JAILED FRIEND

Through the years, Henry Cowell was my Rock of Gibraltar. In his words, we were 'thick as thieves'. He integrity was total, making it all the more tragic when he became a victim of social bigotry.

Cowell owned a shack in Menlo Park, California. Each time he went away, he let young boys in the neighborhood use the place, ride his ramshackled jalopy (which could not go uphill unless put in reverse and driven backwards), and swim in his small pond. In the spring of 1936, while Cowell was in New York, the police received complaints about kids running wild around his grounds. When questioned, the older ones claimed they had permission from the owner to use the facilities. The police investigated the Cowell case "in absentia', and found that he had been to Russia, and that he was a musician with bizarre characteristics. Furthermore, he was the object of a complaint by a wealthy Californian landowner whose name happened also to be Henry Cowell, and who suspected that his lowly namesake was using his name for iniquitous purposes. Ironically, it was the rich Henry Cowell who was not genuine; his real name was something like Kowelski, whereas 'our' Cowell was a true American. The authorities also found out that Cowell contributed to radical magazines, such as the "New Masses", which figured on the district attorney's list of subversive publications. Indeed, Cowell published an article in the magazine, pointedly entitled "The kept Composer', in which he deplored the precarious situation of American composers who had to kowtow to wealthy people in order to survive. This was long before the days of the beneficent ASCAP and BMI, with Guggenheim Foundation the only philanthropic organization providing help to impecunious composers.

With Cowell still in New York, the police concentrated on a 17-year-old boy who claimed to have a special relationship with Cowell. He was a ward of his aunt, and the police put pressure on her, threatening to send the boy to reform school if he refused to talk. When, unaware of all this, Cowell returned to Menlo Park on Friday, 22 may 1936, he was taken into custody and charged with impairment of the morals of a minor, sodomy, and an assortment of cognate offenses. After preliminary interrogation, Cowell was advised to plead guilty to a limited charge, with a promise that he would then be placed in a psychiatric institution for a few weeks and released without prejudice. In the meantime, he was remanded to the sheriff of Redwood City, California. I received a heart-rending postcard from him, asking me if I still wanted to be his friend under the circumstances. I replied passionately that I would, for ever, and our correspondence. (?)

In a card dated 29 June 1936, Cowell wrote:

Dear Nicolas: It is most comforting to hear from you so frequently, and to have further reassurances of your friendship! In a week, if all goes according to schedule, I will be sentenced. There will be no trial; a trial would be very harmful to a number of perfectly innocent people. My sole hope lies in the nature of the sentence. According to California law, I can be given, I believe, from 1 to 15 years in the pen. I hope, however, for some sort of probation which would alleviate the harshness of the term. In case I win probation then whenever I am released I will, if permitted, go East, where I will need all the offices of my good friends. I am trying to sell all property and will without doubt be legally restricted against entering the Menlo Park district.

More communications followed in quick succession: 'Dear Nicolas: Many thanks for your fine note. I will wire if I need your aid in character recommendation, etc. In the meantime, please discuss as little as possible. No publicity is good publicity, and don't believe the newspaper reports!'

The newspaper reports were vile. The Hearst papers published a photo of Cowell behind bars with a banner headline: 'California Oscar Wilde Jailed!' There was also a photograph showing Cowell in a pickup truck crowded with kids in the back. The caption explained that Cowell was taking them to boys' camp in Arizona where he served as music instructor, but the implication was clear: Cowell was taking a truck full of kids across the state line for immoral purposes.

A letter dated 6 July 1936 read 'Dear Nicolas" Today received sentence of 1 to 15 years in San Quentin prison__my new address . . .All need for keeping quiet is now removed. Warmest affection, Henry.' Cowell wrote to me to keep in touch with his father Harry Cowell, and with Harry's second wife, Olive, Henry's stepmother. Olive kept me informed of the situation. She wrote on 13 July 1936:

Don't worry about Henry. He's making his adjustment; we have already had two letters from him, and visit him tomorrow. He is allowed a typewriter, books, periodicals, and newspapers from outside the state, if sent direct from publishers. He is taking the whole thing philosophically, and his physician says he will come out all right, and live down the thing completely. He pleaded guilty to a morals charge involving a 17-year-old boy, and fully expected either probation or hospitalization. At the last moment some kind of opposition developed, and the judge sent him to San Quentin. It was a great shock to us all, as it was not expected. But we have to keep it very still, in order not to fan the opposition. No publicity at this time. Later all his friends will be called upon to help.

Everyone has been so loyal, and there are very influential people back of him. We engaged two physicians, both of whom went over his whole life, and found the cause of the irregularity in certain shocks and strains which have befallen him; but both of them found him normal now. He's in fine shape emotionally and spiritually. His life is the life of the artist, one disappointment after another. Write him often; there seems to be no limit to mail he receives, but he cannot write much. Do not discuss his case at all as the letters are censored, but tell him what is going on in the musical world, and so on, with all your characteristic humor. While he was in Redwood City jail he wrote two compositions with long articles expounding the esthetic theory upon which they are built. He says it is an entirely new departure for him.

While in San Quentin, Cowell wrote a string quartet, which he described in a letter dated 16 July 1936:

In this quartet, I tried to make a first step toward a style which is not an imitation of that of any nationality, but which is based on the least common denominator of musical elements, which are drawn from the peoples of the whole world, which are simple enough to be understood universally. If the music is a success in this attempt it may sound a bit odd, but it should be equally understood by Americans, Europeans, Chinese, Indians, or primitives. If you know any organizations who might wish to perform the quartet or other works of mine, it would be fine. I am hoping that my music will not be boycotted.

I have a certain amount of time in my cell when I may study, and I can write music then if I feel like it, but I am not sure I could get permission to send it out. I am rather tired by the time I have my cell time as I work in the jute mill from before 7.00 am to about 3.45 pm, except for lunch. The work, thank goodness, is not injurious to my hands. It is spooling, transferring jute from small to large spools. Each individual must operate 20 spools, which whirr to a deafening machine sound. I am a novice and marvel at the skill required to handle the whole machine. There are nearly 6,000 men in this prison, and I am sure over half must be in this mill. It is an amazing place. As to the rest of the conditions here they are not unlike the army life I remember. It is a relief here, after the Redwood jail. The food is better, and there is at least activity. I don't mind being a mill-hand! It's a genuine experience!

Several prominent musicians sent testimonials in Cowell's behalf to prison authorities. During his lecture tour in California, Varese went to see Cowell and to speak with has warden about prospects for parole. The warden told him not to worry, and made a gross and gratuitous remark to the effect that, for Cowell, doing time in the company of cons is like going to the Ziegfeld Follies.

The most extraordinary testimony of Cowell's fortitude was his vivid interest in intellectual and artistic matters in time of personal humiliation and misfortune. Here are some of his letters from San Quentin:

I am delighted that you are interested in the ideas behind my new "United Quartet". I think that the idea of choosing materials that are more world-wide is a good practical way in which to use my knowledge of comparative musicology, and I am also interested in the ideas of cohesive form and tonal relationships. Concerning the symphony in different styles by Spohr, I did not know about it, but it is interesting to me, for when I was 15 years old I composed a 'resume' for piano in sixteen movements, embracing a complete sonata to represent the classical style, different folk-type movements, etc. It takes a whole evening to perform, and I gave concerts twice during my early career in which it was the only work on the program. I certainly did not know that anyone had done this sort of thing before! But your new idea is most attractive, and I am quite fascinated by it. . . .

Your children's articles in the Christian Science Monitor are read very eagerly, and my music students constantly bring them to me, not knowing that I am a friend of yours. But the way, with your eye for statistics, you will be interested to know that during the two years I have been teaching in the education department in San Quentin, I have had 1,549 registrations in my music classes, 343 registrations in my elementary work, and 59 registrations in my harmony course. In the classes, 138 were for music history and appreciation, and the rest were all actual study courses in reading, writing, and playing. I teach 22 hours a week, rehearse the band for 5 hours, rehearse about 7.5 hours with the band myself playing flute, take 4 hours a week in studying Japanese, etc. My composing is all done in my cell, of course. . . .

I have just completed the cycle of three songs to the texts of the "Anti-Modernist Poems" from your book. The style of each song smacks faintly of that of the composer who is being derided, but not to the extent of taking actual themes. By the way, I saw that you have invaded the "Etude" magazine lately. How do you do it? Do let me know the secret! A violin has been sent in to me, and I am trying to learn it. I am also practicing on the flute. I have never tried to blow into one before, and so find it of interest.

Having only one hour per day in which I am permitted to practice at all, I have a great time, dividing it between the violin and the flute. . .My cell partner is to leave next week, and I wait with great anxiety to see who will be put in with me afterward, as the whole question of whether I am able to compose or not hinges on what sort of person he may be. . .

Recently your publisher sent me a copy of your violin piece. It is very clever, witty and interesting throughout, and extremely effective. It is truly amazing how you have been able to coax your theoretical construction into anything so well adapted to the instrument, and so painless to take! I think I told you that I work here with a very good violinist who was a pupil of Joachim. He is greatly attracted to the piece, and although he mutters about key changes, he is very enthusiastic over it, much more so than I would ever have expected from an old-school man. We are to perform it at our next concert together, and I hope to be able to send you a program.

In March 1937 I sent Cowell a copy of the book Life Begins at Forty (Cowell was born on 11 March 1897). Our correspondence continued vigorously. He wrote to me regularly every fifteen days, which was his quota to any one individual. The prison failed to undermine Cowell's imaginative plans. He completed a melody book there, and also a 'reel' for Percy Grainger:

He is to play it over a NBC hook-up this Sunday. He says it sounds splendidly. Wish I could hear it, but we are not permitted to have radios. Martha Graham gave a premiere of a new dance for which I wrote music here, and Riegger wrote it was a success. It is written in the 'flexible' form, so that any section can be pulled out or pushed in to any length. It seems to work. Martha Graham used the music and said it fitted with the dance she did before receiving the score, and I did not even know the length of the dance!

The California authorities refused to give Cowell credit for the fine work he was doing in prison, and sentenced him to the maximum term. In September 1937 I received a letter from Henry's stepmother:

Well, the worst has happened. They paid no attention to anything that we presented regarding Henry's case. They treated him as if he were a confirmed homosexual, a degenerate who seduces the young with violence, none of which is true. they gave him fifteen years, with parole denied until half his term is served. If he gets time off for good behaviour, it will be reduced to nine and a half years, with an application for parole due in three and a half years from now. Of course they can change their mind and grant him parole at any time, but that is how it stands at present. I saw Henry after he had received word of the outcome and he was in excellent condition. he was ready for it, so it did not overwhelm him. He has amazing courage and fortitude. And he has a great calmness, remarkable spiritual poise.

In 1940 Cowell was granted parole. In 1941 he married Sidney Robertson, a folklore specialist. The marriage reconciled Ives to him. He even consented to have a picture taken with him, an extraordinary favour considering the almost pathological aversion Ives had to photography.

At his death in December 1965, Cowell had written nineteen symphonies and hundreds of works of smaller dimensions. His greatest victory was the wide recognition of his importance as a composer, a theorist, and as an inventive philosopher of modern music. pp161-167