Touring Bostonians

On at least one proposition, music-loving Bostonians consistently cast a unanimous vote: their Boston Symphony Orchestra is the best in the world. Last summer, with the missionary spirit of Pilgrim Fathers, they dipped into pocket, sent the Boston's 102 instrumentalists, under Conductors Charles Munch and Pierre Monteux, on their first tour of darkest Europe--Amsterdam, Brussels, London and Paris (TIME, May 19, 1952).

This spring, their faith confirmed by a Europe obviously thronging with converts, they dug down again, sent the Boston on its first broad tour through the dark regions west of the Alleghenies.

Matter of Pride. Among the larger cities on the itinerary were New Orleans, Dallas, Los Angeles, San Francisco and Denver. But the Boston also carried its flag into such towns as El Paso, Texas, Santa Barbara, Fresno, and Sacramento, Calif., and Provo, Utah. Wherever it went, the Boston offered only one standard: the same kind of solid musical fare it plays at home, with generous servings of Brahms, Berlioz, Stravinsky and Honegger.

The Boston's trustees did not expect the 7,000-mile trip to pay for itself, and the final deficit is likely to be the expected one: close to $30,000. But they counted with confidence on making new friends for the orchestra--and new customers for the Boston's recordings.

The trip was also a matter of pride with the trustees, conductors and musicians: the name of Serge Koussevitzky, who was the Boston's director for 25 years, was a household word across the U.S. Since his departure in 1949, they felt that the orchestra had to prove itself all over again.

And, said Manager George E. Judd at mid-tour, "We're proving it." Eager Greeters. While the orchestra was proving itself, its members were piling up travel stories. About half of them were in the West for the first time; a good 80% spent hours snapping scenery with their cameras. In El Paso, enthusiastic Texans draped Conductor Monteux in a Mexican serape; in Tucson, a vigilante committee routed Conductor Munch out of his berth and--with assurances that it was the greatest prize within their gift-- led him to a tree. slung a rope around his neck and treated him to an honorary hanging.

Last week, swinging homeward through Denver and Chicago, the traveling Bostonians began to think that perhaps the heathen west of the mountains were more eager for salvation than the faithful at home. "They just seem to explode with the music, here in the West," said a percussionist after an overflow concert in Provo. Said a clarinetist, thinking of the many times that Southern and Western audiences had given the Bostonians standing ovations: "Back home, they take us so much more for granted."

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