Conductors: Little John in Big Texas

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When Sir John Barbirolli came west to accept the baton of the Houston Symphony Orchestra three years ago, Texans proudly proclaimed "The Grand Alliance." An emblem was struck for the orchestra depicting the Lone Star flag shoulder-to-shoulder with Sir John's Union Jack, and by happy coincidence Harold Macmillan himself said what was on everyone's lips: "Friendship between Texas and Great Britain is a most important thing." The orchestra celebrated its 50th year last week with a gala concert on the anniversary of the Battle of Trafalgar, and Sir John felt properly Nelsonian: "This is the most exciting orchestra in the U.S."

The Old Man's Shadow. Such a compliment is treasured in Houston as a propaganda victory in its cold war with Dallas. In the old days Dallas had all the sophistication, and Houston was a "whisky and trombone town"; the orchestra played Old Black Joe for encores. Leopold Stokowski was hired in the cultural offensive of 1955, and though he greatly improved the orchestra during his 51-year tenure, he also proved himself hopelessly alien to the strange culture of the far west. He called Houston "Hooston," and his chauffeur, in poetic inability to say "Maestro," called the boss "Moscow." When Sir John arrived, things were different. Anglo-Texan friendship was immediately established.

At 37, Barbirolli had been Toscanini's choice to succeed him as conductor of the New York Philharmonic, and for seven years he endured in the impossible gloom of the old man's shadow, leading an orchestra that seemed to be looking the other way. At last he went home to England to take over Manchester's Halle Orchestra, which he doggedly rebuilt from a draft-drained band of 23 to one of Britain's finest ensembles. In 1959, he returned to New York and won a thunderous sentimental welcome; the next year he announced he was pushing off for Texas. "Barbirolli belongs to a world of music which knows no barrier of language, color or creed," wrote an enthusiastic English critic. "He is destined to wander it till the end of time."

An Old Man's Advice. Now 63, Sir John wanders mainly between his two orchestras, spending 16 weeks in Houston to give 50 of the orchestra's 118 concerts, returning home to England to lead the Halle in at least 75 more.

He is a dawn-greeter at parties, a perky, tiny (5 ft. 3½ in.), glistening figure on the podium, a cheerful and gentle master of his art. He built the Houston Symphony to 90 by adding a crucial six string players, built attendance to 333,000 last season by playing a rich but likable repertory. His best talent is for teaching. When cellists falter, he does not hesitate, but takes the instrument himself and says: "If you don't mind an old fellow's advice, sweetheart, don't you think that's better?"