There was a time, half a century ago, when a certain classical music competition meant more than just another young speed demon trying to wow a fractious group of judges. A lot more.
It was the spring of 1958. Many Americans were still reeling from the launch of Sputnik only months before, wondering if the nation was losing its edge over the Soviet Union. Against this tense background came word of a new contest in the U.S.S.R. named after Russia's most famous composer, Peter Ilich Tchaikovsky.
Fifty years on, there is still an International Tchaikovsky Competition every four years. But nowadays, it can seem just another among the plethora of such contests that have sprung up in its wake. The situation is somewhat analogous to the state of boxing's heavyweight division (now dominated by Russians): many titles, each with less clout, where once there was one generally recognized champ.
In 1958, the Tchaikovsky had only two categories: piano and violin. And few people noticed that an American -- one Joyce Flissler -- managed to squeeze out seventh prize in a field that also included six Russians and one Romanian in the violin finals.
Instead, all eyes and ears were on the piano competition, in which a 6-foot-4, bushy-haired, baby-faced 23-year-old Texan was competing with a phalanx of international contestants, including three Russians in the finals. His name was Harvey Lavan Cliburn Jr., and he arrived out of central casting to represent a nation apparently longing for someone, anyone, who could wrestle the Russian bear to the ground on its home turf.
Van Cliburn won the gold medal and came home a national hero. He was paraded through New York City, with ticker tape flying. He made the cover of Time. Columbia and RCA Victor fought for his services, and his first record, an LP of the Tchaikovsky Piano Concerto No. 1, became the first million-selling classical album. The story of jurors having to ask Khrushchev himself whether or not to award first prize to an American indicates how high the stakes were -- and how unimaginable this frenzy would be to today's public.
Another then-23-year-old American pianist who also made his way into the finals, Daniel Pollack (he came in eighth), recalls the excitement all too well. "It was a hair-raising experience," Pollack, now a professor of piano at the USC Thornton School of Music, said recently. "Because of the impact of the Cold War, there was quite a lot of hype in the streets. Everybody knew about it because it was broadcast and on television. Russia's sphere of influence was enormous then -- including China."
