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When he arrived in Philadelphia, the little, heavily accented conductor was received coolly by the Main Line matrons, who for 22 years had yearned over the bony Polish profile of Leopold Stokowski and his evocative hands. But Ormandy took charge. He developed the classical side of the orchestra's repertory, which Stokowski had scorned, and became a tireless promoter of new works. Today, when he schedules a particularly difficult modern piece, he invites the audience to rehearsals so that they will be better prepared. The result, he says proudly, is that "I receive 200 enthusiastic letters instead of 400 unpleasant ones."
Summer Home. Today, long past the time when he was a humble aspirant to an old master's throne, Ormandy has all the moves of a maestro to the manner born. He receives visitors in his Bellevue-Stratford Hotel suite (where he has lived with his second wife for the past 15 years) attired in blue satin smoking jacket and matching polka-dot ascot. His still-accented English has taken on the authority of a Charles Boyer, his pronounced limp (an old hip injury aggravated by an automobile accident five years ago) appears less a handicap than a charming idiosyncrasy. True, he no longer tears around town like a dragster in his car, and after several unsuccessful attempts at beating Jascha Heifetz, he has given up ping-pong. But he will take the orchestra on its first tour of Latin America this spring. Then he will move his 104 musicians into their summer home at the new $3,000,000 pavilion in Saratoga Springs, N.Y. "The day I retire," says Ormandy, "will be the day I die."
* Installed beneath the stage, the air-conditioning unit cools the maestro by blowing air through holes in the floor of the podium.