Roll Over, Beethoven

I make my living conducting orchestras. Luckily, I grew up just late enough in the century that this type of career was not impossible for a woman. Ten years earlier and I probably would have been an amateur violinist or perhaps a schoolteacher. Instead, I have earned the wonderful opportunity of re-creating the music of the masters.

I went to college on a violin scholarship, not really sure just what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I knew there must be something that combined everything I loved -- music, teaching, leadership skills and working with people. And I knew that, when I found it, I would know. Well, I was right. My junior year, I discovered conducting, and it changed my life.

As you may have guessed, I don't exactly fit your typical stereotype for a conductor. I'm not 60-years-plus in age, and I don't have a receding gray hairline (although I once thought about dyeing my hair gray to see if it would help me get a job). Nor do I have some sensational European accent, or speak 10 different languages perfectly. My name is not even right. It's much too plain to be given a second glance. Even with the middle initial inserted, it still lacks the exotic appeal of a name like Zubin Mehta or Pierre Boulez. Notwithstanding all these factors, by far the biggest problem I faced early in my conducting career was the simple fact that I was not a man.

For years, decades, centuries, orchestras have been conducted by men. Until about 25 years ago it was extremely rare for a woman to play in a professional orchestra and even rarer to consider conducting one. Graduate programs offering advanced training in orchestral conducting were basically closed to women until the radical '60s. I guess I should be thankful for the feminist movement, because by the '80s, the rethinking of the roles and career opportunities for women had really begun to open doors. As a result, there are now close to 20 women conducting recognized orchestras across the United States, while many others occupy positions as assistant conductors with major orchestras.

Being accepted as a woman conductor in 1994 is still a great challenge. Of course, there is something to be said for being a novelty item. When I apply for a conducting position (along with the 300 to 400 other young conductors who submit applications for every opening in the country), I am usually remembered because of the relatively small number of women who apply. When I was selected as one of the five finalists for the position of music director/conductor of the Symphony of Southeast Texas in Beaumont in the spring of 1991, I was pleased and flattered, but also realistic. I figured that I was the token woman, thrown in to appease all those in favor of equal opportunity.

Imagine my surprise when, after guest-conducting the orchestra, I was selected unanimously as its new music director. Times were definitely changing. It seemed that everyone in the Beaumont community was very excited about having a new, young conductor -- who happened to be a woman. Some people even bragged to their friends that they had the only female music director/conductor in the state of Texas. (Recently the East Texas Symphony in Tyler hired a woman, so there are now two of us!)

This little gender detour from tradition has taken everyone by surprise. When I meet new people, they are always thrilled to hear that I am a conductor, but often they have difficulty disguising their disbelief. Once they get beyond the initial shock, they have a stream of questions to ask me. Suddenly all those well-formulated rules and social graces we have always associated with the great "maestro conductors" don't quite fit. Everyone wants to know the proper new traditions and guidelines that apply specifically to female conductors.

Again and again I've been asked, "What do we call you?" Conductor? Conductress? (I really don't like that one.) Maestro? I always laugh and tell them they can call me anything they like; just plain Diane will be fine. After a time, here in Beaumont, Texas, we have finally settled upon the Italian word "maestra" as our way to address or introduce a conductor who is female. The board of directors of my orchestra loves this because it retains the glamour that has always been associated with the conductor of a symphony. (As for the musicians in my orchestra, they just call me Diane.)

The next major area of concern to all was "what are you going to wear?" Traditionally, men (in this century, at least) have conducted in white tie and tails. Because I'm not of the customary gender, I chose to start a new tradition of my own. Elegant gowns, skirts and blouses, especially selected for each concert. Long, flowing outfits with sequins and lace. And who says a conductor must always wear black? I began to mingle silver and gold with the standard black and white, adding a touch of pizzazz and excitement to our stage. We even toyed with the idea of a marketing campaign called "Dress the Conductor," in which local fashion stores would select attire for each concert. Throughout the years we have kept concertgoers guessing. "What are you going to wear?" they all ask me. "Come to the next concert and find out," I reply. Ticket sales have increased dramatically!

Almost without fail I wear something that has a belt, a sash or a cummerbund at the waist. I do this now on purpose, though at the beginning it happened quite by accident. I am tall (5 feet 9), and I happen to be slender as well. When I am on the stage, it appears as though I have an incredibly small waist. I assure you, it is really not that small, but perception is everything. When the audience sees me on the stage at concerts, my "small" waist becomes a focal point -- creating envious looks from women and a fascination for the men. Therefore, I must admit that by far the most-asked question from both men and women is not the standard "What music are you going to play?" or the popular "Who is your favorite composer?" or even the expected "What made you pursue a career in conducting?" The most burning question is: "What is the size of your tiny Scarlett O'Hara waist?"