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San Francisco's Josef Krips did not care if they were 60 or 16; he was an antifeminist for years, only recently claimed conversion when he hired a trio of "wonderful girls who play like angels." But some of the women think differently, grumble privately about the insulting way he bunches them all in the middle of the orchestra so they won't be seen. Boston's Erich Leinsdorf requires that auditioning musicians play for him behind a screen, lest his eyes influence his ears; prospective members are cautioned not to talk and to enter on tiptoe, so the telltale clicking of their heels will not give them away.
Most musicians agree that women are all right in their place—just as long as that place is not the first desk, a position that gives them authority over the other players in their section. When that happens, egos get bruised. Says a woman who is a first cellist: "How do I tell an older man that he consistently comes in early on bar 24?" The majority of conductors avoid such problems by refusing to promote women to the first desk; one noted maestro once told a string player that she played better than any of his men, but alas, "your pants are too short."
Band-Room Barbs. There is also a longstanding belief among impresarios that for psychological reasons, audiences do not respond so well to women players, because the "conflict and domination" struggle with an instrument is strictly man's work. When attractive Doriot Dwyer was appointed first flutist of the Boston Symphony 14 years ago, one proper Brahmin sent her a package with a letter demanding that she hide her exposed ankles with the enclosed pair of thick grey stockings. She demurred, and at least one Boston man is glad; since the arrival of the ladies, he has taken to watching the concerts through binoculars.
Some musicians complain that women are emotionally ill tuned to the rigors of symphony life and that they play erratically during menstruation or when they are concerned about family problems. The American Symphony's Elayne Jones, 38, surmounted three handicaps: she is a woman, a timpanist and a Negro. When she appeared with the Symphony of the Air a few years ago, she says, "two guys walked out after I walked in." In the Detroit Symphony's band room, Harpist Elyze Yockey, 37, is forever hearing somebody mutter, "Why don't you stay home and take care of your babies?" (She has two.) One man expressed his disapproval of his curvaceous desk mate by twisting the tuning pegs of her cello until it sounded like a sick cat.