The Leonard Bernstein Letters (27 page)

Dear and Wonderful Aaron,

When I got your insidious invitation to go west I dismissed it immediately as a real wacky idea. As time goes by I find it becoming more and more a real possibility. The only thing is that I couldn't possibly come now, especially since I want very much to conduct that little concert in Boston. I did write you about it, didn't I? It's a pair of concerts in a little series whipped up by the first desks and associates of the BSO, to relieve the monotony. I've been asked to conduct and if possible play the piano at the same time. I plan to do the
Création du Monde
, thank God, the
Dumbarton Oaks
(in
two
rehearsals, forgive me) and a suite from PFB's [Paul Bowles'] opera. It seems to me that I could stick around here for the rest of July, finish up my chores at Warner's, do another Goldman Band pair (
Outdoor Overture
again, and Billy's [Schuman's]
Newsreel
), spend a few days with Kouss in Lenox, play him the Symph again, go to Boston, do the concert, and streak out like a wild one for Hollywood. Does that sound reasonable or not? Very simple. And then Mexico in September where we could meet Pfb who is dying to go there in September, and then home to become, God willing, an assistant conductor of the Philharmonic. Sort of a nice way to become 25 years old. Is it still possible with you, or has V. suddenly come home to roost? Of course I completely disregard the situation of his absence that makes my visit possible; I don't usually go in for being 2nd fiddle, but with you it looks good. (Or on you.) I'm all for it.

Of course a lot of this depends on whether that job that Henry Simon has offered me comes through or not. Remember? The book on opera he's writing, and I'm to do the musical part of it, for 2 or 3 thousand bucks. Which would make the trip feasible. I ought to know in a few days.

And the other catch is that I've received another call for an Army physical on Monday night. If my asthma is anything then like it is at this moment, they'll toss me out on my ear. I've really got it bad today, suddenly. Maybe unconscious preparation for the exam, as any analysand would say.

Had the final Frau session today, which is rather thought-provoking about what has been accomplished. Answer: much. The rest is up to me now, as you might imagine. And God knows what evil deterrent influences may befall me in sinful California. But come what may, I'm ready to try.

Found out who the other two conductors are who have been asked for assistantships by Rodzinsky. Guess. Max Goberman and Danny Saidenberg. What a trio we'd make – Saidenberg, Bernstein and Goberman, the three prides of Goebbels. No competition though, really, you must admit.

Had breakfast with Kouss yesterday at the St. Regis. Lovely time, he's a lovely man, it's a lovely hotel. He asked me up to Lenox for a few days, admitting that he hadn't really heard the Symphony very well when I played it to him in Boston, since there were so many people in the room, and he was tired. I think Reiner's enthusiasm kind of pepped him up. You were right about the jealousy though (you're always right). He was a little hurt that Fritz had copped the first performance. Added rather ruefully, “Well I have planned a date for you in November (when I told him that Reiner's date was in January) but I suppose now we'll have to make it for the second half of the season.” What an act. We'll see. I have a feeling I'm getting into a deep well full of hot water with this first performance racket. I really don't quite know how to handle the boys. But just think how well I'll understand someday when some young composer from Podunkville won't know how to handle me!

Went to a long cocktail party last night with Pfb [Paul Bowles], home of Paul Peters and Herr von Auw!!! Occasion: triumphant return to these parts of one [John] LaTouche. Great to-do. It went on all night, mostly me and Touche and Paul, and wound up at Peter Monro Jacks’ (horrid) and we finally left Touche there in his four o'clock cups. He's a terror if there ever was one. I sort of like him in a weird way, especially when he's sentimental in that mountebank manner. It's a wonderful aggressiveness.

Just thought: what will happen to poor David's piano lessons if I leave?

My asthma is really kicking up. I'm going to bed, [words blanked out] and creep guiltily back to some semblance of normalcy.

Morton Gould completely ruined
Billy the Kid
at the Stadium last week, to say nothing of
Newsreel
, which isn't so hot to begin with, to say nothing of Roy's
Ode to Truth
, which – well, I can't even describe it, except as an eternal measure of turdlike notes that will never be counted out. It's a piece with his three tricks in it, and it does make a very unpleasant sound. What else? Seems like I've given out with a lot of news. I'll have nothing to say when I arrive. Write me right away, and tell me you approve of my little plans.

I love you, as if I had to point
that
out!

L

The
Salon
cover is awful pretty.

Dear Second Fiddle Black Magic,

Too bad, too bad – this was the perfect moment for you to come to Hollywood. I dread to think what life will be like in August. I may not have a
house by then – it's only a sub-let and my lady threatens to come back “sometime in August”. Houses are scarcer than Filipinos out here, and
they've
practically disappeared. I will be doubled up with notes – right in the midst of it in August – with hardly a moment to eat, no less take care of a bombshell like thou. (There's an hour's worth of music to be written – I just finished calculating it. Where will all those notes come from, I wonder?)

On the other hand, I saw the announcements of the Boston concerts – it all looks quite impressive and naturally you're right to be staying and conducting. So of course come in August if you still think it's insidiously attractive – but consider yourself warned that you may have to sleep on park benches, and converse with a guy that has noten indigestion. Whatever you decide to do, you'd better make reservations now, because trains and planes are full-up. As you point out, the Army may step in and end this little pipe dream.

I was surprised you had a “final session” with the Frau. In my innocence I thought those things went on for years. You mean you're done? Finished? How extraordinario.

And exactly, may I ask, what is an assistantship to Rodzinsky? Is anything guaranteed? Or even promised? I'd like to know what's really up the old boy's sleeve. His monkey business with American composers in Cleveland makes me suspicious of the purity of his motives. But don't forget to neglect to mention my reaction to him.

Heinsheimer says that Reiner has programmed the
Salón
with the Philharmonic for Aug. 8th. Did you have a hand in that?

Spent an awful pleasant evening with Jesse and June [Ehrlich] in their little house perched precariously on top of a Hollywood mountain. They're so gentle and “different” – sort of poetic people. They had a soldier guest for me, who kept spewing venom at Irving Berlin all evening. Oh yes, and I met Leonard Posner out here. Remember him? He played that there violin piece of yours on WNYC. And also I met a guy who says he knows you – pretty cute looking too. A Mr. Pole. He was in the Army, but they let him out after 4 months – lung trouble. Anyway, that's what he says. Oh yeah, and I had dinner with Gail Kubik
¹²³
in a uniform. Quite a lot of boyish charm despite the bald head. And the Van Eycks – Ruth and Goetz (renamed Peter for the movies) have parties all the time. Harold Clurman came out and made me less lonely. (You lush thing you.) And thus and so.

Love

Dear Dr. Koussevitzky,

An amazing thing has happened! Thursday night I was deferred for all time from the army. As you know, my recent siege of asthmatic hay fever had caused me to be sent for reexamination to the Medical Advisory Board, where I fell into the hands of one Dr. Wesselhoeft, who is in charge. He is a firm believer in the British policy of leaving as intact as possible the cultural foundations of our country, even – or rather, especially – in time of war. He was therefore
happy
to disqualify me on medical grounds; and put me in Class IV, where, he assured me, “nothing can interfere with your career.”

I am therefore free to pursue my work through its next channel, whatever that may be; and I am happy to say that because of the spirit of the Medical Board, I feel no guilt whatsoever at my deferment.

Devotedly as always,

Leonard

Dear Serge Alexandrovich,

How I would love to be with you now to share my great joy with you! I am still so excited I can hardly write this letter. Everything seems to be going so well.

I finally had my talk with [Arthur] Judson and [Bruno] Zirato this morning. They were very nice indeed, and extremely authoritative. I realized immediately that they had the situation in hand, and that I was simply being told their terms, not asked my own. All of which was perfectly all right with me, since I feel so strongly about doing this job, and doing it as well as possible, that I would probably, in my enthusiasm, accept if there were no salary at all.

The first thing is that there is apparently to be no contract at all. As Zirato pointed out, he doesn't believe in them, and never had one with, for instance, [Mishel] Piastro. I am to receive $125 a week. I realize that this is not tremendous, and that there are only 28 weeks in the season. But I am very contented with it, especially insofar as my publishers have raised my weekly royalty advance to $50 a week, which will continue all year. I simply felt that until I have proved myself to the Philharmonic and to the public, I have no real right to make any demands. On the other hand, the absence of a contract has its advantages, because I can be free for the summer, or for any occasion that may arise. It makes finances a little bit unsure, of course, but believe me, I am very happy in spite of that. I hope you can understand the situation in which I found myself; in fact I am
sure
that you will
understand it. I simply could not ask $12,000 or any other sum for a job which thousands of conductors in this country would gladly pay to have. Once I have shown that I am of real value to the Society, then there is time enough for me to make demands. I am perfectly willing to seem naïve now; as long as I know myself that I am seeming naïve. The main thing is to do my job; if I can do that well enough, and if I can bear all the huge responsibilities that come with it, the rest will come by itself, I am sure. Believe me, I tried very hard to feel like Koussevitzky while I was in the Judson office, but I was only Leonard Bernstein, and I had to act as I did. Don't you think it is for the best?

And in the middle of all this, I only have to look at your picture in my room, and I am perfectly contented, knowing that there is one supreme friend that I have, who will understand whatever I do, mistakes included. I hope to see you very soon; meanwhile take good care of your health, and know that my love is with you always.

Leonard

My dear Leonard,

Needless to say that I am very happy about the news!
¹²⁵
It is a great chance and I do not doubt for one moment that you are going to make the best of it. You have the talent and the tenacity to put it over. I hope that the years spent at the Curtis with me will bear fruit.

As to your appearance in Pittsburgh on Jan. 28 & 30th, you will feel relieved to know that you are not expected to play the Triple or any other concerto. You will only conduct your Symphony and another work at the end of the program about which I would like to have your suggestions. Also – please let me know the name of the lady who is to sing the Symphony in Boston with you. Maybe we could use her also in Pittsburgh.

I shall be at the Hampshire House from Tuesday the 7th until Thursday the 9th in case that you want to get in touch with me.

Heartiest congratulations once more, in which Mrs. Reiner joins me.

Sincerely yours,

Fritz Reiner

Dollink Leonard,

I'm writing, I'm writing, I can't believe it. My pen is tracing figures on paper, making bold, masculine markings indicative of a strong character and a willful mind plus creative ability, yet with a strange strain of tenderness withal and a slight indication of liver trouble.

Forgive me for not writing sooner. As always was the case with the Revuers, we have been through parlous times. I'll give you a brief resumé.

The day we arrived, our agent, Kurt Frings, told us that
Duffy's Tavern
¹²⁶
was off. The varied producers had quarreled – but, said Kurt, this was a good thing because now we were free to receive really good offers. We opened at the New Trocadero & were sensational, so sensational that the owner let us go after 4 weeks because he figured that now that he was doing a landslide business, it would continue so without us. At this point we realized that no movie company wanted us. Too smart, they said. First M.G.M. turned us down. Then everybody else turned us down all the way down the line, including dinky little Universal, who screen-tested us and said we stank. We were in despair. Then – our agent Kurt Frings (who, by the way, is a sensational agent, plus a Viennese gentleman) got us an audition at 20th Century Fox, right on the lot. It seems that 20th was the one company that hadn't caught us at the Trocadero. Oh God, we said, an audition, how horrible. We went to the audition. First, in walked high and mighty Lew Schreiber, Darryl Zanuck's chief assistant. We trembled. Then all the producers and directors – Lubitsch,
¹²⁷
Schambitsch,
¹²⁸
Perlberg,
¹²⁹
LeBaron
¹³⁰
etc., etc. And finally the great Darryl himself in simple slacks & polo shirt. We started doing our numbers. For four numbers no one smiled. We noticed that a number of them wanted to laugh, but had to stifle it, because Zanuck didn't look happy or pleased. Then suddenly it happened. D.Z. grinned. HE GRINNED!! Then he chuckled. CHUCKLED!! From that second on we were in. Everybody there roared & rolled & clutched their sides with helpless laughter. We did number after number & they screamed. That very day we were signed for a super-duper all-dancing all-technicolor, all-Alice Faye
¹³¹
picture
with a minimum guarantee of 6 weeks at a very fine figure indeed. The picture doesn't start till the middle of October, & we don't quite know what we're doing till then. Maybe a two or three week engagement at the Mark Hopkins
¹³²
in San Francisco.

The picture by the way is called
Greenwich Village
, and we're going to do
Bazooka
in it, plus a new spot which should be something stupid about the Vie de Bohème of Greenwich Village. We'll have to build it around a song by Nacio Herb Brown – in march tempo – sample lyrics as follows (lyrics
not
by us):

Plus another undetermined spot, plus parts in the picture itself. All in all, the set-up looks very good for us.

Hollywood is the weirdest country in the world. I'm only afraid you would love it here. One day Aaron [Copland] & I were envisioning the way you might take to it – a mad swirl of parties and gatherings, with you the life of the [party]. Then you awakening in the morning with a hangover – or fluff on your lungs, a fly on your tongue, etc., etc. – and filled with remorse. “My God, I'm not getting any work done – Oh God, what the hell am I doing – it's fantastic, I'm not accomplishing anything. Oh, my God!”

Of course, I should not talk. Almost everyone I've ever known is out here and everyone is rich as Croesus, and life for me has been that self-same swirl – not terribly mad but the liquor and the thick steaks flow. It's a terribly unreal life out here, if you're with prosperous people who've decided you're a comer & sort of take you up. At first your conscience bothers you that these swimming pools & groaning boards exist while the whole world is starving and dying, & generally tightening its belt. After a while, you relax & enjoy it. After that, you suddenly become horribly bored with it. It's really meaningless & stupid & everyone out here is bored & screaming for some kind of diversion. You see the movie people out here never exchange anything resembling ideas. Most of them are stupid to begin with & impossibly spoiled by all their money, & the more intelligent minority are just
afraid
to exchange any intelligent remarks. Nothing is secret out here, and even the most casual statement might drift back to the wrong
person, & shit, you just mustn't offend anybody. The first thing you know, you'll be out on your ear. A good friend of mine is a movie director, Frank Tuttle. He is prosperous now & back in the dough, through having discovered & put across LADD: an Alan. But he was black-listed for almost 4 years because of having openly expressed sympathy for the Loyalist cause back in 1937.

I'll write more about H–wood later. Oy, I've seen so many movie faces and know them all, all the sad little extras & bit players. As a matter of fact, I've scared the hell out of a lot of people with my well-stocked memory.

Incidentally, Tuttle took us out to visit Charlie Chaplin last Sunday. Quelle disappointment! Charlie is now a fattish, ageing man, and he insists on being the life of the party. He was bounding around all afternoon, clowning, grimacing, putting on native Balinese and Hindu phonograph records & dancing madly to them. This sounds charming, I know, & had you been there we might have had some fun with it – but somehow Chaplin was a little more frightening than amusing, mainly I think because there was more of an air of desperation than joie de vi[vr]e in his cutting up. The guy just didn't look cute and I kept thinking, “Who does this mincing fat-necked little fellow think he is, imitating Charlie Chaplin?”

I've seen Uncle Aaron a few times since I've been here. He's been working furiously finishing up his film
¹³³
– and the scoring was completed last night. Aaron let me come to the studio to watch. They had only five small scenes to complete, but the music sounded fine. There's an especially cute little theme for Walter Brennan who seems to be portraying a crusty, lovable old peasant.
¹³⁴
It's sort of a cross between a Slavonic dance & Schumann's “Jolly Farmer”. Anyway, that's the mood.

The orchestra that recorded the score was largely made up of the Warner Bros. musicians’ crew and I never saw musicians as excited & enthusiastic over anything as they were over Aaron's score. It was just miraculous to them after all the Steiner–Korngold crap they've been playing. Imagine a composer who not only does not have the hero & heroine do their big kiss to the accompaniment of surging strings, & bl-w-l-anging harps in great Straussian release, but cuts out the music entirely at that point.

Do you see Billy Schuman? Give him & Frankie my love & tell him that I have seen much of his old friend & co-partner, Frankie Loesser, plus his wife. Loesser, it seems, is an old admirer of ours, a hysterical admirer, in fact, and he & his wife have been most generous to us – many dinners, parties, etc. He is a typical Hollywood case – horribly prosperous and a back-slapping one of the boys. He is a very nice guy, though, and really talented at writing lyrics. His new movie
Thank Your Lucky Stars
has some very nice stuff in it, which he wrote
with Arthur Schwartz, and any song he touches these days is a sure hit. But a typical example of Hollywood in what he said about Billy Schuman. If you repeat this to Billy I will loathe you to my dying day. I was having a nice conversation with him the first time I met him. Here is a man, I said to myself, who hasn't gone Hollywood. Then I mentioned Billy – “Yeah, he's a swell guy”, says Loesser, “but you know Adolph, where the hell is he today? That long-haired stuff doesn't get you anywhere. O.K. he's teaching & turning out that symphony stuff & he's got a wonderful wife & a home in Westchester – but what the hell, he's going to end up on the shit end of the stick. He ain't on that gravy train, Adolph. There's no dough on the Icky express” etc., etc. –

For great Horowitz’ sake don't tell this to Billy. It just might get back to Frankie L. And besides Loesser really loves him. He was just giving out with the Hollywood jive that only strong men don't succumb to the lure of.

Loesser told me a cute story of him & Billy when young. Loesser is quite a small guy about 5 foot 4. One day he & Billy were walking down a street. Suddenly, out of the clear blue sky Billy turned to Frank & said, “What the hell, I'm bigger than you”, and proceeded to wallop the shit out of him.

Enough of all this crap!

All the Revuers are fine, Betty [Comden] is ecstatically happy. Lizzie [Reitell]
¹³⁵
is here on a 16 day leave. Little Alvin [Hammer] is soon sending for his wife & child. Judy [Holliday] is this moment on her way to New York for 2 weeks. Why don't you call her at mama's around Monday. SU-7-6229. She'll be able to tell you in detail of what's been going on.

Write me everything that's been happening to you, at once, do you hear, at once!!!!!!!!!

I'll write you more later.

I think I've been pretty happy here so far, and I look staggeringly better than I have my whole life.

I have a grizzly feeling that we've really got a future in this place, Lord help me, even if we do just do one picture, we won't be back in town before January.

So please write!

Love

Shrdlu

P.S. I hate people who go to Hollywood.

P.P.S. Heard about your appointment with the Philharmonic. Nice goin’ kid. Congrats & all that. But strictly between us, where's all that long-haired stuff going to get you? You don't want to end up on the shit end of the stick. You'd better get on that gravy train, son. But nice goin’ kid.

Write, write write.

I love you

I miss you.

Regards to everybody.

What happened to your draft board?

Paul Bowles?

David Diamond?

Your love life?

Your Boston concerts?

Warner Bros?

Rhoda Saletan?

Your symphony? Reiner? Koussevitzky?

See, it's wonderful about the Philharmonic. It's thrilling!! It's marvelous!! I can't wait for the Copland festival!!

Have you seen Jesse Ehrlich
¹³⁶
& weib? His wife is
not
the big fat colored woman you dreamt of. […]

We have a wonderful apartment here. It's more of a house than an apartment. 6 rooms, 2 baths, 3 radios, piano, bamboo liquor bar, roof terrace. We got it by a sheer miracle, because you know the housing conditions here are impossible. Viola Essen & her mother found it for us etc. etc. There's an extra bed waiting for you. Come out!!

Love,

Adolph