Brightness in the Air

THE CITY

(See Cover) In a dazzle of diamonds and decolletage, with cinema stars, celebrities and just plain millionaires plentifully on hand, the growing edge of the U.S. population explosion--Los Angeles--welcomed the growing edge of another U.S. explosion--culture. The Pavilion, first and most important building in Los Angeles' new Music Center for the Performing Arts, was open at last, and the crowd that swarmed through Architect Welton Becket's tapered white columns on opening night last week was justifiably moved to civic pride.

The Grand Hall, with its honey-colored onyx walls, its massive chan deliers, and its two graceful balco nies, was a masterful combination of warmth and tasteful luxury. Concertgoers mounted an elegant, cantilevered marble staircase that crossed a pool filled with white azaleas set in the lobby's floor, saw themselves multiplied into infinity in tall wall-size mirrors.

Inside, in contrast to the sharp-edged angularities and cool-toned decor of Manhattan's Philharmonic Hall at Lincoln Center, the Pavilion was all curves and warm shades of gold, coral and beige. The unusual dimensions of the auditorium--wider and shorter than most--gave a sense of intimacy seldom felt in a major concert hall; 90% of the seats were within 105 ft. of the stage, and each had clear sight lines.

And there was delight for the ear as well as the eye; from the first bright sounds of Richard Strauss's Fanfare, it was clear that the Pavilion was a superb musical instrument. The Los Angeles Philharmonic's brilliant young (28) Indian conductor, Zubin Mehta, showed the acoustics off with one of Respighi's chiaroscuro set pieces called Feste Romane, whose chief virtue is that it includes the most delicate pianissimos as well as the most plangent brass. The sweeping gold acoustical canopy carried the sound, clear and unblurred, to the furthest seat. And when Violinist Jascha Heifetz joined the orchestra in Beethoven's Concerto in D Major, every member of the audience could feel himself the epicenter of the soaring sound.

Some purists felt the timbre of the auditorium to be more on the brilliant or hi-fi side, in contrast to the mellow tones of Europe's more ancient structures. But at intermission time, Cellist Gregor Piatigorsky turned to Jack Benny, sitting just beside him, and said, "Aren't the acoustics wonderful?"

Freighted Occasion. For everyone there--California's Governor Edmund G. Brown, Los Angeles' Mayor Samuel W. Yorty, Cardinal Mclntyre, the handsome women and active men sitting in the Founders Circle reserved for donors of $25,000 or more--this was much more than a gala evening. The Music Center is in the heart of Los Angeles, at the center of the cloverleafs that have long been mockingly called the center of the city; thus it is both highly accessible and highly visible, giving Los Angeles a new visual axis, with the building handsomely anchoring the new mall that leads to City Hall. Moreover, the center is recognized as a milestone in the city's cultural aspirations. Immediately after the opening number, Conductor Mehta turned to the audience and with some Indian ambiguity addressed himself to the occasion.

"This is the most unique city in the 20th century," he said. "I do not think it is too late now, in midcentury, to begin a new cultural life. This evening we are going to usher in a new era."

When he turned to the star of the evening, he said: "I would like you all to join me in paying homage to the one person who is most of all responsible for the creation of this edifice. Unlike the princes of Florence and the Pharaohs of Egypt, she is a dignified, simple lady."

Dorothy Buffum Chandler sat shyly in her seat, in what has already been nicknamed "The Hook" section of the Founders Circle, while the applause rose around her. Only after four minutes, when her son Otis tugged her to her feet, did she rise and grin happily at the applauding audience. Her husband is Norman Chandler, whose Times Mirror Co. owns the Los Angeles Times, among other things. But the ovation was only her personal due. For "Buff" Chandler had conceived the idea for the Music Center, almost singlehanded raised a staggering $18.5 million to build it, and organized a company to float another $13.7 million in bonds to finish the job. It was perhaps the most impressive display of virtuoso money-raising and civic citizenship in the history of U.S. womanhood.

But Buff Chandler, though she enjoys plaudits as much as the next, is still well aware that she is only providing the means to a more important end. At the champagne supper afterward, there was toasting and talk about her money-raising prowess, about the opulent beauty of the Pavilion, about Los Angeles as a new center of culture that has passed Chicago and is getting ready to challenge New York. But it was Buff Chandler herself who went to the heart of the matter. "What is important here tonight," she said, "is not the fund raising or the building that we are in. The only really important thing here tonight is the music we heard performed. That will go on forever."

Steady Surge. Buff's Music Center is only the most visible symbol of the steady upsurge of interest in matters cultural in a city that has felt itself too long dismissed as an uncouth poor relation of San Francisco. Last season there were more than 500 performances of chamber music in the Los Angeles area, or some 20 a week. A typical weekend calendar this season lists 64 stage productions, 36 music performances, and 97 art shows. U.C.L.A. has launched an enormously successful extension program, which last year drew more than 300,000 Angelenos to the campus at night to attend lectures, dance recitals, concerts, plays and art films. The number of art galleries has doubled in the past ten years, and Los Angeles' La Cienega Boulevard has become an art market second only to New York's 57th Street.

Buff's success has also inspired other building projects, the biggest of which is the new Los Angeles County Art Museum on Wilshire Boulevard. Designed by William Pereira, it is all but completed. Costing $20 million in all, the $11 million in private money was raised by Edward William Carter, 53, president of the Broadway-Hale chain of department stores, director of a dozen companies and organizations, and chairman of the University of California's board of regents (see EDUCATION).

The museum's main pavilion will house the permanent collection in galleries surrounding a large, four-story atrium. A second building will house the changing exhibitions, those on tour as well as those originated by the museum. The third part of the complex is an auditorium seating more than 600 for lectures, films, concerts and televised programs. In the past, several major collections (notably the Avery Brundage and the Arensberg collections) have been given to other museums in other cities because the donors felt that their paintings could not have a suitable display space in Los Angeles. Now such space is at hand, and already the Art Museum's board of trustees has voted a $5,000,000 fund-raising program for new acquisitions.

"Los Angeles," says Carter, "was uniquely ready to spend money on culture. It is a center of artistic and musical activity, and spending money for their development is a prideful act. Besides, it tends to offset the image that the place is populated largely by kooks."

Staggering Statistics. But Los Angeles is only the latest example of what has become a major new trend in U.S. life--listening and looking and reading and doing the things uppercased as Art. The statistics of the change are staggering.

sb MUSIC is in the air to the extent that the number of amateurs playing instruments rose from 19 million in 1950 to 37 million this year. In the same period, the number of symphony orchestras grew from about 800 to 1,300, playing to an audience of some 10 million. From 1947 to 1964, the number of children studying music at home or in school jumped from 2.5 million to 12 million--an increase of 380%. Last year the U.S. public bought 18 million classical records.

sb ART galleries are springing up all over the place. In Phoenix, Ariz., for instance, there were two in 1950, and there are about 18 today. In Manhattan, there were 96 art exhibitions in December 1950 and 236 exhibits in December 1964. On a recent weekend, the Metropolitan Museum clocked 96,971 visitors, the Museum of Modern Art 11,708, and the Guggenheim 13,701.

sb BOOKS are now selling at the rate of $1.7 billion a year. A 1963 survey by the National Book Committee estimated that book sales and library circulation have increased three times faster than the population during the previous five years.

sb THEATER is no longer limited to Broadway and the road; there are currently 35 playhouses off-Broadway, and there are top-quality repertory companies, such as the Tyrone Guthrie Theater in Minneapolis, the Arena Stage in Washington, and their counterparts in Seattle, Houston, Milwaukee and San Francisco. The stage is not simply a spectator sport; there are reportedly some 5,000 nonprofessional theater groups in the U.S., not counting those in colleges.

sb BALLET has become a major U.S. art form. There are 18 professional and 200 semiprofessional ballet companies in the country, two of which--Balanchine's New York City Ballet and the American Ballet Theater--are rated among the best in the world. Their chief international competition--Russia's Kirov and Bolshoi, Denmark's Royal Danish and Britain's Royal Ballet--consistently play to sellout audiences during their extensive U.S. tours.

sb MOVIES no longer mean Hollywood, period, to the man in the street. About 15 years ago, there was no more than a handful of theaters outside New York City specializing in what the trade calls art films--foreign movies, oldtime classics, experimental shorts. The "art circuit" today consists of more than 700 theaters.

Furniture Factory Concerto. Whence comes this sudden surge of national enthusiasm? More education is one answer. Before World War 1, 20% of the 14-to 17-year-olds in the U.S. attended high school; in 1964 this has increased to 93.5%, of which 53% go on to college. Enrollment in U.S. colleges increased 102% between 1954 and 1964.

Prosperity is a major factor--and the leisure that prosperity has brought on a scale unknown to any other culture in the history of mankind. And once the trend began, it has been augmented by feedback from all the institutions that serve society. The universities have been reaching out more and more into the communities around them, staging lectures, recitals, plays and debates to which the public is invited. The foundations are handing out more and more money for cultural causes--an estimated $50 million this year. In 1964, for instance, the Rockefeller Foundation made grants to seven symphony orchestras to enable them to extend their seasons one or two weeks, and the Ford Foundation made grants to professional ballet companies from Salt Lake City to Boston.

U.S. business has turned patron in a big way, partly out of tax leniencies, partly out of a new sense of community responsibility. Last year U.S. business supported culture to the tune of $25 million and is expected to spend 10% more in 1964. Chase Manhattan Bank has a $500,000 collection of modern art and gives some $350,000 a year to educational and cultural projects. The Basic-Witz Furniture Co. of Waynesboro, Va., commissioned a concerto by Robert Evett for its 75th anniversary, and General Motors recently sent its employees 600,000 copies of two booklets: French Impressionism and Masterpieces from the Louvre.

Gown & Town. All this activity needs its housing, and it is getting it. Pity the U.S. architect without an art museum, a symphony hall, an auditorium or a theater on his drawing board--or better yet, the newest thing: a culture center. Many of them have been built by universities to serve both the student body and the civic community. Among the newest and most distinguished are those shown in the preceding color pages:

> Monticello College's $2,000,000 Hatheway Hall in Godfrey, Ill., combines physical culture with the other kind: a swimming pool and a gymnasium flank the 1,000-seat auditorium. Finished in October 1963, the "theatron," as it is called because of its steeply banked seats arranged Romanstyle around the central arena, is used for lectures and student activities of this small junior college for women, as well as for performances and civic affairs of the community.

> The University of Illinois' spectacular $8,350,000 Assembly Hall was financed by two bond issues, the interest on the bonds being paid out of student fees. Opened about a year and a half ago, the mushroom-shaped concrete structure has a capacity of 16,000 permanent seats. The university also plans a $14 million Max Abramovitz-designed center for performing arts with four diversified auditoriums for music, ballet and experimental theater.

> The Grady Gammage Auditorium on the campus of Arizona State University at Tempe is a tribute to the determination of the university's late president Grady Gammage that Arizona should have at least one public building by the late great Frank Lloyd Wright, who made the state his second home. The auditorium is combined with a four-story music school, which contains a workshop, classrooms, the departmental library, a laboratory for musical education, rehearsal rooms, recording rooms and offices.

>Butler University's $3.7 million Clowes Memorial Hall, completed last year, is used by the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra, as well as the university and the community. Its fine back stage facilities, adjustable-size stage and superb acoustics have made Indianapolis one of the prime stopovers for shows on the road, whereas there used to be a saying that "the two worst weeks in the year were Christmas and Indianapolis." In a Water Tank. Aside from the academic contribution to the explosion of U.S. interest in the arts, almost no town is too big or too small to be en gaged in a new cultural enterprise of some kind. Rocky Mount, N.C., for instance, has converted a round railroad water tank and pumping station into a culture center, with an art gallery on one floor, a theater in another, and classrooms on the third. Honolulu has two brand-new theater-concert halls.

Saratoga Springs, N.Y., is building a $3,000,000 open-sided auditorium to make itself the summer home of the New York City Ballet and the Philadelphia Orchestra. In 1965 Trenton, N.J., will have finished a state-financed $6,500,000, feur-building culture center that includes a planetarium, as well as a library, a museum and an auditorium. St. Paul has just opened a $3,000,000 Arts and Science Center. Milwaukee is more than two-thirds of the way toward its $6,000,000 goal to finance a center for the performing arts. And in Washington this month, President Lyndon Johnson broke ground for the $46.4 million John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, designed by Architect Edward D. Stone.

Most of the centers are largely paid for by private funds. The financing of Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts, biggest and most expensive of them all was bellwethered by John D. Rockefeller III, who may be lukewarm about the arts but believes in enhancing his city. His own contributions have not been made public, but the Rockefeller Foundation gave more than $50 million, and the Campaign Committee is only $10 million short of its $160.7 million goal.

Los Angeles has no Rockefellers or their old-rich counterparts, who feel that contributions to their city's culture are a matter of conscience rather than enthusiasm. But it does have a sense of community pride that New York might envy. And it has Buff Chandler.

Driver Driven. Other driving women in other cities and other times have organized civic enterprises, helped their husbands in business, become the local doyennes of culture. But at 63, Dorothy Buffum Chandler does not quite fit the stereotype. Her blue eyes can still turn suddenly shy, and on occasion she can seem at a loss for words. In achieving her formidable goals, she is less driving than driven--by a restless conscience and a sense of time slipping away while things that need doing are still undone. So driven, she has been too busy to consider what the effect may be on the bystander.

To the outsider, she sometimes seems dictatorial. By her lights, she is only trying to get something done. "Talk like that makes me cry," says Buff, who, unlike most women of consequence, is disarmingly frank both about herself and the resentment she sometimes arouses. "Inside of me I am very loving and warm, but the position in which I've been placed, the responsibilities I have, make it necessary for me to be very strong and very firm. Often I've had to be the catalyst simply because nobody else would make a decision. So in my way I've had to be much more firm and forceful in my appearance and speech than I really would like to have been. I know that, and I'm not the ideal of the person I set out to be."

Five-Ply Personality. Buff Chandler does so many jobs that it is hard to say just what she set out to be. She starts every day with a before-breakfast swim with husband Norman in the family pool behind their house in the Hancock Park area of northwestern Los Angeles. Then any of several things can happen. She may turn up at her office at the Los Angeles Times (she is a company vice president) or attend a meeting of the University of California's board of regents (she is chairman of the building and grounds committee, which has a yearly budget running into tens of millions of dollars among the university's seven campuses). This may be followed by an editorial conference on the content of the women's section of the Times, followed by a dinner for 20 at home. Next day there may be a grandmotherly get-together with her two children and eight grandchildren.

Every one of these segments of her time gets her intense attention. "I don't jump back and forth among unrelated activities," she explains. "If I need clothes, I set my time and I go out and put my mind only on shopping for clothes. If it's time to fix up the house, I don't just run in and out and try to sandwich that in--I'll spend a day, or whatever time is needed, and I won't take phone calls unless they're very urgent. I'm extremely organized."

So organized, in fact, that the effect is not always endearing--as she well knows. "When Buff Chandler walks into a meeting, the rest of us might as well go home," says another L.A. committee lady. One of her best friends, who has worked with her on the Music Center, correctly forecast early in the campaign that nobody else would raise much money but Buff. "First," she said, "she's got all the weapons--the Times, the Chandler name, the real power. Second, she's just so competitive that she couldn't bear the thought of not winning the victory all by herself."

Buff admits to the competitiveness. "I'm most comfortable when I'm around men," she says. "Most women just don't seem to be competitive enough."

From Sprint to Shimmy. Dorothy Buffum first learned the joys of competition in high school at Long Beach, Calif. Her father had moved to California from Lafayette, Ill., when she was about a year old, opened a general store and built it into a chain of department stores. Eventually he became mayor, and Buff became a fine sprinter. "I didn't take to boys much except to run against them and beat them," admits Buff. She had an anxious sense that there was not enough time. "I'd wake up frequently with a feeling that there was so much for me to do, but would I ever have time to get it done?"

The anxiety momentarily quieted when she got to Stanford and discovered boys ("I don't think I ever missed a dance on campus"). In no time, she was voted the campus queen. And when Dorothy Buffum put on a slinky dress and danced the shimmy-"Well, I really did it up! I think I was probably the best on campus--or the worst, if you want to look at it that way."

Fellow Student Norman Chandler, scion of the family that owned the Los Angeles Times, left college after Christmas in his senior year so that he could get started working on the paper and marry Dorothy. She quit at the end of her junior year without a qualm.

Not for Me. They had been married ten years and had two children, Camilla, 7, and Otis, 5, when Buff, as she had come to be called, became so depressed by what seemed to be the continued reluctance of the Chandler family to accept her that she took up residence for six months in a private psychiatric clinic in Pasadena run by Dr. Josephine Jackson, coming home for a visit about once a week. The therapy was an unqualified success. Says Buff: "I had begun to doubt myself, to feel that there was something wrong with me. Dr. Jackson helped me to see that Norman's family was not going to change or destroy me, nor was I going to change or destroy them."

With her new confidence, Buff found a new restlessness. Her children were more and more away at school. "I was not interested in the social life of Pasadena or in joining the bridge-playing. I knew it was not for me. I was still that little girl, believing when I woke up each day that life was running too fast."

Unexpected Volunteer. So Buff went to work for Children's Hospital of Los Angeles. The hospital management thought they were getting another halfhearted volunteer, but they didn't know Buff. She zeroed in on personnel problems. "It seemed to me everybody was underpaid." Before the management knew what had hit them, Buff confronted them with proposals for more days off, longer vacations, higher wages.

Then war came, and Norman was called by the Government to other jobs. He asked Buff to take over some areas of the Times, and she moved into the Times building, setting up a tiny, 1 1/2-room apartment on the top floor. Typically, Buff enrolled in a ones-year journalism course at the University of Southern California, held beer bull-sessions for the newspaper staff every night, and reorganized the women's page from a narrow provincial society report to a far-ranging survey of all the arts from decoration to ballet.

Zeal & Budgets. Buff Chandler's public career really began, though, when Actor Jean Hersholt, president of the Hollywood Bowl, was impressed by her zeal on the board of the Southern California Symphony Association and persuaded her to join the board of the debt-ridden Bowl.

Buff was all for culture, but she also had an executive's eye for the balance sheet. Her first vote as a board member was to close the Bowl down. The Bowl closed. But typically, Buff had something more in mind. She enlisted the help of Conductor Alfred Wallenstein and devised a scheme to persuade headline musicians to play with the symphony in the Bowl without fees. In two weeks there were enough pledges to make up a whole season. The Bowl reopened and wound up with a tiny profit.

The Bowl was saved, but this still left the Los Angeles symphony without a hall of its own. Early in 1955, Buff called up her friend Grace Ford Salvatori, wife of an industrialist and well known for her entertaining, and suggested that they put on a benefit party to house the symphony.

They landed Composer Johnny (Body and Soul) Green as master of ceremonies. Jack Benny, Danny Kaye and Dinah Shore were persuaded to contribute their talents, Christian Dior himself put on a fashion show, and the Ambassador Hotel provided free space. Buff and Grace sweet-talked a Cadillac Eldorado out of General Motors to raffle off, and the evening--still remembered as the Eldorado Party--netted a munificent $400,000.

Sudden Chance. For three years the money sat in a bank while Buff busied herself elsewhere. Then one free day, on a sudden impulse Buff drove 50 miles south of Los Angeles to call on Myford Irvine, an eccentric millionaire she hardly knew whose family owned the famed 93,000-acre Irvine Ranch, now being turned into the world's largest private development, master-planned by William Pereira (TIME, Sept. 6, 1963). Her timing turned out to have been just right: Irvine killed himself within a month--but not before he had pledged Buff $100,000.

She scooped up another $100,000 from a foundation, was promoted to president of the Symphony Association, and persuaded the county board of supervisors to set aside 7 1/2 acres in Los Angeles' projected civic center for a hall to house her orchestra. The county board not only agreed but chose top Los Angeles Architect Welton Becket for the job and undertook to pay his fee.

Battle of the Bar. Buff set herself a goal of $4,000,000, installed an office staff in what had been the swimming-pool changing rooms behind the Chandler mansion, and began a determined assault on every rich Californian she knew. A year later, she called a luncheon meeting of her big-money committee at Perino's Restaurant, prepared to go before them just $250,000 short of her $4,000,000 goal. But on the way in, she spied her old friend. Oilman Edwin Pauley, led him into the bar, and appealed to his patriotism, chauvinism, civic pride, social duty, and the obligation to help out an old friend. Pauley surrendered. Buff was starting out of the bar with his pledge of $125,000 when she spotted another oilman, Samuel Mosher, chairman of the Signal Oil & Gas Co. A few minutes later, she announced triumphantly at the luncheon that the $4,000,000 goal had been reached.

"Once you have the momentum and the excitement going for you, you must keep going or it fades very quickly," says Buff Chandler, who should know. She herself kept plenty of excitement going by constantly enlarging the plans to house the symphony. From a single building, it has become three: the 3,250-seat Pavilion, the drumlike 750-seat Mark Taper Forum for theater-m-the-round, and the 2,100-seat Center Theater. The complex includes two restaurants, private dining rooms, rehearsal halls, studios, set-designing facilities, and underground parking space for 2,000 cars. This meant that she had to raise her own goal to $18.5 million.

But as Buff Chandler is well aware, it's what goes into the building that counts. The Philharmonic's Music Director Mehta is a case in point. When he turned up in Los Angeles as a guest artist, he was such an instant success that Buff and other symphony directors invited him back for another guest appearance--at which Conductor Georg Solti, who had been in Europe at the time and was not consulted, resigned. Buff appointed a committee of top musical figures--among them Cellist Piatigorsky and Violinist Heifetz-- which came up with a list of some 20 possible candidates. "I'm a great one for getting all the expert opinion I can," says Buff. "Then, after everybody has registered his view, somebody has got to say 'That's it--let's go.' This is my job." So Mehta it was. In Zubin Mehta's case, it was a job well done. He has made the orchestra one of the best in the country, and his programming last year--mostly modern works--was considered masterly.

Intensely Personal. When Buff is not saying "Let's go," she is getting other people to say it. Well does she know the uses of group appeal: she organized a "Blue Ribbon Committee" of 500 society matrons and housewives to bring in 1,000 people who would contribute $1,000 each (it took them five months, but they made it). "Women work very hard," says Buff, "when you give them a specific goal and a time limit." She has also been successful with a mass pitch, distributing shopping bags called "Buck Bags" to raise $500,000 in contributions, to be matched by another $500,000 by an anonymous donor.

Norman and Buff Chandler have not publicized their own contributions to the Music Center, but it is believed that they have given at least $300,000.

Buff can also swing a benefit. To Hollywood stars and moneymen, it seemed presumptuous to ask $250 a ticket just to go to the movies, but they paid it for Buff's benefit premiere of Cleopatra.

"No," said Producer Harold Mirisch when she sat down in his office and suggested that he take $5,000 worth of tickets. An hour later, the story goes, he had not only bought the tickets but called his broker and ordered him to buy all the Times Mirror stock he could lay his hands on.

Person to Person. But Buff's main fund-raising gimmick is no gimmick at all; it is to be intensely personal with the extremely rich. As one practiced professional put it: "Let's face it. Important money is raised by important people asking other important people for important amounts. Asking 2,000,000 people for a dollar each won't get you $2,000,000; it won't even get you $1,000,000. You need very, very big gifts from very few people." During the Music Center campaign, Buff kept constantly before her a list of ten to 15 prospects. "If I kept looking at the whole list," she explains, "I would never have slept." And it was not just a question of quantity but quality, because "a fund raiser should be at various times a psychiatrist, a psychologist, a marriage counselor, and even a sort of family doctor. You have to know the family situation at all times. Divorce, illness, death--or just a routine change in the family financial situation--can inhibit contribution." Buff even consults astrology on occasion. She is not a blind believer, but she is sufficiently impressed with it to run an astrological chart on every major prospect before she approaches him.

Then there is the question of knowing which motivational buttons to press. "Some people don't care about music at all, but they want to be in a prestige group, which the Music Center basically is. Other donors like to see their names on plaques on the walls. Still others like the idea that the Music Center will provide employment for musicians and artists."

Buff found that she averaged five visits to each major donor ($25,000 or more). She is especially sensitive to the easy disparagement that with her husband's name and the Times on her side, it is simple to get people to knuckle under. She admits that in many instances the Chandler name has been a help. But she insists that often her connection with the Times has had just the opposite effect. "Out of an hour's appointment with a man," she says, "I may spend 45 or 50 minutes answering questions about things in the Times that he challenges or dislikes. And if I'm not careful in those 50 minutes that he's talking, then I lose my sale in the ten minutes I have left."

All the Way. The spectacular success of the Music Center has spread Buff Chandler's fame as a fund raiser across the land. Recently she was asked for her formula by three representatives of the seven-building, $45.5 million John F. Kennedy Civic, Educational and Cultural Center for Nassau County, L.I., also designed by Welton Becket, which will begin to rise late next year.

"The most important thing," she told them, "is not a formula but a person who will be a catalyst for the project--someone so dedicated to the purpose that he will stay with it until the job is completed. This is something that no committee or group can do; it must begin and end with one person who will stay with it all the way." Like Buff.

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