A Legacy of Love

The Carols of Alfred S. Burt

Anne S. Burt

On the pine-covered shore of Lake Superior in the upper peninsula of Michigan nestles the small town of Marquette. It sits in a wonderland of natural beauty with vast virgin forests, streams, rock formations, and wild floral foliage. Winter places a deep blanket of snow over the countryside; but spring bursts out, bringing new life and an array of color. Here on April 22, 1920, the composer, Alfred Shaddick Burt, was born.

Alfred’s arrival at the rectory next to St. Paul’s Episcopal Church on High Street was heralded by his father, the Reverend Bates Gilbert Burt, his mother, Emily May, a 12-year-old sister, Frances Deborah and two-year-old brother, John Harris. A close-knit family, active in community as well as church life, the Burt’s found time to enjoy their campsite on the shore of the lake in an area called Middle Island Point. A two-story frame home, christened “Furugaard,” was built among the towering pines. Its picture window gave a panoramic view of the lake. No matter where the Burts traveled they would return to this spot for rest and inspiration.

In 1922 Father Burt accepted a call to the parish of All Saints’ Episcopal Church in Pontiac, Michigan. For the next 25 years this industrial, manufacturing city would be home. Al grew up in the shadow of the lofty, brick tower of the church. His activities centered around the church calendar. He attended Sunday school, sang in the choir, served as an acolyte, and used the church gymnasium as his playground. It was a busy, but happy household in those formative years.

Through Father Burt’s creative talents, the tradition began of sending an original carol as a Christmas card to friends and parishioners. He wrote both the music of the season and the words of faith from 1922 to 1941. The carols as natural an expression of the Burt Christmas as the spicy tree in the rectory or Mother Burt’s famous plum pudding.

As a self-taught musician, Father Burt was delighted when Al began to show an interest in music. When Al was 10 years of age, he received his first instrument, a “silver trumpet” (really a cornet), as a bribe to enter the local hospital for an appendectomy. He learned the fingering while recuperating. This horn would take him into bands, orchestras, and state competitions, where he would win many awards and become known as a “child prodigy.” He also studied piano, but never felt it was his major instrument.

Al’s first compositions were fanfares for the church festivals of Easter and Christmas. One of his most ardent admirers was the church organist, Wihla Hutson. Sharing the intricacies of the church of the church pipe organ, she and Al became great musical friends. She was a guest in the rectory on many a Christmas Eve, when, after the midnight service, she was unable to travel the icy roads to her home in Detroit. A family tradition of stocking presents accompanied by an original poem introduced the Burt’s to her talent for verse. As “part of the family” she watched with avid interest Al’s musical growth over the years.

During high school days, Al enjoyed a wide range of musical expression, but it was the new modern idiom of jazz that fascinated him the most. He formed a dance band, which was featured at church functions; and his family tolerated a set of trap drums in the rectory attic. His father discussed many times Al’s feelings for this new form of music, not fully understanding his interest, but never discouraging him.

Al chose the University of Michigan School of Music in Ann Arbor for his formal education. Here he participated in the famed marching

Band and was the first freshman to qualify for first chair on cornet. His classical background was accomplished in the Little Symphony, the Symphony Orchestra, and the jazz expression in the dance orchestra at the Michigan Union. Graduating in 1942 with a Bachelor of Music degree, Al was chosen as an outstanding theory student. His disciplined, well-rounded foundation in musical composition would enhance his God-given abilities.

For the family card that year Al was invited by his father to write the musical setting for the carol, “O, Christmas Cometh Caroling.” Father Burt had discovered the text in a small book of carols by Father Andrew, an English Catholic priest. As Al’s hometown sweetheart, I was there that eventful day in November when Al’s father reminded Al of the deadline for the printing of the card. Al had not yet set the lyrics to music. He asked me if I minded waiting, then went to the family Steinway and in 15 minutes wrote the music that began a father-son team.

With World War II upon us, the lyrics for the next carols were mailed to Texas; where Al was serving with the Army Air Force Band. The Christmas Eve before he left for service his “Communion Service” and an anthem, “They that Wait upon the Lord,” were sung in the family church. The cards for 1943, “Jesu Parvule,” and for 1944, “What Are the Signs,” were reflections of the Burts’ belief that Christianity, not war, was the solution to the world’s problems.

Al kept busy during the war years playing with the base dance band, The Yardbirds, with the concert band, for radio broadcasts, as well as writing arrangements. He also served as a substitute trumpeter for the Houston Symphony.

During the war, I served as an operating room technician at the U.S. Naval Hospital in San Diego California. Known as the “Singing W.A.V.E.,” I divided my time between duties in surgery and entertaining with the dance band. Here I met Marine Jimmy Joyce whose original Music made our hospital classic, “Leave ‘Em in Stitches,” a smash hit. My contact with Al was slight during the war years, but the 1944 Christmas card opened communication again. We met on a hurried leave, became engaged, and announced our plans for marriage in the fall of the following year.

On October 13, 1945, Al and I were married in All Saints’ Church with Father Burt officiating. Mother Burt, ill in the hospital with cancer, was unable to attend. But we shared the festivities by taking the bridal party to her hospital room. Pinning my bridal orchid on her bed-jacket, I received her blessing. She died two weeks later and buried in the family plot in Marquette. In 1945 the carol, “Ah, Bleak and Chill,” was sent as the family card with the addition of my name. Our Christmas was spent in San Angelo, Texas, awaiting Al’s discharge from the Army Air Force band. We had honeymooned in Waukegan, Illinois, getting my discharge from the Navy.

After Al’s discharge, we toured the country for 15 months with an orchestra. Many of Al’s friends returned to the University of Michigan for master’s degrees, but Al said he was anxious to try his professional talents in the outside world. Al wrote most of the band’s arrangements, and played trumpet. We shared the spotlight together as vocalists. It was a listenable band, but had little backing and fewer bookings, so we disbanded by mutual consent.

That summer we spent time with Father Burt in Marquette. Another home had been built next to Furugaard. When completed, Dunescote would be a retirement retreat for Al’s father. We shared a glorious visit filled with swimming, hiking, sailing, and reading by the light of the stone fireplace.

In the home of a dear friend, Al surprised his father by presenting the 1946 Christmas carol, having finished the music early that year. I recall the twinkle in Father Burt’s eyes as he heard “All on a Christmas Morning.” He had Al play it over and over, finally asking us all to join in singing the words. He was Al’s most devoted fan, constantly thrilled by the scope of his musical ability.

From Marquette we traveled to New York City. Al taught sight-singing, theory, and musicianship at the American Theatre Wing School. Renewing his friendship with James Wolfe, concert pianist and former college roommate, Al accepted an invitation to compose something for his upcoming concert tour. Seven concert waltzes were written in crowded quarters without a piano. The waltzes were first performed in Honolulu, Hawaii.

The carol for 1947, “Nigh Bethlehem,” marked the last Christmas we would share with Father Burt. After his retirement from All Saints, he had taken a temporary rectorship near Towson, Maryland. Our holiday was filled with the favorite Burt traditions – Turkey with all the trimmings, stocking presents, plum pudding, and the carol sing around the piano. Deborah Burt Norvell and her family made our holiday visit in their Towson home a lasting memory.

Early in 1948 Father Burt suffered a fatal heart attack. Once more we visited Marquette to place him beside his wife.

Returning to New York, Al and I decided we would carry on the tradition of the family card. The text for the 1948 carol was an old English rune of hospitality, given to us by the Reverend John Burt. When John was a student at the Virginia Theological Seminary, he had seen the words on a wall hanging in the Dean’s office. Today, the original manuscript of “Christ in the Stranger’s Guise” hangs in our home.

Al joined the Alvino Rey Orchestra in 1949; I went home to Pontiac to await our first child. It was then that Al and I decided to ask Wihla Hutson to put our ideas into poetry for the family card. Wihla and I had dinner one evening after Al had left for California. Sitting in the car outside my family’s home. I babbled about the new life inside me. When Wihla asked about the text for the new carol, I naturally replied, “A lullaby!” She took these thoughts home and in the lines of “Sleep, Baby Mine” captured the feelings of motherhood we had shared.

On March 8, 1950, we used the first eight bars of this carol to announce the arrival of Diane Bates Burt. Six weeks later, we joined Al in Los Angeles. At the airport he met for the first time the one person who would rival his devotion to music.

The carols now reflected the life-style of our young family. Working with the Alvino Rey group in the Oakland-San Francisco area, Al and I established a pattern of a secular then sacred setting for the family card. In 1950, Wihla mailed the words to “This Is Christmas,” which expresses the secular joys of the season. Back in Los Angeles for Christmas 1951, we introduced the now popular “Some Children See Him,” written at the same time that Wihla penned the lullaby.

Our Christmas card list had grown as we traveled from place to place from 50 to 450 names. We would drop people from the list in order to save postage only to have them write that their carol had been lost in the mail. I now understood what Father Burt had gone through to produce an original card each year.

After many years on the road, we were happy finally to be establishing roots in one place. We bought our first real home in the San Fernando Valley. I planted a trumpet vine around the front porch; Al set up a swing set for Diane; we joined a church; and Al became active in all phases of the Hollywood music world. He became assistant choir director at St. Michael and All Angels’ Episcopal Church in Studio City. Then came the greatest news of all: We were expecting another baby! My world was complete!

“Come Dear Children.” The 1952 carol, was finished at the rehearsal of the Blue Reys, the singing group with Alvino Rey’s Orchestra. Al asked them to sing it so that he could check the harmonies. They like it so much they asked Al if they could add it to their performance at the annual King Family Christmas party. Al was hesitant for he didn’t wish to appear push with his own composition. But they insisted, adding it to the familiar carols. It was the hit of the party! This was the introduction of the carols to the Hollywood musical crowd.

In 1953 our whole life would change. Al came down with a virus flu that left a lingering cough. He had been working long hours on a television show that Alvino Rey and the King Sisters were doing. How he wished to leave town to set up the Horace Heidt Orchestra for a road tour. It was the first time I ever made a scene over his decision. He promised to return as soon as the band was polished for the show. Al was a very conscientious, dependable musical director.

I recall how tired he looked when Diane and I met him at the airport. He did not fight my call to our family internist. Entering the hospital for tests, he was still optimistic that it was a simple problem. Neither of us was prepared for the results. He had lung cancer!

On the heels of this crushing news, I lost the baby. Together, we had foreseen a struggle to establish him in the musical world, but this we had never imagined. Now our unfulfilled dreams rose to meet us. Without our deep spiritual reserve and the charm of the little girl we both loved so deeply, we could not have faced the year.

Our family and friends rallied around us. A trip to Memorial Hospital in New York City for a consultation was arranged by the Reverend Edward Miller Jr., rector of St. George’s Episcopal Church and brother of Martha Miller Burt, John’s wife. The hospitality offered us softened the prognosis –Al had six months to a year to live!

But later in the afternoon at a matinee of the musical comedy, Me and Juliet, the realization struck Al. He had long wished to write a musical. Now, revisiting the city where our young dreams had germinated, it seemed a cruel blow of fate that Al’s life should end just as the brass ring was within reach. The look in Al’s eyes told me we should leave. We walked, hand in hand, down the Great White Way with tears falling to wash away our frustration. No words were necessary. Fortunately, it was a city where we could be alone among the masses. But once back in the quiet of our hotel room overlooking Gramercy Park, we faced reality. It was Al’s decision to return to California, to work as long as he could in the field he loved so much. His other concern was for Diane. She must have her childhood unmarred by disease. This was his final gift to her.

Back at home in the San Fernando Valley we filled each day in a loving, serene atmosphere. Al’s humor, warmth, compassion, and non-complaining disposition made each day a blessing. Ours was as happy, loving family despite the tribulations. Our needs were met at every turn. A ramp for Al’s wheelchair was built by the men of the church; blood was donated as transfusions became necessary; the Men’s Business Club Prayer Group met at our home on Wednesday mornings so that Al could be included. My sister, Jean, left her home and husband temporarily to care for Diane.

Al gave up the trumpet first, then the piano, but his creative mind was active to the end. He went from a wheelchair to a hospital bed in our bedroom. My nursing background afforded him free nursing care. Together we worked on the music; together he and Diane shared moments to last her a lifetime; and together he and I hurried to beat the final deadline-death.

Our friends in the music business, hearing of the outcome of our trip to New York, alerted James Conkling, brother-in-law of the King Sisters and president of Columbia Records, of the urgency of Al’s condition. Jim had wanted to record the carols. Now the wheels were put into motion. It gave Al a goal those last few months. Wihla was asked to write four new lyrics for the recording. Wihla told me that all she needed was Al’s request and the words flowed so fast she could hardly write them down. “We’ll Dress the House.” “O, Hearken Ye,” “Caroling, Caroling,” and “The Star Carol” awaited music.

A volunteer chorus of the finest singers in Hollywood met in the North Hollywood Mormon Church, organized by the King Sisters, Buddy Cole, and Jimmy Joyce. Al’s wheelchair could easily enter from the parking lot into the auditorium where he led the first demonstration taping. In our home, over a cup of hot chocolate, Al reviewed the session, thrilled at the turnout for him, the lovely voices on the tape, and the fact something he had written would be released. “This is the happiest day of my life,” he remarked. There was no jealousy on my part; Al’s first love would always be music.

Momentum continued. Christmas 1953, we chose the triumphant hymn “O, Hearken Ye” as our family card. It was chosen as much to bolster our spirits as those of our friends and family. Al was very tired; the cobalt treatment was taking its toll. But his spirit was high!

On February 5, 1954, Al completed his final carol. Asking Jimmy Joyce to check it for him on our Steinway, Al listened carefully to the notes. Jimmy and I were enthralled with the beauty and purity of “The Star Carol.” But the “Professor,” as the men in the band dubbed him, perfectionist to a note, changed the tenor line in the last few bars. Then he was satisfied.

There was no denying the closeness of death. The carol was a prelude that Al knew; it was so simple in its musical character. Tired of the battle against the inevitable, Al and I shared our thoughts that last evening. He asked two things of me, to care for his music and his daughter. These promises have been kept.

His death came the next afternoon in an ambulance en-route to a hospital. Ironically, the signed contract from Columbia Records arrived by special messenger just an hour after his death. His mortal life had ended, but his musical life would begin.

On August 14, 1954, we gathered once more in Marquette. After a simple service in St. Paul’s Chapel, John gave the final blessing, pouring a handful of sand taken from the beach in front of Furugaard into the grave. We had returned Al to the place where his life had begun. He was just 33 years of age. Today, three tall pine trees mark the resting place of those we placed there.

Christmas 1954, as I sat addressing the final Christmas card, “The Star Carol,” I realized that I had lost not only a husband, a life-style, and a musical friend, but a Christmas card as well. The red, green, and white card was the loveliest card we had ever sent. It was signed simply, “Anne and Diane.” Inside I tucked a note telling of the end of our tradition with Al’s death and the release of the music for all to enjoy. Our legacy of love was our gift of music to the world that Christmas.

Since then the music of Alfred S. Burt has taken its place in the heritage of American music. It is impossible to relate the wonderful growth the carols have had. Their acceptance in concert halls, churches, schools, on radio and television, and in homes around the world truly delights our family. It was not easy those first years, hearing the familiar strains and realizing our loss; but as time has lessened our grief, we proudly face the Christmas season, knowing the carols will recall the memories of our life with the composer.

Diane, an actress-singer and musical director, finds her father in his music. Her Caroling Company in turn-of-century costume, sings the Burt music along with the old familiar carols. How pleased her father would be to know his daughter is following in his footsteps.

We are grateful to the many friends, known and unknown, who have kept Al’s memory alive through his music. When you hear the Alfred S. Burt carols, Diane and I wish you and yours a very merry, musical Christmas and the blessing of peace and love in the New Year. For us, we will be remembering the past, keeping the words of Al’s final carol in our hearts:

And when the stars in the heavens I see, Ever and always I’ll think of thee.