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>Butler University's $3.7 million Clowes Memorial Hall, completed last year, is used by the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra, as well as the university and the community. Its fine back stage facilities, adjustable-size stage and superb acoustics have made Indianapolis one of the prime stopovers for shows on the road, whereas there used to be a saying that "the two worst weeks in the year were Christmas and Indianapolis." In a Water Tank. Aside from the academic contribution to the explosion of U.S. interest in the arts, almost no town is too big or too small to be en gaged in a new cultural enterprise of some kind. Rocky Mount, N.C., for instance, has converted a round railroad water tank and pumping station into a culture center, with an art gallery on one floor, a theater in another, and classrooms on the third. Honolulu has two brand-new theater-concert halls.
Saratoga Springs, N.Y., is building a $3,000,000 open-sided auditorium to make itself the summer home of the New York City Ballet and the Philadelphia Orchestra. In 1965 Trenton, N.J., will have finished a state-financed $6,500,000, feur-building culture center that includes a planetarium, as well as a library, a museum and an auditorium. St. Paul has just opened a $3,000,000 Arts and Science Center. Milwaukee is more than two-thirds of the way toward its $6,000,000 goal to finance a center for the performing arts. And in Washington this month, President Lyndon Johnson broke ground for the $46.4 million John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, designed by Architect Edward D. Stone.
Most of the centers are largely paid for by private funds. The financing of Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts, biggest and most expensive of them all was bellwethered by John D. Rockefeller III, who may be lukewarm about the arts but believes in enhancing his city. His own contributions have not been made public, but the Rockefeller Foundation gave more than $50 million, and the Campaign Committee is only $10 million short of its $160.7 million goal.
Los Angeles has no Rockefellers or their old-rich counterparts, who feel that contributions to their city's culture are a matter of conscience rather than enthusiasm. But it does have a sense of community pride that New York might envy. And it has Buff Chandler.
Driver Driven. Other driving women in other cities and other times have organized civic enterprises, helped their husbands in business, become the local doyennes of culture. But at 63, Dorothy Buffum Chandler does not quite fit the stereotype. Her blue eyes can still turn suddenly shy, and on occasion she can seem at a loss for words. In achieving her formidable goals, she is less driving than driven—by a restless conscience and a sense of time slipping away while things that need doing are still undone. So driven, she has been too busy to consider what the effect may be on the bystander.
To the outsider, she sometimes seems dictatorial. By her lights, she is only trying to get something done. "Talk like that makes me cry," says Buff, who, unlike most women of consequence, is disarmingly frank both about herself and the resentment