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Culture By The Carload
WHEN Johann Strauss, the younger, stepped from the gangplank on his first visit to America in 1872 there were plenty of surprises awaiting him. His first impression of America was an unfavorable one. All he had seen 80 far were the fisheries which dotted Boston's harbor. But his next impressions were anything but boring, for at the foot of the gangplank were scores of American women clamoring for locks of his black, curly hair!
The master of the waltz loved this attention — the out-and-out idolatry — and he dramatically cut off the desired curls and placed them in the eager hands. In fact, he gave away so much hair that his manager feared he'd soon be completely shorn.
"Fear not," said the maestro, "I have a Newfoundland dog, you know, and his hair is the same color as mine."
Strauss was in the mood now for the Peace Jubilee of 1872. held in Boston. The darling of the European courts, famous for his "On the Beautiful Blue Danube Waltz," had been persuaded to conduct at a performance of the Jubilee which celebrated the 100th Anniversary of America's independence.
Engaging the composer wasn't an easy job. Why should he leave the comforts and the plaudits of the continent to travel to an "uncultured" country? Not until a complete tour was arranged for him. including New York and Philadelphia, did he consent. Even then he showed little enthusiasm.
During the busy hundred years of expansion, people of America were accused of having no culture and the ingenious Boston committee was resolved to display more culture at one sitting than was ever seen or heard before.
Strauss, who could make his demands for any appearance, said, "You must guarantee that 2 5,000 persons will be present at this concert."
The committee members smiled. "Twenty-five thousand? There will be 50,000 there," they promised.
There was an element of disbelief in Strauss' expression. "And I must have a full orchestra!" he continued.
"Indeed," he was told. "You will have 21,500 musicians obeying every movement of your baton!"
"This is a Yankee joke," Strauss accused.
"No joke at all," came the ready answer. "There will be 1,500 instrument-playing musicians plus 20,000 singers."
It was true. The committee had called in choral groups and choirs for miles around, and it had engaged bands from England. Ireland, France and Germany to supplement those of America. All were set to play the big number, "On the Beautiful Blue Danube."
The "shot heard 'round the word" had been from the Boston vicinity a century earlier, and now the loudest music heard in the world was going to come from Copley Square in Boston itself.
Strauss was taken to the immense building constructed for the occasion. One of the first sights was that of a huge bear being led on a chain.
"What is this?" he shouted.
One committeeman hesitated a moment, then answered. "The bear has been trained to play one of the eight-foot bass drums!"
Strauss flew into a rage. "Acfi/" he cried disgustedly. "And I suppose