By Patrick Murphy
To spend any time with Stan Kann was to enter into a zany, energy-packed world with its own wonderfully goofy logic. Whether talking about his life-long love of vintage vacuum cleaners or the intricacies of the Fox Theatre’s Mighty Wurlitzer, he would weave thoughts and words in an inimitable style. A conversation with him was a carnival ride, as he’d barely finish one thought before launching into another. The man never met a non sequitur he didn’t like. So you were never quite sure if he was putting you on or trusting your capacity to share his enthusiasm for just about everything. He had this amazing ability to talk as if he himself wasn’t quite sure what would come out next — and the genius to always make it work perfectly. Stan was born to entertain — in the theatre, on television, or in private conversations.
I had the pleasure of producing a few stories on him for KETC’s Living St. Louis. There was only one way to do a story on Stan — put a microphone on him and just hope the cameraman could keep up as he pulled you into the world of Stan Kann.
He loved machines — systems of moving parts that do things. He’d talk about his 1947 Lincoln as if it were a graceful animal. He’d wander through his basement patting his vacuum cleaners, pontificating on the evolution of American floor care and imitating the various sounds they made. As a young man he renovated the Fox’ Wurlitzer, and he knew every pipe, stop, relay and sound effect. I followed him through the labyrinth of the pipe rooms as he’d reach into a corner to activate some device, creating a chirping bird, rolling thunder, a clanging gong or a trolley bell. And each time he seemed amazed by the sound, as if it were the first time he’d ever heard it. Sometimes he’d talk about the organ as if it were a stubborn, temperamental old friend with a mind of its own. And he alone knew how to coax and charm it.
The last time I heard him play at the Fox was during a taping for Living St. Louis. I sat next to him at the organ as we rose together from the basement to the stage. He was playing “No Business like Show Business” and humming the tune. It was a slow ride on a roaring beast in the heart of a Byzantine palace with a master at the reigns.
I imagine his Wurlitzer parked in the dark beneath the stage of the Fox, wondering where its old buddy has gone and missing the music they made together.
Stan Kann & His Vacuum Collection:
Stan Kann & The Fox Organ:
