Dangerous Melodies

by Jonathan Rosenberg

  A few years later, Aaron Copland found himself playing a role in the Cold War, when the second Red Scare, inflamed by Senator Joseph McCarthy’s toxic machinations, polluted American political culture, to say nothing of the world of classical music. Among the many adversely affected by McCarthyism, the composer was hauled before the Wisconsin senator’s committee (the Senate Permanent Subcommittee on Investigations of the Government Operations Committee) in 1953, a body that compelled scores of Americans to testify about their past activities and associations. Allegedly intended to enhance America’s security in the face of a purported domestic Communist threat, the committee, the senator, and his zealous aides could not document a single concrete example of an individual who threatened the United States.131 As for Copland, it was not just that he was ordered to appear before McCarthy’s committee. Although that was deeply unsettling, his music was also targeted.

  In January 1953, Congressman Fred Busbey, an Illinois Republican, spoke out against an upcoming performance of Copland’s A Lincoln Portrait, which was to be played at Dwight Eisenhower’s presidential inauguration concert a few weeks later. In remarks read into the Congressional Record, Busbey, who admitted he knew little about music, questioned Copland’s patriotism and argued that the sole reason for banning the piece was “the known record of Aaron Copland for activities, affiliations, and sympathies with and for causes that seemed to me to be more in the interest of an alien ideology than the things representative of Abraham Lincoln.” Busbey cared little that Copland’s music was performed frequently or that the composer was at the pinnacle of the music world. The quality of the work was not the issue; instead, the congressman explained, Eisenhower’s inaugural concert was “no place for Copland’s music.”132

  Busbey contended that experience had “taught us that the real Communist is not always easy to identify.” And there were surely many works by “patriotic” Americans, which the inaugural committee could choose.133 The Illinois politician then entered into the record an extraordinarily detailed account of Copland’s questionable political activities and affiliations, starting in the 1930s, which HUAC had provided. Concluding, Busbey declared there was no room in government or in either party for people whose “loyalty and patriotism” were suspect.134

  In response, the inaugural committee struck Copland’s music from the day’s concert.135 But the decision to ban the piece caused a stir, for the work, composed during World War II, was one of Copland’s most overtly patriotic compositions. Thirteen minutes long, A Lincoln Portrait, which won the Pulitzer Prize in 1945, was written for full orchestra and a narrator who intoned the writings and speeches of the iconic president. Premiered in 1942, the piece met with enormous success throughout the war, including a memorable performance that summer in the nation’s capital when the orchestra played it in the open air a mere five hundred feet from the Lincoln Memorial. With Eleanor Roosevelt and members of Congress and the cabinet in attendance, Copland heard the piece, led by Andre Kostelanetz, performed live for the first time. The performance, just seven months after the attack on Pearl Harbor, had an unforgettable impact on Washington, as suggested by Kostelanetz’s comment to Copland that he had felt the words of the sixteenth president “with a terrible new clarity.”136

  But in ten years, much had changed. The country had gone from fighting a world war to waging a cold war, and Copland, once celebrated, was now seen by some as a man of uncertain loyalty. Learning of the ban, the League of Composers, a New York–based organization, sprang to the composer’s defense, issuing a statement to the inaugural committee, which Copland approved before it went out, attesting to Copland’s impact as an artist and a constructive force on the cultural scene: “No American composer, living or dead, has done more for American music and the growth of the reputation of American culture throughout the civilized world than Aaron Copland.” Barring his music, particularly a piece about Abraham Lincoln, would “hold us up as a nation to universal ridicule.”137

  A few weeks later, writing to the League of Composers, Copland defended himself by deploying the rhetoric of the time. “I have no past or present political activities to hide. I have never at any time been a member of any political party: Republican, Democratic, or Communist.” He then offered a bitter critique of his country in the era of Joseph McCarthy: “We are becoming the targets of a powerful pressure movement led by small minds.”138

  The composer had other supporters, and they were not reluctant to repudiate the ban. In a piece entitled “Wicked Music,” the New Republic castigated Congressman Busbey, asserting that he had leveled charges against Copland before investigating the matter. While some organizations Copland had supported would “undoubtedly seem leftist to a rightist administration,” it was essential to recognize that he had brought “international glory to American music.” Pointing to Busbey’s vacuous position, the periodical noted that music critic Paul Hume had informed the congressman that Air Force bands and other ensembles supported by tax dollars frequently played Copland’s music. Busbey was shocked: “We must look into this!” Finally, the New Republic highlighted Copland’s “unsympathetic attitude toward Communism,” which he had expressed in a recent book.139

  New York Times music critic Howard Taubman was also distressed. A Lincoln Portrait represented the composer’s “effort to express his profound admiration of a great American.” Replete with “patriotic feeling,” the music was “an affirmation of Americanism.” Banning the work, Taubman asserted, would not diminish Copland’s stature; his music would “grace any American festivity.”140 In a Washington Post column, Hume rebuked those who had banned the piece, asserting the decision was redolent of Nazism and Soviet totalitarianism. “The road is clear. It was traveled in Germany, and it is being traveled in Russia today.” This should be vitally important to “every American musician and music lover,” for similar policies caused the music of Mendelssohn and others to be “silenced” in Hitler’s Germany. Hume wondered: “Can it happen here?”141

  That Americans were afraid to condemn such policies during the McCarthy years is widely believed, though letters written to the Washington Post belie the notion. Dawn Fogle observed that the “quality of a man’s music speaks for itself,” whereas “the man’s affiliations do not bespeak the quality of his music.” Banning certain pieces was a repudiation of democracy.142 From Charlottesville, Virginia, Roy Clark wondered how McCarthy and Busbey could imagine they were contributing to the global struggle against communism. After all, Soviet composers had been compelled to alter their music to better “express Soviet ideas.” We in the United States had decided this would be a country where such “totalitarianism” had no place.143

  Nor did the normally mild-mannered Copland remain silent, deciding, instead, to issue a forceful statement defending his patriotism and questioning the wisdom of the committee’s decision. This was the first time he had heard that a piece of music had been removed from a program because of the composer’s “alleged affiliations,” he declared. “I would have to be a man of stone not to have deeply resented” the decision and the reasons behind it. No one had ever questioned his patriotism, he said. “My music, by its nature, and my activities as a musical citizen must speak for me: Both have been dedicated to the cultural fulfillment of America.” The musician rejected the wisdom of the decision in a divided world. “I cannot for the life of me see how the cause of the free countries will be advanced by the banning of my works.” Comparing Soviet ideas about creative freedom to America’s, he asserted, “Bad as our situation may be, no American politician has yet called for the banning of an American composer’s work because of its aesthetic content,” as happens in the Soviet Union. Indeed, “I’d a thousand times prefer to have my music turned down by Republican congressmen on political grounds . . . than have it turned down for aesthetic reasons.” This was so, he acidly noted, because “[m]y politics—tainted or untainted—are certain to die with me, but my music, I am foolish enough to imagine, might just possibly outlive
the Republican Party.”144

  And Copland was not finished, for he soon issued another statement refuting claims that he had belonged to numerous Communist-front organizations, a charge made by HUAC. On this, he was unambiguous, again seeking to establish his commitment to American values. “I wish to state emphatically that any interest that I have ever had in any organization has been through my concern with cultural and musical affairs.” He said he was unaware that any of these groups were “subversive or communistic,” and he made his allegiance to the country clear. “I say unequivocally that I am not now and never have been a Communist or member of the Communist Party or of any organization that advocates . . . the overthrow of the United States Government.” The musician concluded with a forceful proclamation of loyalty: “As one who has benefited so greatly from the unique opportunities that America offers its citizens, . . . I am far too grateful for the privilege of being an American” to join any organization that served as a “forum for Communist propaganda.”145

  Despite his declaration, a few months later Copland was summoned to appear before Senator Joseph McCarthy’s committee, which was wreaking havoc on the lives of individuals and on American political culture. The telegram reached the composer on a Friday in late May 1953, and a few days later, having retained the services of a lawyer, Copland sat down to testify before the committee on a variety of matters, not least his fidelity to the ideals of the United States.146

  The closed two-hour hearing featured the senator from Wisconsin, his chief counsel and loyal aide, Roy Cohn, and Senators Karl Mundt of South Dakota and John McClellan of Arkansas. The transcript, released fifty years after the hearing, suggests a cat-and-mouse game, with a nimble Copland darting to and fro, doing his best to avoid being caught in his inquisitors’ claws. As Copland biographer Howard Pollack noted, “Whether or not Copland prevaricated under questioning, he clearly was not altogether forthcoming.” There was much he would not divulge, either about his friends or himself, and when asked to discuss his past affiliations and activities, Copland repeatedly said he could not recall, did not know, or might have participated in some of the activities the committee believed he had.147 Of particular interest to McCarthy were Copland’s three turns as a lecturer working overseas for the US government, twice in Latin America in the 1940s and once in Italy in 1951.148 The senator’s concern about those episodes stemmed from his partisan desire to tarnish the reputation of the State Department, which had been controlled by the Democratic Party in the years Copland worked overseas, representing the United States as a composer and teacher.

  Early on, McCarthy posed the key question: “Mr. Copland, have you ever been a Communist?” Copland stated he had never been a Communist and was not one currently. Asked if he had ever been “a Communist sympathizer,” the composer was less direct. “I am not sure that I would be able to say what you mean by the word ‘sympathizer.’ From my impression of it I would have never thought of myself as a Communist sympathizer.” Asked if he had ever attended a Communist Party meeting, the musician replied, “I am afraid I don’t know how you define a Communist meeting.” Had he ever attended a meeting attended by a “sizable number” of Communists? “Not to my knowledge,” was the reply. Had anyone ever discussed with him the possibility of joining the party? “Not that I recall.” Were any of his “close friends Communists?” “Not to my knowledge.”149

  With a hint of exasperation, McCarthy told Copland he had been called before the committee because of his role in the overseas exchange program and because he had a “public record of association with [Communist] organizations officially listed by the attorney general.” The senator from Wisconsin then offered the composer from Brooklyn some advice: “There are witnesses who come before this committee,” McCarthy pronounced, who “often indulge in the assumption that they can avoid giving us the facts.” Growing more severe, the politician continued, “Those who underestimate the work the staff has done in the past end up occasionally before a grand jury for perjury, so I suggest” that “you tell the truth or take advantage of the Fifth Amendment.” After a bit of back and forth, Copland spoke about the challenge he faced. “I came here with the intention of answering honestly all the questions put to me. If I am unable to do that, it is the fact that memory slips in different ways over a long period of time.”150

  When asked by Roy Cohn and McCarthy about his position on “the trouble between the Soviet Union and Finland” in the late 1930s, an issue that had animated the left in the United States, and whether he had favored an American declaration of war against Finland, Copland demonstrated some exasperation of his own. “I spend my days writing symphonies, concertos, ballads [sic], and I am not a political thinker.” Pressed on whether he felt the United States should have declared war against Finland, which was fighting the Soviet Union, Copland was clear. “I would say the thought would be extremely uncharacteristic of me. I have never thought that the declaration of war would solve . . . serious problems. I would say I was a man of hope for a peaceful solution.” Had his name been forged on a document that indicated he had supported such a policy? “I wouldn’t know,” Copland replied.151

  The hearing unfolded in this fashion, with queries, innuendos, and assertions about Copland’s activities, beliefs, and views during a period of more than fifteen years. The Hitler-Stalin Pact; his responsibilities as an overseas lecturer for the government; his views on communism; his connection to numerous organizations linked to the American left; his position on the Spanish Civil War: All these matters and more were thrust before him. In response, Copland described himself as largely unaware of the political implications of his activities.152

  Asked if anyone in the State Department had ever wondered about his membership in “various Communist front movements,” Copland said they had not. Because “of my position in the musical world and [as] a teacher, . . . most people” assumed they knew “whether or not I was a Communist. The question never came up.”153 Asked if Communists should be permitted to teach in American schools, Copland said he had not thought about it, and if he had, he would let the faculty decide. Were he a faculty member, what would he recommend? “I couldn’t give you a blanket decision . . . without knowing the case.” Pressed further, Copland responded, “I certainly think it would be sufficient [to bar him] if he were using his Communist membership to angle his teaching to further the purposes of the Communist party.”154 On lecturing overseas, McCarthy asked if it was necessary to know if such people were Communists or Communist sympathizers. “Well, I would certainly hesitate to send abroad a man who is a Communist sympathizer or a Communist . . . to lecture,” Copland observed, but “my political opinions, no matter how vague . . . were not in question as far as the Department of State was concerned.” Had they been in question, “I would have had some kind of going over.”155

  Throughout the session, Copland contended that he was not politically engaged, even when he supported various organizations that were political in character. “[M]y interest in connection with any organizations was in no way my interest in their political slant, except that I never knowingly signed my name to anything which I thought was controlled by Communists.” As for his relationship with individuals who might have been Communists, Copland asserted, “I had no fear of sitting down at a table with a known Communist because I was so sure of my position as a loyal American.” Asked if he had ever sat down with “known Communists,” Copland asserted that was “impossible to answer,” except, of course, with “Russian Communists.”156

  Toward the end of the session, McCarthy raised the subject of Copland’s participation in the Waldorf conference, which he said was “publicized in advance as a completely Communist dominated thing,” and which, despite this, the composer had “sponsored and attended.” Yes, he had, Copland admitted, “because I was very anxious to give the impression that by sitting down with Russian composers one could encourage the thought that since cultural relations were possible that perhaps diplomatic relations were possibl
e.” Copland clarified his position on the Communists; he had not participated to “advance the Communist line.” But you knew this was “a completely Communist movement,” the chairman stated, to which the composer responded, he was unaware of that at first, but became convinced of it later. Moreover, Copland said, he was glad he went because it provided “first-hand knowledge in what ways the Communists were able to use such movements” to advance their ends. And grasping that, “I refused to sign the sponsorship of any further peace conference.” Had he met any Communists there, aside from the Russians? “Not that I know of.” When McCarthy asked if, at some point, Copland would be willing to supply “a list of those Americans” who attended the conference, the musician said that he would, “[a]s far as I can.”157

  As the session concluded, Roy Cohn told the composer he was still under subpoena and would likely be called back to testify shortly, an eventuality that never came to pass.158 Indeed, this was Copland’s first and only appearance before the committee, though once was plenty. He felt like a man “pursued,” he said, and was distressed at how much time it had taken to prepare and to testify, time he would rather have spent composing.159 In the wake of his testimony, Copland issued a statement about his appearance before the committee; the release was picked up by leading newspapers. As the Baltimore Sun reported, the composer had been questioned by McCarthy’s subcommittee, telling them he was not a Communist and had not knowingly lent his name in the 1930s and 1940s to “Communist or Communist-front organizations.” Copland maintained, “as a composer and free man I have always been and am now opposed to the limitations put on freedom by the Soviet Union.” His statement also pointed out that he had told the committee he possessed no political expertise, but was a “human being sensitive to human problems such as the conditions under which artists can best create their work and serve the cause of freedom.”160