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The last time 1 attended a performance of the Dallas Symphony Orchestra at the Music Hall, which was sometime last spring, the rumors of its imminent collapse were unconfirmed. The confirmation came quickly enough, and for a full explanation of its inevitability I recommend John Merwin’s excellent account on page 43. But that evening the rumors seemed unsubstantial, and as I nestled in my luxurious Music Hall seat two things impressed me. The first, which inspired some hope, was the excellent quality of the concert itself. The second, which caused despair, was the size of the audience. The hall was not half full, and the empty seats were mostly among those reserved (and presumably paid for) by season ticket holders. Later, when the announcement of the season’s suspension was made, my memory of those empty seats did more to help me understand the symphony’s woes than the myriad newspaper stories and commentaries that followed.

Our city’s present musical difficulty, as Merwin makes clear, has less to do with music than with money. And we mean money. Critics can prattle on about the lack of a strong “artistic commitment” or whatever, but the mistakes made in providing a financial sinecure for the symphony form the greater part of the story of its collapse. On the one hand we have men and women of some significance in the community touting the concept of a $15 million Texas Philharmonic, when they have no plan for its organization and have not obligated themselves to raising even the preliminary funds for its creation. On the other hand, we have another band of solid citizens earnestly scraping together $500,000 survival cash in a summer fund raising campaign when they know full well that they’ll be back with their hands outstretched to the very same contributors in only a few months. It’s the same old story of big talk and small change.

The summer survival cash was sufficient to revive the patient long enough to inform him that he’s dying, a courtesy that can be singularly depressing to the patient. Despite the best efforts of Henry S. Miller, who almost single-handedly undertook the rescue operation, the symphony has slipped back into its coma. Last summer’s hopeful talk about revival has faded away, and now we hear only murmured prayers for resurrection. But miracles of that kind require the services of Somebody with better connections than a Henry Miller or a Ralph Rogers.

That we haven’t yet been given a sign of the symphony’s salvation should cause us not to doubt the efficacy of prayer, but to question our own lack of faith. Who around here really believes Dallas can have a symphony orchestra?

Faith comes before money, and money follows faith (a principle that has not escaped our major churches). So where are the believers? Where is John Stemmons? Where is Bob Cul-lum? Where is Jim Aston? Where are our utility companies and our banks and our financial corporations?

If Dallas doesn’t have enough men and women who believe in music, where are the men and women who believe in Dallas?

Those men and women are still here, strong as ever, and their testament is the vitality of the city we live in.

The plain fact is that concerned citizens who believe Dallas ought to have a symphony – although they couldn’t possibly bother to attend one – aren’t much help anymore. And that’s just as true of the Stemmons and the Cullums and the Astons as it is of the nice people who appear on televised pep rallies on the symphony’s behalf.

If John Stemmons wanted to, or if the people who appear on symphony telethons wanted to, enough money could be raised – possibly will be raised -to get through another season. But what about next year? And the year after that?

Once again, who here really believes Dallas can have a symphony orchestra?

The men and women who answer that question, who make an intensely personal commitment to the affirmative, who give their commitment out of a natural and deep-seated love for music and not out of a misplaced sense of embarrassment that their city’s symphony has failed -these are the people who will save the symphony. And the hard facts of life teach us that even then they won’t do it unless they happen to be very, very rich.

Those who have worked so hard to save the symphony -the Philip Jon-ssons, Louise Kahns, Henry Millers -deserve our gratitude. But the time is approaching when the final rites must be pronounced over the grave of our orchestra. Only when our hopes for the present symphony are buried will its resurrection in a better form become a possibility. We’ve witnessed miracles in this city before, and the creation of a new, financially viable civic orchestra may become in the next decade the greatest miracle of all.



After extending the metaphor of death and resurrection beyond reasonable bounds, it may seem awkward to close with a few soft words on the passing of Lawrence Kelly. But he was a Catholic and a passionate man, and he would have understood that one cannot write about music in Dallas without paying tribute to his memory. He proved with the Dallas Civic Opera, time and time again, that resurrection is not an impossible feat.

He proved, too, that we can make music here, and it is a lesson we would do well to remember as we struggle to reach the high standards he set for us.