Evening star., 1940-07-21
StOkOWski
Assemblies
Fine Artists
Rehearsal Reveals
Perfection He
Has Taught
By Garter Brooke Jones'.

Dy ~ S"tcV IL OOHc JUbcSs
You were in Atlantic City, let's
assume, and you left the mid-July
crowds Gathering lazily over the
boardwalk on a mild morning, and
the surf booming in placidly. and
wandered out of curiosity into the
resort towns colossal Convention
Hall. While you studied the post
ers in the lobby, group of young
people, girls and boys, trooped in.
They wore coveralls, knickers and
other garments appropriate to the
season and the spot. Their ages,
you'd guess, ranged between 18 and
Is. They might have been gath
cred up from any college campus.
They laughed and chartered like
any gang Of youthful vacationers,
and you might well have dismissed
them with: "Good-looking bunch
of youngsters" But, assuming that
somehow they held your interest,
you decided to follow them in.
A further assumption is necessary
that you slipped by the guards at
the turnstiles, and, mingling with
the crowd, escaped the vigilance
of a uniformed officer who sat at
the door of an empty hall. Inside,
you slumped into a seat, wondering
perhaps what they were about, since
you hadn't the faintest idea who
they were or why they were there
They collected an assortment of
musical instruments and made their
way to the stage. Still there was
no reason why you should waste
any more time there. Some school
orchestra or other amateur outfit,
you surmised. Perhaps, as the
strings and horns and flutes began
a preliminary cacophony, you start
ed to slip out. dreading tinny
performance of the triumphal march
from Aida" or a screechy version
of the William Tell" overture-or
any rendition at all of either shop
worn favorite.
But at that moment man in
dark sport shirt appeared. You
didn't get a square look at him as
he climbed into a high seat over
looking the young musicians, but
there something familiar about his
lean face and sharp nose, about his
silvery mound of hair And as
he held up an eloquent hand, the
young laughter was silenced, the
glib quips stilled. and a tense, eX-
pectant hush gripped you. Some
how you couldn't have left then.
Massed Strings Speak.
Bows were poised, woodwinds and
brasses held at the ready. Then
the arm swept down and the massed
strings spoke. Their voices thun-
dered, deep in some ethereal drama
far from the clutter of the beaches
and the boardwalk. They trailed
away, and the flutes and oboes took
a cue and uttered their more placid
lines. The drama went on, from
mood to mood, and nothing else in
a tottering world mattered.
There was an incredible element
In that empty hall. 1t seemed i'm
possible that the deft, sure musi-
cianship. the verve and the deep
feeling. could be coming from those
100 youngsters who almost romped
up to the auditorium ramp a mo-
ment before.
But this, Of course, was no aggre-
cation of mere youthful proficiency,
OF mere talent. There was technical
skill OF high order-there had to
be-but there was something beyond
that. For the man with the magic
arms was Leopold Stokowski and
the Group was the All-American
Youth Orchestra, which is going to
South America soon, but meanwhile
will honor Washington with It's in
augural concert at the Water Gate
Tuesday night.
And these players, youngsters that
most of them are-the oldest is
around 26-were picked from more
than 10000 aspirants who were given
additions in every section of the
country. Knowing this, you'd expect
them to be good, each to be a soloist.
But you wouldn't have expected
such a NEEDING of their instruments
after a few rehearsals, such an
amazing grasp of ensemble playing
Those opening chords that ushered
In the rehearsal were from a great
"Toccata and Fugue in G Minor"
by Bach. The massive sweep of music
might have come from DR.. Stokow-
skis old symphony, by the Philadel-