Here was an ultimatum. The Metropolitan Opera House was already sold out to an audience expecting to see the new Firebird. All-out advertising and promotion had been directed towards that event. The ultimatum was, in effect, no money, no production.
It was, in short, a demand for money under duress, for which there is a very ugly word. At any rate, here was a bona fide dispute, a matter to be discussed; and I suggested that Ballet Theatre submit the matter to arbitration, both disputants agreeing, of course, to be bound by the arbiter’s decision.
Lucia Chase, Oliver Smith, and Ballet Theatre’s new general manager refused to submit the matter to arbitration. The ultimatum remained: no money, no performance. The sold-out house had been promised Firebird. The public was entitled to see it.
I paid them $11,824.87, the sum they demanded, under protest, noting this money was demanded and paid under duress. Firebird had its first performance the next night, as scheduled. Meanwhile, the dress-rehearsal that afternoon had been marked by a succession of scenes that can only be characterized as disgraceful, the whole affair being conducted in an atmosphere of tensity, ill-feeling, carping, with every possible obstacle being placed in the way of a satisfactory performance and devoid of any spirit of cooperation.
It soon became apparent to me that the troubles attendant upon the Firebird production were merely symptomatic of something much larger, something much more sinister; something that was, in effect, a conspiracy to break the contract between us, a contract which was to continue for yet another season.
I learned through reliable sources that Ballet Theatre was surreptitiously attempting to secure bookings on their own with some of the local managers with whom I had booked them in the past, and with whom I was endeavoring to make arrangeents for them for the ensuing season. On the 28th February, I served official notice on the directorate of Ballet Theatre calling upon them to cease this illegal and unethical practice, and, at the same time, notified all managers of my contract with the organization.
It was early in our 1946 spring engagement at the Metropolitan Opera House, and I was working alone one evening in my office. It was late, the staff having long since left, and I continued at my desk until it was time for me to leave for the Metropolitan Opera House. I had not dined, intending to have a bite in Sherry’s Bar during one of the intervals. As I was crossing the by now deserted and partly darkened lower lobby of my office building, a stranger lunged forward from the shadows and thrust a sheaf of papers into my hand, then hurried into the street. Surprised, astonished, puzzled, I returned to my office to examine them.
The papers were a summons and complaint from Ballet Theatre. Although my contract with the organization had another year still to run, Lucia Chase and Oliver Smith were attempting to cancel the contract in mid-season. The grounds on which the action was based, as were subsequently proved, had no basis in fact.
But the company was slipping. It had no policy, no one capable of formulating or maintaining one. It was losing valuable members of its personnel, some of whom could no longer tolerate the whims and capriciousness of “Dearie,” as Chase was dubbed by many in the company. Jerome Robbins had gone his way. Dorati, who gave the organization the only musical integrity and authority it had, had departed. Others, I knew, were soon to be on their way. Dry rot was setting in. As matters stood, with the direction as it was, I had no assurance of any permanent survival for it. The company continued from day to day subject to the whims of Lucia Chase. The result was insecurity for the dancers, with all of them working with a weather-eye peeled for another job. One more season of this company, I felt, and I would be responsible for dragging a corpse about the country, unless, of course, I should myself become a corpse.
Ballet Theatre’s lawyers and my trusted counsel of many years’ standing, Elias Lieberman, arranged a settlement of our contract. Among its clauses was a proviso that the properties for Firebird remained my property, together with a cash payment to me of $12,000.