After the gift of Tanglewood to the Boston Symphony Orchestra (BSO), Gertrude Robinson Smith wanted The Eagle to continue to call the concerts the Berkshire Symphonic Festival (BSF) concerts. George Edman, editor of the Berkshire Evening Eagle, and BSF Board member told Smith there was no chance. From 1937 onward, he said, every newspaper would call it Tanglewood; it was shorter and more memorable.
The first year that the BSF made a profit was 1936. In their first profitable year, the BSF established a “promotional reserve.” It had nothing to do with promotion as we understand it. It was money set aside at the end of one season to produce the concerts the following year.
When the five-year contract between the BSO and the BSF was signed in 1937, it stated that net profits from concerts would be divided equally. BSF included the contribution to the promotional reserve under expenses.
In January 1941, a letter from the BSO Board stated it wanted half the amount before the contribution to the “promotional fund” was made. BSO also demanded reimbursement for the years 1936 to 1940.
BSF attorney Stuart Montgomery said, “I am surprised that any objection should be raised now since it was never raised before.” The objection was raised in 1941 as a condition for BSO renewing a contract that BSO did not want to renew.
BSO Board President Jerome D. Greene wrote Edman to make his case:
The acquisition of Tanglewood, the growing success of the festival, and establishment of the Berkshire Music Center are a wonderful culmination of the hopes of [your board]. The culmination has in fact gone far beyond what was in people’s minds when the festival was started. Far beyond anything the BSF would be in a position to effect. If this could only be recognized by your board so the transfer of control to the BSO could come about as a generous and wholehearted recognition of the position, it would be ideal.
Not surprisingly, BSF Board Chair Smith did not agree. The “advancement and material gain to the Berkshires” was the first concern of BSF, with classical music being a means rather than an end. Smith wondered if the priorities of the BSO would be the same. She doubted it and said, “God help the Berkshires if Boston takes over.”
All-out war, the bloodless kind in courtrooms with lawyers and accountants, might have broken out between the two organizations, but Pearl Harbor changed everything for everyone. That was real war. For three years, 1942 to 1945, in deference to the war effort, the shed and the grounds were silent.
Behind the scenes, there were attempts at compromise. All failed. The BSO stated, “We will not be employed by a lesser organization.” It was over.
On October 5, 1945, Robinson Smith stepped aside with the grace Greene had hoped for and called ideal. With typical flair, Smith resigned in a 125-word telegram; 85 of the words follow:
It gives me great pleasure to notify you that the Board of Trustees of the Berkshire Symphonic Festival at their annual meeting held today in Stockbridge, voted unanimously to make a gift of the music shed and its contents at Tanglewood to the Boston Symphony Orchestra thus giving them entire control and management of the future festivals at Tanglewood. Our best wishes to your trustees, your great conductor, and your fine musicians for many years of happy and successful festivals.
Greene accepted with pleasure—and alacrity. The old contract was null and void, and BSO could set its own schedule. The BSF gave the BSO a 6,000-seat shed, and the BSO, in a move meant to be gracious, not ironic, gave Robinson Smith one seat in the shed for her lifetime.
Unlike Smith and BSF, it is quite possible the BSO never saw itself as part of our community. As early as 1937, the contract, toward the bottom, had the phrase “Between Stockbridge and Lenox, Massachusetts.” Nonetheless…
For 100 years, from the 1840s to the 1940s, a few hundred acres in Stockbridge have been known worldwide first as The American Lake District, then the Berkshire Music Center, and finally the Tanglewood Music Festival.
When Randell Thompson dedicated the Alleluia to the Berkshire Music Center, he said, “and all the angels that hover there.” American artists, writers, and composers, shared the view and the viewpoint: This land is magic.
