by Stephan Salisbury, Inquirer staff writer
October 28, 2001
Latches Lane is a quiet place these days. No buses block the streets. There are no protesters,
no police, no yellow hazard tape. After a rancorous decade of lawsuit and countersuit, the
Barnes Foundation is bruised, but gamely carrying on. Its endowment is gone. Its daily
finances are teetering. But the Merion institution still houses one of the great art
collections in the world, and it still cleaves to its mission of using art to teach the world
how to think and see.
Since 1990, the foundation has seen some of its most intense imbroglios - and some of its greatest triumphs. These were largely the result of actions taken by Richard S. Glanton, an ambitious and flamboyant corporate lawyer who served as foundation president from that date until 1998. Glanton was named a Barnes trustee by the board of Lincoln University, a historically black college in Chester County, which selects four of the five members of the Barnes board.
Glanton came to the Barnes set on shaking things up. Within a year, he sought to sell paintings
collected by the founder, Albert C. Barnes, who made millions selling patent medicine. When that failed, Glanton worked to exhibit the paintings around the world. He renovated the gallery and tried to jack up attendance. When neighbors and Lower Merion Township balked at the buses and the crowds that followed, he accused them of racism and sued, only to have the courts throw the suit out. Meanwhile, the legal fees grew and grew.
Now, the Barnes sits wounded by legal and staff wrangles, its coffers depleted by litigation
and escalating operating costs. It is bound strictly by terms of Barnes' virtually immutable
will and trust indenture, keenly watched by benefactors and suspicious neighbors, and facing
scrutiny by township officials, Montgomery County Orphans' Court, the state Attorney General's
Office, and self-appointed guardians of the Barnes legacy. In this acrid and paranoid
atmosphere, the foundation must define itself and convince all interested parties that it
is moving ahead on a legitimate and worthy course.
Barry Munitz, president of the J. Paul Getty Trust, summarizes the concerns of many. "If
they [the Barnes Foundation] cannot energize the community, the question must be asked:
Should they exist? The jury is still out."
When Barnes died in 1951, he left his foundation with an endowment of $10 million. Thirty-seven
years later, when his successor, Violette de Mazia, died, the foundation's endowment was still
$10 million. That money, invested in low-yielding bonds, produced enough income to cover the
$1 million annual operating expenses.
It protected canvases by Renoir, Cézanne, Matisse, van Gogh, Seurat, Picasso, Monet,
Toulouse-Lautrec, Rousseau, Modigliani, Manet, Soutine, Prendergast, Glackens, Demuth, Courbet,
Rubens, Tintoretto, El Greco and Bosch, plus sculpture, metalwork, masks, ceramics, textiles,
furniture and oddments from all over the world.
Now, 13 years after de Mazia's death - and with the market value of the collection
incalculable - nothing remains of the endowment. Operating expenses have increased to
$3 million, and foundation director Kimberly Camp, on the job since November 1998, has
launched a concerted effort to raise money. She has garnered promising but middling-sized
grants from the Getty, the Pew Charitable Trusts, the Luce Foundation, Mellon Bank, Wilmington
Trust and a few other places - but nothing that could begin to reestablish the endowment or
provide a cushion for operations.
"Money,"said Camp the other day, shaking her head. She surveyed the airy conference room in
the Barnes residence that now serves as foundation administrative space. "We don't have any
problems that won't go away with money."
Glanton faced the same problem. But his first response was to look at the art and see assets.
Within a year of his election as Barnes president, he proposed to sell art to generate funds to
renovate the gallery, install climate control and upgrade security.
A firestorm of criticism
erupted, and the first legal battles of the Glanton Era began. Students of the Barnes art
school sued. A foundation support organization, Friends of the Barnes, sued. Glanton
ultimately backed down and pushed instead for a world tour of selected works.
To do this, he had to win the approval of Montgomery County Orphans' Court, which has jurisdiction over all local
trusts and charities. The foundation's governing rules strictly forbid removal - not to mention
sale - of the foundation's art. Glanton ultimately won the one-time right to violate that
prohibition, and he sent "Great French Paintings from the Barnes Foundation"to museums in
Europe, Asia and cities in the United States, garnering close to $17 million in fees for the
foundation. Not all of that was used to renovate the complex, but court order bars the
foundation from using any of the $5 million or so left over for anything other than renovations
and repairs.
How, then, did the foundation wind up broke only a few short years after being
solvent and permanently endowed? A look at the foundation's federal tax records, as well as
at testimony and documents from a recent civil trial, provides some clues.
According to Internal Revenue Service filings, from 1996 to 1998 the Barnes Foundation doled out $1,178,906 to the Philadelphia law firm of Blank Rome Comisky & McCauley LLP.
In 1998, $1,173,658 went to the New York firm of Paul, Weiss, Rifkind, Wharton & Garrison.
From 1992 to 1997, $1,013,714 went to Pittsburgh-based Buchanan Ingersoll.
From 1992 to 1998, $2,054,591 was paid to Philadelphia-based Dilworth Paxon LLP.
From 1996 to 1997, $388,618 went to the Philadelphia firm of Sugarman & Associates.
Trial testimony last summer indicated that the foundation or its insurance company paid an additional $100,000 to the Sugarman firm, $80,000 to former State Sen. Hardy Williams, and at least $35,000 to other lawyers.
That brings the minimum payout surrounding litigation to $5,952,487 for the period of 1992 to 1998.
"Wow!"was all that lawyer Paul Rosen could say when he heard the figure.
Rosen represented the Lower Merion Township board of commissioners in a parking-lot zoning dispute with the foundation, a dispute that metastasized into multiple defamation and civil rights actions. Glanton, who is African American, and the foundation accused commissioners and neighbors of racism in their dealings with the Barnes on zoning matters. The Barnes suits were tossed out of court in 1996 and 1997. Countersuits brought by commissioners were settled in 1998 and 1999, and in March of this year, a federal appeals court ruled that the foundation's suit was groundless and cynically motivated. Glanton has apologized, and the foundation is now negotiating monetary payments to aggrieved residents.
At least the Barnes built its parking lot (with the last of its endowment).
This barrage of legal action was brought in an attempt to bring dollars to the foundation.
But some of it also seems to have been designed to tell the surrounding community to back off.
Neighbors and commissioners view much of the legal posturing as bullying.
The foundation's art, many have observed, also provided Glanton with a means to achieve influence and prestige. By spreading legal fees among law firms, Glanton, a conservative Republican who has entertained mayoral ambitions and helped raise funds for former State Attorney General Ernie Preate, among other politicians, created a network of politically connected business associates.
Dilworth Paxon, for instance, was home to powerful Republican Bruce Kaufmann, now a federal judge, who deftly handled Barnes matters in Orphans' Court. Democratic State Sen. Vincent J. Fumo is associated with the firm. Former U.S. attorney David Marston (a one-time Republican mayoral candidate) handled Barnes matters for Buchanan Ingersoll.
Marston subsequently joined Glanton's firm, Pittsburgh-based Reed Smith, which is also home
to Lincoln University trustee and city Republican Party boss Michael Meehan. (Glanton also
hired Marston's wife to administer foundation affairs.) Republican fund-raiser David
Girard-diCarlo, who is close to former Gov. Tom Ridge, runs Blank Rome. Democrat Hardy
Williams, another beneficiary of Barnes legal largesse, was a member of the powerful
Senate appropriations committee in Harrisburg, where Fumo is minority chair.
Robert Sugarman is former solicitor for Newtown Township, Delaware County, and former attorney
for Fumo. Sugarman also defended Glanton in a nasty civil conspiracy and malpractice trial last
summer in which Niara Sudarkasa, former Lincoln University president, accused Glanton of
driving her from office in 1998.
Sudarkasa, who was also a Barnes trustee, claimed Glanton
improperly incited Fumo to investigate her administration at Lincoln in retaliation for her
opposition to Glanton's actions as Barnes president. Fumo, who declined to testify, said
oversight of Lincoln, a state-related school, was a legitimate responsibility of his
committee - and had nothing to do with Glanton or favors from the Barnes; Glanton
denied any improprieties. The suit was dismissed.
Glanton knew the powerful attractions
of art. When the Barnes paintings went on tour, he arranged for private receptions for Reed
Smith lawyers and prospective clients in as many venues as possible - Paris, Munich,
Tokyo, Washington, Philadelphia. Business seems so much more comfortable amid priceless
French impressionists.
After the 1993-95 world tour and attendant publicity, Lower Merion
Township zoning officials and the institution's neighbors were appalled by the crowds
that began showing up at the foundation. As a result, the township formally charged the
foundation with operating as a museum, not an educational institution - a violation of local
zoning ordinances.
Which is it? And does it matter?
"To me, it's a really specious argument," said Barnes director Camp. "If you read Barnes'
intentions and his writing and his articles and the books and the radio addresses, Barnes
was enabling public visitation, he wasn't restricting it.
"Of course, Lower Merion officials
and residents have been mostly concerned with the affect of public visitation on the surrounding community.
That's one reason neighbors peer out from behind their curtains to see what buses are parked at the Barnes or how many members of groups are trooping into the galleries or where visitors hail from. That's why neighbors photograph car license plates and call the police when one too many buses shows up.
"When you talk about buses and someone else talks about race," aid James Ettelson, a Lower Merion commissioner, "it's hard to get anywhere."
In comments that have been echoed by numerous neighbors to the foundation, Ettelson said he was "genuinely hurt" by Glanton's allegations of racism. "It came from out of the blue," he said. "It's one thing to be called unfair and another to have someone say you're showing favoritism. But this? Once you even raise the issue it becomes a stigma."
Albert Barnes had a lifelong interest in the art and culture of African Americans. He promoted
and collected the work of Horace Pippin. In a piece he published titled Negro Art and
America, Barnes stated that "through the compelling powers of his poetry and music, the American Negro is revealing to the rest of the world the essential oneness of all human beings." Barnes consistently supported the Urban League and sought to alleviate economic hardship.
In October 1950, Barnes amended the bylaws of his foundation, granting Lincoln University
the right to nominate four of the foundation's five trustees following the deaths of the original officers. Located near Oxford, Pa., Lincoln counted Langston Hughes and Thurgood Marshall among its alumni, but it was a small school with virtually no arts program.
Why link the foundation to Lincoln?
Biographer William Shack says he believes Barnes used Lincoln "to vent his spite" at perceived
high-handed treatment from Penn and other institutions who spurned an alliance with him.
According to the biographer, Barnes used the historically black institution as "a weapon"
to get back at supposed establishment enemies.
Another biographer, Henry Hart, argues that
"Lincoln University had fewer deeply vested interests resisting change, greater reason to prove
itself worthy" and therefore offered the greatest promise in an alliance. Howard Greenfeld, a
third biographer, argues that naming Lincoln was Barnes showing "his contempt for the white,
Main Line establishment."
When he met with opposition from Barnes partisans concerned about
the direction of the foundation, Glanton delighted in dismissing them. "This is not a cult,"
he declared. Those focused on Barnes' wishes, he believed, were more concerned with a world
long gone than with the future of a living institution.
In actuality, almost everyone involved
with the Barnes Foundation has been consumed by the past. For one thing, operations must be
carried out in accordance with the foundation's trust indenture, which has now been modified
by a sheaf of administrative changes, court rulings and opinions.
If the current director
wants to spend money on painting the window frames, she must go to Orphans' Court for
approval. If she wants to lend a painting that is not in the gallery but is hanging on
some wall of the foundation offices, she must go to the court for approval.
Similarly, if neighbors see a suspicious bus, or believes an after-hours gathering on the
grounds is inappropriate, they can go to court and have the record examined.
Did Barnes prohibit reproductions of his art? Are fund-raisers banned at the foundation?
Can financial investments be made? Can art be purchased? Can classes be suspended?
Consult the trust indenture, consult the record, consult the courts.
This atmosphere lends a certain Scholastic aura to those seeking to move the foundation one
way or another. Participants in the ongoing drama are not unlike biblical or constitutional
scholars scrutinizing sacred texts for guidance.
Camp, an imaginative director with her
work cut out for her, is taking this approach in an interesting direction. Among the most
important projects she has initiated with funds provided by foundations are an inventory and an
assessment of the collection.
This may not seem like much, but it has never been done before
and it may prove earth-moving.
The archive, it appears, is massive. In fact, Barnes seems to have saved everything. Camp is
presiding over the cataloging and organizing of this trove - about 500,000 documents, largely
unknown and unseen.
Here, she believes, the future of the foundation may be found. For it is
here that a real Barnes, a Barnes of imagination, daring and intellect can most clearly be seen.
"He saved it all,"Camp said. "We have gas station receipts. We have his parking tickets.
We have shipping manifests and invoices. We have calling cards and letters. Barnes kept
carbon copies of every letter that he sent.
"He also kept everything that was sent to him.
We have half a million documents. Another 10,000 photographs. A huge amount of material.
And really vital. Because he was such a meticulous record keeper, we have full dialogues
between him and John Dewey, Glackens, Demuth, Eleanor Roosevelt, H.L. Mencken, Ezra Pound,
Booker T. Washington, Alain Locke, Leopold Stokowski, Greta Garbo. It's all there. All
there. There's no reason to guess who Barnes was and what he believed. He left a road map.
I don't know why people didn't use that as source material to talk about Barnes."
Well, why didn't they?
"De Mazia,"Camp said, "didn't let anybody in."
From this material, Camp believes, it will be possible to rebuild the case for the Barnes
Foundation as an aggressive educational institution, an institution concerned with the teaching
of art in schools and colleges, an institution that participates in the world of scholarship and that contributes to intellectual debates in the country.
Camp wants to reintroduce the sense
of excitement and debate that, she says, characterized the foundation when philosopher John
Dewey was education director and Bertrand Russell and Albert Einstein might show up to
lend an idea or two. Alliances with colleges and universities, teacher-training programs,
partnerships with area schools - all are being explored now.
Camp is also seeking to exploit the full scope of foundation resources. Earlier this year, she won court approval to loan works of art not in the gallery - works now dubbed "Lost Treasures of the Barnes."Some of these paintings are important, although no loans have been announced yet.
Barnes' country retreat, Ker Feal, in Chester County, which has a significant collection of American antique furniture, could provide another dimension to the foundation. Camp wants to develop it as a "living history"museum.
On the funding front, Camp is seeking to build a track record with foundations. In the short
term, grants of $500,000 here and there can cover operating costs. But the foundation needs
bigger contributions to stabilize itself in the long term.
There was a flurry of excitement earlier this year when a news report surfaced suggesting
the foundation might be considering a move into the city, possibly in affiliation with the
Philadelphia Museum of Art. All parties denied the report, but some philanthropists and art
patrons said an affiliation with the Art Museum may be the only long-term hope for the Barnes.
"Even if the Barnes doesn't move [into Philadelphia], it still makes sense to figure out a
way for them to come into an alliance"with the Art Museum, said Roger Mandle, president of
the Rhode Island School of Design. "PMA shouldn't have responsibility to bail out the foundation, but it would provide a keel - not a rudder, but a keel. The museum could provide ballast. If the foundation is left to its own devices, it's just going to sputter and sputter."
Camp said that won't happen. "I can fix it,"she maintained.
Anne d'Harnoncourt, director and chief executive officer of the Art Museum, clearly wants to see
daylight between her institution and all talk of moving the Barnes.
"The long term,"d'Harnoncourt said, "is very much what the Barnes wants to do. We're very supportive of them as an institution, but it's their future and their thinking through of their future."
Raymond G. Perelman, chairman of the Art Museum's board of trustees, is nonetheless
intrigued by the idea of the Barnes moving to Philadelphia - "it would better serve the
public, if 100,000 a year could see it and not 40,000" but hastens to add that he "personally
wouldn't do anything other than what the Barnes wants done" itself.
"It's been where it's been for tens of years and it could be there for another
hundred,"said Perelman.
As long as the Barnes remains in Merion, Perelman believes it will be extremely difficult to
raise significant amounts of money - a situation that moving would remedy. "I don't want to
start a crusade or a movement or anything,"Perelman said.
"If the Barnes decides something should be done . . . I'm sure money wouldn't be a problem."
And the trust indenture, would that be a problem? The courts? History?
"In my mind, I don't think that's an obstacle,"Perelman said. "Accommodations could be worked
out. I think if Barnes were alive today, he'd come to realize all this.
"Anyway, you can't rule from the grave."
|
300 North Latch's Lane
![](images/"shim.gif"){kind=spacer}
