By now, most artistically literate Chicagoans know the basic facts of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra strike of 1991: that executive director Henry Fogel and his board of trustees demanded that the musicians pay a portion of their health-insurance premiums, and that the players went on strike instead, forcing the cancellation of ten concerts, including the inaugural concert of new music director Daniel Barenboim. The strike was settled after 17 days. Not all the issues were.
But that’s what Koss and his colleagues contend Henry Fogel wanted the musicians to start doing. Fogel counters that costs had gotten out of hand. Neither side would yield.
Petrillo, for whom the Grant Park band shell was named, joined the Chicago local in 1918, became vice president in 1919, and moved up to president in 1922, where he stayed until 1962. In 1940 he also became president of the entire union, and nothing musical went on in this country without his approval. Instrumentalists joined his union or they didn’t work; he even organized musicians at hotels, restaurants, and radio stations. Those who wanted to hire musicians paid his rates and signed his contracts. His goons were not above throwing rocks through the windows of recalcitrant employers. Two Chicago detectives were assigned to protect him–and two bodyguards kept an eye on the detectives. His Chicago office was bulletproof. It wasn’t just paranoia; Petrillo clashed with Al Capone over turf, and his house was once firebombed. For decades rumors circulated that Petrillo had mob connections. He strongly denied them, and it does seem more likely that he and the Mafia were rivals.
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The “Chief’s” main phobias were nonunion musicians, recordings, and germs; he customarily offered only his little finger for hand shaking. He believed that instrumentalists who made recordings were cutting their own throats, and he twice ordered strikes against the record companies (one of the strikes killed the big bands, which failed to survive a yearlong hiatus in recording). And he forbade the NBC radio network to broadcast a concert by the children’s orchestra at the national summer music camp Interlochen, an action that resulted in reams of bad publicity for the AFM but that he never repented. “With children you always lose,” he said. “But I was right. They took jobs away from professional musicians.”
Although the players had rebelled against him, Petrillo bequeathed a legacy of militance to the AFM. And though nearly 30 years later few remember the man, the militance remains. “I don’t think the contract problems of symphony orchestras and opera companies in the last 20 years have been with the AF of M, but with the musicians themselves,” says a veteran observer of the Chicago musical scene. “It’s an issue between the players and the managements and boards. Petrillo did not want the center of power to shift from the union to the players. The players’ committees began as an antiunion thing, because the union didn’t represent them correctly. The orchestra committees truly represented the players. The problem is that for a half-century no one listened to them. Then they said, “Everything we’ve been waiting for for the last 50 years we want by October.’ And they started shutting companies down all over the country.” One result was a string of strikes at the CSO and a strike at Lyric Opera in 1967 that resulted in a dark season and almost finished the company. Elsewhere in the country, orchestras were closed down when their managements decided they could not or would not meet the demands.
