Carnegie Hall

On November 14, 1943, Leonard Bernstein substituted at the last minute for an ailing Bruno Walter and conducted the New York Philharmonic at Carnegie Hall without a rehearsal. The next day, the story of his remarkable performance appeared on the front page of The New York Times. Bernstein’s historic debut was more than just the start of his association with the Hall. The concert and surrounding drama promptly pushed the young conductor into the spotlight, turning him into an international celebrity at the age of 25, altering the course of his career and all of music history.

A Rising Star Seeking Employment

It began in September 1943 when Bernstein was appointed assistant conductor of the New York Philharmonic—the first American and youngest conductor ever chosen for the position—with the praise of Music Director Artur Rodziński, who remarked that he was “greatly impressed with [Bernstein’s] abilities.” Bernstein had previously worked with conductor Serge Koussevitzky, being one of the three chosen conductors for the newly established Berkshire Music Center at Tanglewood.

By the age of 22, Bernstein had graduated from the finest schools in the country—Harvard University and the Curtis Institute—met some of the most illustrious figures in the music field, and had a portfolio of compositions and recommendations. Yet he had still not found employment. Koussevitzky recommended Bernstein for an opening as conductor of the New York City Symphony in 1941, but the mayor’s office deemed Bernstein to be too inexperienced.

Bernstein worked various jobs at such companies as the Advanced Music Corporation and Warner Bros., but did not find satisfaction, writing “It is dull beyond belief, and take[s] much too time ; but I feel that somehow better things must be coming for me.” His appointment at the New York Philharmonic (and the resulting attention) changed his perspective. “This publicity business is really getting fantastic. Every NY paper had it on Thurs., ... I’ve just taken a fine apartment in Carnegie Hall. It all gets more exciting each day,” Bernstein wrote to his former piano teacher, Helen Coates, in September 1943.

The Bleary-Eyed Assistant’s Life-Changing Call

The duty of an assistant conductor was to study the repertoire and be prepared to conduct in case of emergency. As Bernstein would remember, there was a long history of emergencies not happening. So when told by Bruno Zirato, associate manager of the Philharmonic, that guest conductor Bruno Walter had the flu and that Bernstein might have to conduct the Sunday afternoon concert, Bernstein and everyone else thought, “Walter will pull through.” Even Music Director Artur Rodziński (who was at his farm in northern Massachusetts) wasn’t worried.

This left Bernstein confident to focus on something else that was so exciting for him that he invited his parents and brother from Massachusetts to attend: the New York premiere of his song cycle I Hate Music, sung by mezzo-soprano Jennie Tourel on the evening of Saturday, November 13, at Town Hall.

After the recital, Bernstein attended a reception and didn’t arrive home until 4:30 in the morning. He looked over the scores, fell asleep, and at 9 AM received a call from Zirato saying that Walter was still too ill to perform and Rodziński was too far away. Bernstein indeed would be conducting that afternoon without the benefit of a rehearsal—in fact, the performance would be his first time in front of the orchestra.

Dazed, and with little sleep, he called his parents and told them the incredible news that they would be attending another concert that afternoon: his debut with the New York Philharmonic at Carnegie Hall, broadcast live on radio across the United States. Bernstein recalled the frenzy in The New York Times: “Knowing it would be impossible to assemble the orchestra for a rehearsal on a Sunday, I went over to Mr. Walter’s home and went over the scores with him. I found Mr. Walter sitting up but wrapped in blankets, and he obligingly showed me just how he did it” (The New York Times).

A “Good American Success Story”

Waiting by the stage as the manager informed the audience that Walter would not be conducting that afternoon, Bernstein recalled hearing “many groans,” and some people left. John Corigliano, concertmaster of the Philharmonic (and father of the famous composer), told Bernstein reassuringly, “Don’t worry, we are with you.”

The concert program was not an easy one; Bernstein remembered the notoriously difficult opening on the first work, Robert Schumann’s Manfred Overture. In The New York Times, he reminisced: “So out I strode in my funny double-breasted suit, and, polite patterning of applause, and went wildly into the crazy three opening chords of Manfred and it was like a great electric shock; from then on, I was just sailing—I don’t know what happened, but those three chords I will never forget. Dum DUM DUM!!! Pause, and in that pause I knew that everything was going to be all right … ”

The audience responded enthusiastically after Bernstein finished each work, and by the final chords of the Prelude to Wagner’s Die Meistersinger, the audience was on its feet shouting. Many rushed the stage. Backstage was bedlam with reporters, photographers, audience, and Bernstein’s parents all trying to get to the conductor. The next day’s New York Times carried a front-page story, and an editorial stated, “It’s a good American success story. The warm, friendly triumph of it filled Carnegie Hall and spread far over the airwaves.”

As published in The New York Times: “Mr. Bernstein thought for himself and obtained his wishes. He was remarkably free of his score, which he followed confidently, but without every burying his nose in it or for an instant losing the rapport only maintained by the eye and such elucidative movement as a conductor may make to his collaborators of the orchestra. He conducted without a baton, justifying this by his instinctively expressive use of his hands and a bodily plastic which, if not always conservative, was to the point, alive and expressive of the music, and so understood by the players … ” (The New York Times).

A Legendary Maestro Is Born

A telegram from mentor Serge Koussevitzky awaited Bernstein when he came off the stage. “Listening now wonderful,” it read. It was the first of many accolades.

Bernstein later said in Humphrey Burton’s The Love of Three Orchestras, “The next morning [after the debut] the story was carried on the front page of The New York Times. And I was famous … [The whole thing] happened just by a series of mystical things ... I was suddenly plunged into a worldwide orbit where I guess I’ve been orbiting ever since, for four decades, in one way or another.”

Bernstein thanked the New York Philharmonic for the opportunity, inscribing on a photo in November 1943, “To the New York Philharmonic Society in deepest gratitude for giving me my great opportunity.”

In 1945, in the wake of his dramatic debut, Bernstein was appointed music director of the New York City Symphony orchestra, a post he held for several seasons. Despite the ensuing acclaim, no one would have predicted that in 1958—the official start to Bernstein’s New York Philharmonic career—the then 40-year-old would become the first American-born and trained music director of a major symphony orchestra. He held the post with the Philharmonic for 11 seasons and was later named laureate conductor, returning for frequent guest appearances. Bernstein’s connection to Carnegie Hall only strengthened throughout his career as well, appearing at the Hall more than 400 times as a conductor, pianist, composer, and educator—all part of a storied career that began with a legendary debut.

Photography: Bernstein and Koussevitzky copyright Ruth Orkin; Letter from Bernstein to Koussevitzky, Leonard Bernstein Collection, Music Division, Library of Congress (Used by permission of The Leonard Bernstein Office, Inc.); Score of Manfred Overture courtesy of the New York Philharmonic Shelby White & Leon Levy Digital Archives, Bernstein courtesy of the New York Philharmonic Shelby White & Leon Levy Digital Archives; all other photography courtesy of the Carnegie Hall Rose Archives.