Grand Night in a Superbunker

IT was a gathering of the clan, an assemblage of notables, a concatenation of critics, a precipitation of principals and, altogether, the grandest night in the recent history of Washington, D.C. At long last, the capital of the richest country on the planet had a cultural showcase of its very own. Costing nearly $70 million, the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts contains not only an opera house, but a theater, a concert hall and a gargantuan promenade longer than two football fields laid end to end. It had to be seen, if not admired, to be believed.

Everyone came to see and to be seen. All the celebrities sat in their appointed places, reaping their expected applause as they entered. Onstage was a production by America's most flamboyant serious musician, Leonard Bernstein, who had written Mass and equipped the liturgy with a bold array of theatrical trimmings (see Music). But the audience was almost as big a show.

Naturally there were oodles of Kennedys. Eunice Kennedy Shriver looked ladylike in cerise taffeta by Cardin. Joan Kennedy, the wife of Senator Edward Kennedy, swirled by in lavender crepe slit to the tops of her thighs. But sitting two rows in front of Mrs. Robert F. Kennedy was an unlikely figure: an Australian girl in T shirt, blue jeans and bare feet. Having come to stare, she had been given a ticket by an unknown man. "Are you staying?" asked a bystander. "My God, yes!" she gasped, then padded dazedly to her choice seat.

Doyenne of the Kennedys and the undisputed star of the opening night was Rose Kennedy, at 81 looking incredibly youthful, the closest thing to a Queen Mother that the U.S. offers. Glamorously Givenchied, she sat beside Composer Bernstein while Edward Kennedy, Composer Aaron Copland and Washington Mayor Walter Washington provided background. For human interest there was Mrs. Walter Washington in a wheelchair and a hip-high cast, refusing to let a pulled ligament interfere with her fun.

Rose Kennedy admitted in her husky voice that she had walked right by Sculptor Robert Berks' imposing bust of the late President without noticing it. "I've seen it before and found it very moving, but to be perfectly frank, I didn't look at it tonight." Bernstein's unconventional ways with the Mass upset some people, but not Mother Rose, who has been through too much travail to make stern judgments. "Jack would have loved it," she said. "It's the great expression of hope that is important. In spite of Jack's discouragement, he always had the idea that things would be all right if there was enough time." As the crush grew greater, Mrs. Kennedy asked where she should go. "Follow me, Mother," said Senator Edward. "I'll take good care of you."

Notably absent was the former First Lady, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, who had talked Bernstein into composing the opening Mass. With typical Jacquelinian unpredictability, she first promised to appear, then reneged. She was reported sunning on her private Greek isle. But up until curtain time, rumors still flew that she might show up after all. Pestered beyond endurance by reporters, Roger L. Stevens, board chairman of the Center, finally declared, "She's not coming. If she were, every photographer would have followed her every step of the way."

All night, emotions ran high. Tears and cheers for the music made for a loud, if damp, ovation. At the end of the premiere, Bernstein wept helplessly as the audience thundered its applause, then launched into a marathon fit of kissing everyone in reach. "May I kiss you one more time?" he asked Rose Kennedy. Said Rose gently; "I think it will ruin my makeup." Tact may have accounted for some of the praise, but in the case of 87-year-old Alice Roosevelt Longworth, daughter of Theodore Roosevelt and one of Washington's more outspoken oldtimers, tact was beside the point. "I liked Hair better," said Alice.

The building also came in for some deservedly devastating comments. At Tuesday's preview, Senator Hubert H. Humphrey had declared: "It has class, dignity. I love it." But many disagreed with Humphrey. New York Times Architecture Critic Ada Louise Huxtable called the building "a superbunker. One more like this and the city will sink. The corridors would be great for drag racing."

Kisses and tears out of the way, along with the Mass, it became President Richard Nixon's show the next night, when the Concert Hall--a far more tasteful room--opened with a performance by Conductor Antal Dorati and the city's National Symphony. The Nixons' guest was Mamie Eisenhower, who got a standing ovation from the audience--though probably few remembered that it was President Dwight D. Eisenhower, not J.F.K., who gave the Center its first impetus back in 1958 by pushing legislation through Congress.

Another guest had more to muse on than most: Contralto Marian Anderson. In 1939, she had been refused permission by the Daughters of the American Revolution to sing in Constitution Hall because she is black. Mrs. Eleanor Roosevelt resigned from the D.A.R., and Anderson sang instead on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Last week, Miss Anderson sat in the presidential box.

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