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8
The
Royal Philharmonic Orchestra’s 1950
American Tour
Beecham’s intention,
from 1944, to take an orchestra to the
USA. 64 day tour from New England, New
York, down the East coast to New Orleans
– experience of hearing genuine trad
jazz – segregation in the South (and
in the North) – up through the mid-west
to Chicago and back to New York.
In
March 1944 it was reported in London
Philharmonic Post, the Journal the LPO
published from time to time, that Sir
Thomas (who was then still in America)
was sending letters and cables to the
management with the news that he was
making arrangements for the orchestra
to tour Canada and America as soon as
this became possible. When he returned
to London in September of that year
he began talking seriously to the orchestra
about his intention of taking the orchestra
to America, something he had wanted
to do for many years. The last British
orchestra to visit America had been
the London Symphony Orchestra in 1912.
The orchestra had been booked to travel
on the ill-fated Titanic,but
fortunately, because some of the
arrangements for the tour had not been
finalised by the American agents, their
departure was delayed and the orchestra
travelled safely a few days later on
the Baltic.
Beecham
insisted that the LPO contracts in 1945
and 1946 included a clause stipulating
that we agree to go on a tour of America
if it could be arranged. In 1947, when
I joined the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra
and for each of the following three
years I signed a similar agreement.
At last in 1950 the tour was organised.
On the 6th October we left from Waterloo
on the special train arranged for Cunard
Line passengers that took us to Southampton
where we boarded the Queen Mary.
The following morning at 8.15 we left
Southampton for the short journey to
Cherbourg to pick up
passengers before setting sail across
the Atlantic.
We had
all become accustomed to war-time rationing,
to the shortage and limited choice of
food and clothing, and much else that
was still rationed in 1950 Britain.
As soon as we were aboard the Queen
Mary everything changed. Wonderful
menus were presented at every meal and
alcoholic beverages were available all
day – and night! With five days at sea,
many of the instruments safely stored
in the hold and no opportunity for practising
in the small cabins, the orchestra enjoyed
a complete holiday away from work and
family life.
I see
from the ship’s log that I still have
that most of the time the weather was
reported as ‘moderate gale, rough sea,
heavy swell’. I did not require this
information as along with a few of my
colleagues, also bad sailors, I spent
a great deal of time up on deck, away
from the sight of food and the stifling
heat in the cabins.
On the
12th October we arrived at
New York in the middle of the night
and missed the welcoming sight of the
Statue of Liberty. At that time entry
into America still required everyone
to go through immigration on Ellis Island.
Somehow, Beecham had arranged for the
members of the orchestra to avoid this
trauma. We had our passports examined
rather quickly while still on board
– in the First Class Stateroom. How
had he managed to arrange this, at the
same time that the celebrated conductor
Victor de Sabata with an Italian ensemble
that had landed from another ship were
all held on Ellis Island for several
days? In those days it was easier to
get round regulations if you had influence,
or what the Americans called ‘drag’.
We were
taken to the Great Northern Hotel where
we stayed each time we returned to New
York. Once settled in our first thought
was to have a look round and find something
to eat. The first place we found was
something we had not seen before and
that I think never came over to Britain:
the Automat. It is probably best remembered
now from the song, memorably sung by
Marilyn Monroe in the film Some like
it Hot,
… A
kiss on the hand may be quite continental
but diamonds are a girl’s best friend.
A kiss may be grand but it won’t pay
the rental
on your humble flat, or help you at
the automat …
At the
Automat there was a wall of small, glass-fronted
cubicles just large enough to hold a
plateful of food. By the side of each
cubicle was a slot for the appropriate
coin that would allow you to withdraw
your choice. The quality was good and
the prices very reasonable, so we made
use of their service quite often.
The
shops were full of so many things we
had not seen in England for a long time
and, of course, everything was available
without the necessary coupons that so
restricted what we could buy at home.
In particular I remember buying a nylon
shirt. At that time they were much thicker
than they are now and had the disadvantage
that they did not ‘breathe’ so that
one became extremely hot at times. Their
great advantage on a tour such as we
were undertaking was that they were
easily washed and they dried quickly.
Ladies’ nylon stockings, so scarce,
expensive and mostly ‘under the counter’
at home, were in all the shops. I sent
a pair home to my wife everyday. One
put ‘Present’ on the form that was attached
to each parcel. If you were lucky it
got through without custom duty. On
average about 50% did.
Later,
at about 9.00pm, my friend Steve Trier
our bass clarinettist and I decided
we would take a stroll and find somewhere
for a quiet drink. After a short walk
we suddenly found ourselves in Times
Square. By now it was dark so we were
astonished to find that all the shops
were open, a great number of people
were shopping and that large illuminated
signs were flashing on and off all round
the Square. Neither of us, still in
our 20s, had ever experienced anything
like this at home where since 1939 shops
had closed at 5.00pm and there had been
no illuminations. But that was not all.
We could hear the most amazing singing;
strange music sung by a voice that ranged
from high soprano to deep bass. It was
lovely, but quite eerie. I found out
later that it was a recording of Yma
Sumac being played from one of the shops.
Yma Sumac was a remarkable Peruvian
singer with a range of four and a half
octaves who at that time had only recorded
Indian folk music in Argentina. After
1950, when she married and went to live
in the USA she, like so many other fine
folk musicians, made many recordings
of much more commercial versions of
her native folk music and other commercial
music.
The
crowds, lights, music and the vast array
of goods of every kind on sale came
as a real shock and a wonderful introduction
to a way of life we had not experienced
before. In 1950 the difference between
life in America and Britain was much
greater than it is today; quite suddenly
we did really find ourselves in a New
World.
The
following morning we set off for Hartford,
the state capital of Connecticut, where
our lengthy and tiring tour started;
between September and December, we were
to give fifty-two concerts. We had been
told that this concert in Hartford would
be our ‘blooding’. If this concert was
well received by the critics, who would
travel up from New York to vet us, the
concerts we were to give in New York
a couple of weeks later would be well
received. If the concert did not go
well we could expect a hostile reception.
The
first rehearsal in the afternoon in
Hartford preceding the evening concert
got off to a bad start. Quite a few
of the principals arrived late for the
rehearsal. Unused to American restaurants
they had not yet learned that where
there were tablecloths diners were expected
to be taking a leisurely lunch. As a
consequence service was exceedingly
slow and lunch had taken much longer
than expected. Sir Thomas, habitually
late himself, was on this occasion ready
and anxious to start on time, quickly
became angry.
When
the orchestra was eventually assembled
it sounded extremely rough, out of tune,
lacking in dynamics and finesse, and
with poor ensemble. Life on the luxury
liner, with its abundance of good food
and alcohol and no opportunity for practise
had done little for playing standards.
Added to this the orchestra had taken
on a number of extra players, some of
whom were unfamiliar with the repertoire.
It did
not bode well for a successful concert.
Many of us arrived for the concert with
a good deal of apprehension. There was
the usual buzz of expectancy as the
audience waited for us to take our place
on the platform and for the arrival
of this very popular conductor. Sir
Thomas walked on in his usual slow,
stately way and acknowledged the applause
with a dignified bow. Then, with a mighty
swipe he brought the baton down to start
the National Anthem. He was famous for
his rendition of the Anthem, but on
this occasion it was done with such
courage and passion that he inspired
and enthused the whole orchestra. The
concert went extremely well, there were
excellent notices and the tour started
on a high.
Leaving
Hartford we toured New England by coach
and could enjoy the scenery, especially
the trees in their wonderful rich autumn
colouring. We gave concerts in Washington
D.C., in Boston, in its splendid Symphony
Hall, in Connecticut, New Jersey, Pennsylvania,
Maryland, Massachusetts and Rhode Island,
before returning to New York for two
concerts in Carnegie Hall. All this
was very exciting but increasingly tiring,
as we travelled by coach each day. When
we arrived in each town we had to check
into a Hotel, unpack and then and go
to the Hall for a rehearsal before returning
to the hotel again to change into evening
dress for the concert. To begin with
the newness of everything and the excitement
of visiting interesting cities kept
us going, but after a couple of weeks,
when the novelty had worn off, it became
increasingly hard.
From
New York we travelled down the East
Coast giving concerts every day with
the journeys often becoming very long,
anything from two to six hours. Then
a major shock: we crossed the Mason-Dixon
Line. We were now in the South where
segregation was in force. Suddenly we
were made aware of the black/white divide.
No black people were allowed in the
hotels, restaurants or concert halls.
On buses and trams black people were
only allowed to sit in the rear seats:
everywhere the races were separated.
This was, in effect, apartheid. Less
overtly brutal than apartheid, as practised
in South Africa, it denied most employment
opportunities to Negroes (the term African-American
had not even been thought of at that
time), except of a menial kind. Even
in the North, when we were in Evanston,
near Chicago, when it was late November
and extremely cold, a black woman who
collapsed in the street died from exposure
in the cold because no white doctor
could be found willing to attend to
her. For many of us in the orchestra
this deliberate demeaning of other people,
only because of their race and colour,
was sickening. After the terrible 1939
– 45 war that had revealed the horror
of the Nazi regime’s racial policy and
the deliberate slaughter of millions
in the concentration camps, to find
this policy still in operation in ‘the
land of the free’ was very hard to take.
When
we arrived in New Orleans we were surprised
to find that it was very different from
any of the other towns we had been to
so far. It was much more European, with
fine houses dating back to the 18th
century redolent with Creole, French,
Spanish and Portuguese influences. The
metal tracery of the ironwork on the
balconies of many of the old buildings
was a delight. We gave two concerts
in New Orleans so we had the opportunity
to enjoy another delight. This was the
time when the revival of traditional
jazz was in full flood. Black musicians,
some of whom had not played for many
years, were sought out. Some had only
been able to find work as janitors or
night watchmen, and a few had even been
forced to return to the country areas
to find work in the fields.
After
the first concert, six or seven of us
who were keen on jazz decided to see
if we could find where these chaps were
playing. As we walked around we found
ourselves in streets with names made
famous by their use in the title of
jazz standards: Basin Street, South
Rampart, Canal and Bourbon Streets.
At many of the bars we found that there
was a jazz group on a little stage behind
the bar. The traditional line up of
clarinet, trumpet and trombone with
guitar or banjo, bass and drums was
the norm, though sometimes there would
be a piano. We heard some terrific jazz
that night, uninhibited and genuine;
in one place Bunk Johnson’s old band,
in another Papa Celestin’s in which
the legendary clarinettist Alphonse
Picou, remembered especially for his
famous ‘break’ in High Society,
based on the piccolo variation
in the Sousa march Stars and Stripes,
was playing. He was still playing
on his old and unique clarinet with
its little turned up wooden bell. It
was here that my friend Jack Brymer,
our principal clarinettist, not only
a great
orchestral
musician and soloist, but also an experienced
jazz musician, was persuaded to join
the group for a couple of numbers. It
was wonderful to see Jack, still in
full evening dress, white tie and tails,
alongside the five black musicians.
In the deep South this was indeed a
unique occasion. Though, since those
times, mixed groups of musicians are
not at all unusual, it would be unlikely
that one would even now find one white
musician with five that were black.
As the
tour proceeded and we wilted, Beecham
seemed to go from strength to strength
– one Southern critic called him ‘The
Great Little Metrognome!’ He was not
pleased, preferring to jest at the expense
of others rather than being on the receiving
end.
Leaving
New Orleans we continued to make our
way north through Tennessee and Kentucky
and up through the mid-west on towards
Chicago, but never crossing the Mississippi.
The journeys had now become even longer,
several of seven and eight hours. When
a journey like that was followed by
a concert at 8.30pm, as happened on
a few occasions, one was quite exhausted.
By now it was nearly the end of November,
we had been on the road for eight weeks
and when we arrived in Chicago it was
very cold. Walking towards our hotel,
which was right by Lake Michigan, with
the wind blowing straight at one off
the lake, it was like swallowing carving
knives. It is not called ‘The Windy
City’ for nothing.
One
of the many concerts we gave on the
way back towards New York was in Buffalo.
When the concert ended at about 11.00
p.m. the orchestra was taken by coach
to Niagara Falls, about 25 miles from
Buffalo. In 1950 it was still possible
for someone with the prestige that Beecham
enjoyed to make special arrangements
so that when we arrived at the Falls,
even though it was near midnight and
the viewing platform was closed it was
opened up and the lights turned on especially
for us. It was a quite magical experience.
I wonder if it would be possible to
arrange for this today, just for a visiting
orchestra?
The
following day we made the five-hour
coach journey to Syracuse, for what
proved to be perhaps the hardest part
of the tour. After the concert, which
ended at 10.45 p.m., we were taken by
coach to the railway station to catch
the 11.55 p.m. night train to New York.
When we arrived there we had to leave
the train at 7.00 a.m.., go to our hotel
to check in and then make our way to
Carnegie Hall in time for a short rehearsal
at 11.00 a.m. As it was a Sunday the
concert was in the afternoon at 3.00
pm. The next day we rehearsed in New
York in preparation for an evening concert
the following day in Philadelphia at
8.30 p.m., after which we returned to
New York once again. The next day we
gave our final concert in Carnegie Hall.
With only two more days to go we were
given one of our merciful free days.
We had all thought that the concert
in Carnegie Hall would be the last one,
before going home. But no! They managed
to squeeze in one more, in the small
town of Bethlehem.
It
had been a great experience and in a
way a nodal point in our lives. Just
as there was for my generation always
to be ‘before and after the war’, for
those on that tour there would always
be ‘before and after we went to America’.
Looking through the schedule for the
tour I see that there were only three
days on which we did not do a concert,
have a rehearsal or travel. In all we
did 52 concerts in 64 days. It was very
tiring but never boring: with Beecham
no two concerts of the same programme
were ever quite the same. However, on
this tour we had an exceptionally large
repertoire, playing 50 different compositions
in all.
Chapter
9
