bottle of fine
wine. He never complained about the sudden change in his life and was just
happy that he still could work in the old factory. He worked until his
sudden death last year and left his unmarried daughter and unmarried sister
Miss Erika Hupfeld, who still lives in the apartment in Böhlitz-Ehrenberg in
Leipzig.
Another interesting experience during my last trip to DDR was when I met
Mr. Ernst Bruno Hennig, who is mentioned in the Encyclopedia as
being co-inventor, together with his brother Karl Gustav Hennig, of the
Phonoliszt-Violina. Mr. Hennig told me that in fact he was not to be given
any credit for the invention of the Violina, but he of course helped his
brother from time to time. Karl Hennig was an unskilled worker at the
Hupfeld factory who had a very good mind for mechanics. He always came up
with lots of improvements and new ideas, and around 1910 he became the
leader of all the workers at the factory. It gave him lots of problems to go
from being an unskilled worker to become in charge of approximately 1,000
people, and there was much jealousy around. Still he was a fantastic creator
and inventor and Hupfeld owes much of its success to him. He left the
Hupfeld firm in the 1910s, but then returned, where he continued to be
important with technical matters.
The Zimmermann brothers did not like Karl Hennig -- in fact they did not
like the pneumatic instruments and when his invention of the metal valve
units showed to be a failure they fired him. Hennig then tried to sell some
of his inventions, including those he still held for the Phonoliszt-Violina,
to Philipps and the Aeolian Company in Germany, but they were not at all
interested in any violin-playing devices. Hennig soon did not have any more
money left and then sued Hupfeld, because he was holding the patent on the
bow that was used by Hupfeld. By the time the lawsuit was to take place
Hupfeld had manufactured its last Violina, and nothing came out of that. It
is interesting to notice that most of the work in creating the Violina was
done by the Bajde Brothers together with Robert Frömsdorf from Hupfeld,
while Karl Hennig was responsible for the bow only.
There were three Hennig brothers: Kurt, Ernst, and Karl. Only Karl was
the one that worked with the mechanical part of the instruments. Ernst
Hennig was employed by Hupfeld in Dresden, where he was selling instruments
-- mainly Phonolas, and Kurt Hennig was selling Hupfeld in Berlin. When I
visited Ernst I heard him perform on a Hupfeld Solophonola foot-operated,
and I have never heard a Phonola sound that good -- so I am sure that he
must have sold many.
Karl Hennig tried to establish his own business in the beginning of the
1930s dealing in luxury articles, but this was probably the worst time to
sell such things, so he went bankrupt. Then he again started to construct an
instrument and he made a self-playing mouth-organ (accordion) with rolls --
in many ways similar to the organettes manufactured in the 1880s. However
there was no interest and only three or four instruments were built as
samples, and a small leaflet was printed. Ernst Hennig said that he had one
of these that his brother made as a sample and 20 rolls, so he went up on
the attic and brought the instrument down. It played very well, and I
thanked him for the performance, but he then said -- oh well, you can have
it. Well, I did not expect that, but asked how much I owed him. He did not
want anything -- it had been such a pleasure for him to talk about the old
days, and it was a gift to me. So now the Mekanisk Musik Museum owns the
last instrument manufactured personally by the constructor of numerous
Hupfeld devices.
Claes O. Friberg
Mekanisk Musik Museum, Circa 1975
