Abstract
Frederick Fennell, founder of the internationally acclaimed Eastman Wind Ensemble (EWE), is considered by many to be the catalyst for the modern wind-band movement, often credited with revolutionizing thought and practice within the discipline. While this perception remains valid, evidence suggests that Fennell was much less serious (or “high-brow”) than many believe. Derived from original research in the Fennell Archive at the Eastman School of Music, this article seeks to highlight tensions between Fennell’s desire to record serious wind-band music and the demands of Mercury Records (EWE record label, 1952–1964) to record populist repertoire. Fennell’s archival material suggests that his philosophy was directly influenced by Mercury’s bottom line with the objective of selling records to the masses. Surprisingly, this synthesized a dynamic approach to programming for Fennell and the EWE—one that remains a tradition to this day. The influence of recorded media’s populist objective fused an approach for Fennell that is much more “middle-brow” than many may have believed.
Keywords
Fennell as a Visionary
On February 5, 1951, an experimental “Concert of Music for Wind Instruments, Performed By Students of the Orchestral Department” 1 took place in the Eastman School of Music’s Kilbourn Hall. The program consisted of repertoire from the 16th to the 20th centuries in various configurations of ensembles, ranging from brass and woodwind groups to a larger, one-per-part “wind band.” In the fall of 1952, this experiment would come to be known as the Eastman Wind Ensemble (EWE), led by its founder Frederick Fennell (1914–2004). Over the next 60-plus years, Fennell’s wind ensemble concept would profoundly reshape thought and practice in wind-band performance, especially in terms of performance standards, repertoire, and instrumentation. By the late 20th century Fennell’s acclaim as a wind conductor of high repute reached international proportions—in 1962, he departed Eastman to serve as associate conductor of the Minneapolis Symphony (1962–1964), then became conductor in residence at the University of Miami (1965–1980), and finally served as longtime conductor of the Tokyo Kosei Wind Orchestra (1984–1999).
In his book
The dissemination of recorded media, the generation of copious conductor training and repertoire articles, frequent guest conducting appearances across the globe, and the proliferation of the wind ensemble concept catapulted Fennell’s status to the de facto leader of the wind-band movement in the second half of the 20th century. An obituary-tribute article in the
That today’s leaders looked up to Fennell, there is no question. Many regard him as a visionary who advocated for the creation of serious repertoire, thus transitioning the wind-band medium from its pre-1950s reliance on transcriptions and lighter works to medium-specific masterworks. It may be fair to say that along with Edwin Franko Goldman before him, Fennell led the charge toward a new model for wind-band repertoire and performance.
In this study of Fennell and his work within the art form, we will need to frame the discussion in terms of registers of style in art and literature, thus using Rubin’s working definition “high brow” (or serious) as refined, cultivated, avante garde; “low brow” as lacking cultivation, populist driven, lacking a care for taste; and “middle brow” as consumerist outgrowth of the mass marketing of serious or quasi-serious works—or somewhere between the low and high (Rubin, 1992, pp. xii−xv). As the
A Cordial Tug of War With Mercury Records
Perhaps the most influential tool in launching Fennell’s status was a recording agreement with Mercury Records in 1952, arranged through a larger contract with the Eastman School of Music for the purposes of recording American music. The Mercury Living Presence Series utilized the finest technology available at the time, including imported microphones from Europe and appealed directly to the new Hi-Fidelity (Hi-Fi) audience of at-home audiophiles, fostered by postwar disposable income and emanating from wartime technological developments. Of the significance of this project, wind historian and conductor Frank Battisti states that “Fennell’s philosophy of programming, high performance standards and superb recordings had a profound influence on many band directors and conductors . . . . Without the Mercury recordings Fennell’s influence on the band world would have been far less.” (Battisti, 2002, pp. 58−59)
However, notoriety and recognition often come at a price. Despite the best of intentions for his wind ensemble concept, it became clear from the beginning of the Mercury/EWE project that David Hall (president of the Mercury Classical Division) sought to release recordings of “band” music in the traditional sense. This was manifest in several aspects of the recording agreement, most notably in branding the EWE, the use of personnel, and the selection of repertoire for recordings. It is evident from Fennell’s archival materials (housed at the Eastman School’s Sibley Music Library) that a gentle tug of war between him and Mercury executives developed through the course of the project. As a result, Fennell was often forced to choose between public acclaim driven by record sales and the preservation of his artistic integrity.
This dialectic came to being at nearly the very beginning of the project, with David Hall referring to the EWE almost exclusively as a “band.” Early on in the recording project (1953), communications from Hall include statements such as “thank you for your letter about the popular band album,”
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and “thanks for your note . . . confirming the news about the fall band session.”
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Hall went so far as to suggest that Fennell copy instrumentation used by Morton Gould for a concurrent recording project— this instrumentation was not of the flexible wind ensemble concept, but simply a one- player per part concert band. Remarkably, Fennell responded “ours is identical to the extent of about 99 percent. He used two more B-flat clarinets than we, but we use the alto clarinet, he did not.”
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Fennell’s agreeable response to the idea of a fixed instrumentation begins to fly in the face of his own
It would seem that Hall promoted a recording project consisting of traditional band music performed by a small symphonic band. In business-speak: an ensemble lean in human resources. Perhaps he was seeking an effective business model for large ensemble recording, one fueled by a mass-market appeal of band music and made economical through low labor costs (EWE members were paid union scale wages for recording sessions, and the use of a small band would certainly require less capital up front than a large symphonic band).
Fennell’s term “wind ensemble,” either as a proper or common noun, had to endure pressure from Mercury Records, too. In a May 1953 letter to Howard Hanson, director of the Eastman School, Hall requested to brand the EWE as the “Eastman-Rochester Symphonic Wind Ensemble” because it would be “far better from the point of view of sales and prestige.” 6 Hanson, however, sundered this request with the justification that “Eastman-Rochester” was used to denote the mixed professional/student Philharmonic Orchestra in Rochester, and that the Eastman Wind Ensemble was a group comprised solely of students—thus, misleading. 7 As a result Hall himself “designated” the group as the “Eastman Symphonic Wind Ensemble.” 8
Although Fennell accepted the imposed title, he recanted to Hall that “I am not dissatisfied with the designation . . . although my preference was Eastman Wind Ensemble. I can understand your desire to clarify the record for the public and the title you have chosen should do that.” 9 Hall made creative decisions for Eastman by modifying the ensemble’s brand—a decision about an Eastman ensemble made by an external entity. Most likely, Fennell was keenly aware of the exposure and prestige that published recordings could bring to the ensemble (and to his own career) and as a result was willing to overlook the imposition. Donald Hunsberger confirms anecdotally that the title “Symphonic” was added by Mercury to help the public understand the nature of the wind ensemble and observes that after gaining traction, the term was dropped.
Mercury’s influence on the development of the EWE was not just limited to personnel and title, it extended into a much more artistic aspect: the selection of repertoire. As the recording project took shape in 1953, Fennell presented to Hall a list of potential pieces to record and release. The list consisted of pieces that many today would consider serious (or high brow) relative to the canon of wind-band music. The initial works proposed by Fennell were Hindemith,
To understand the gravity of Fennell’s proposal, it is beneficial to cross reference it with Acton Ostling’s landmark study of works “of Serious Artistic Merit” for wind band (1978). This study, which was updated by Jay Gilbert (1997) and Cliff Towner (2011), seeks the wisdom of the masses to discern works of the highest artistic caliber. In Towner’s 2011 update, 1,469 compositions for wind band were evaluated on a Likert-type scale based on specific compositional criteria. 18 well-known wind-band conductors were nominated to evaluate the literature by the memberships of CBDNA and WASBE. (Towner, 2011, pp. 22−45) In the final analysis, Towner et al. consider pieces that scored in the 80th percentile or higher as works of “serious artistic merit.” According to mass wisdom, Fennell’s repertoire ideas indicate that he had good taste! He aimed to record works that scored mostly above the 80th percentile benchmark—thus, according to Towner, et al., he was selecting serious works (see Table 1). Furthermore, one could argue that Fennell’s intuition was remarkable, considering that many of the works deemed serious in the Towner study had not yet been composed in 1952 (e.g., the music of Benson, Schwantner, and Husa, to name a few). Essentially, his proposal to Mercury selected serious works that have withstood the test of time.
Initial Repertoire Proposed to Mercury Records.
Donald Hunsberger (Conductor, EWE 1965–2002) believes that Fennell was concerned about standards of repertoire from the very beginning of the EWE—a tact that went hand in hand with his concern about being perceived as a high-level conductor. He purposed to record the early great works, consciously avoided school band repertoire, and even skirted the repertoire generated by the American Wind Symphony. 13 One can see this philosophy manifest in his proposed Mercury repertoire and its validity confirmed through the research of Towner, et al.
Despite Fennell’s highest intentions, David Hall exerted a significant amount of influence on the selection of repertoire, too. Early on, marches entered the conversation and remained at the forefront. For example, early in 1953 (the first year of the Mercury project) Hall proposed recording an all-Sousa album, to which Fennell protested the idea of “recording an album of all one man’s music.” He went on question the artistic direction of the album by asking of Hall “I wonder if it wouldn’t be wise to consider an album of varied march styles?”
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But by September of 1953 Hall wrote to Fennell that “We are still sticking to our guns for an all-Sousa program for the first of what we hope will be
Notwithstanding Hall’s march-centric approach, Fennell continued to advocate heavily for the position that serious works should be recorded. One piece, the subject of much correspondence, was Riegger’s
However, Hall offered nothing short of lip service in response: “Regarding the Riegger Music for Brass, I am thoroughly in sympathy with your anxiety in view of the fact that the various record companies are competing for first recording rights.” 17 Following this, a long chain of correspondences ensued with Wilma Cozart (assistant to David Hall) regarding the purchase of mechanical rights for the piece. Mercury appeared unwilling to outlay the necessary cash for the rights and the extra musicians required by the piece, and there was a half-hearted attempt to secure external funding. Hall and Cozart appeared sympathetic to Fennell’s wishes but failed to demonstrate a desire to follow through. And, reading between the lines, perhaps the brass-laden instrumentation of the Riegger (and the extra musicians required) did not jibe with Mercury’s financial model. As time passed, the conversations shifted to other pieces and Riegger was never recorded.
Fennell’s frustrations were not limited to just recording march albums and Hall’s evasion of the Riegger. Despite these setbacks Fennell pushed for repertoire of high artistic ideals well into the second year of the project, 1954. In a February 3, 1954 letter to Wilma Cozart, Fennell wrote, I don’t know what to do about the other proposal . . . I know that David has never been overly enthusiastic about my desire to record back to back Hindemith’s
Cozart responded in kind, giving little assurance to Fennell: “David is still very hesitant about recording the Schoenberg and Hindemith works. I do not know the works myself, and therefore, cannot be of any help in this matter . . . By the way David says that he does not object to the Schoenberg in itself so much as he does to the combination of Hindemith, Schoenberg, and Stravinsky.” 19 These exchanges represent much of the dialogue that transpired—Fennell proposes, Mercury pushes back, Fennell counters, and Mercury gives paltry responses.
The conversation of serious repertoire continued into August of 1954, particularly regarding Hindemith’s I am in favor of putting the two Holst Suites and the two Vaughn [sic] Williams pieces together on a single disc in the general order that you suggest . . . and I do think that all the English repertoire should be issued in one package. The Hindemith Symphony I would be inclined to hold off on for the time being if only because I want to become a lot more familiar with it before I make and commitment on Mercury’s behalf.
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Hall seems all the more ambitious to package the listener-accessible works of Vaughan Williams and Holst, while holding the more impenetrable Hindemith at bay. To this Fennell responded, “I still have hopes that I can sell you on the Hindemith, I don’t believe that you have ever heard one of our performances of it and I shall persist in interesting you in this work.” 21
Ironically, the agreement between Mercury and the Eastman School was for the recording of American composers, and Hindemith would have already been a naturalized American citizen for eight years prior. Hall deviated from the agreement, probably because he wanted band music accessible to the general public—in this case the
There can be no question that Hall was first and foremost an entrepreneur. His serious artistic leanings or principles were mild at best, and this was borne out in much of the selection of repertoire for the early years of the EWE/Mercury project. The early albums were, on the whole, listener friendly and featured music that is generally tonal or consonant. It would be safe to say that most of the works were written at middling levels of sophistication and that the recordings fit a middle-brow model of marketed works with characteristics that flirt with seriousness.
As Table 2 shows, many of the recorded works ranked underneath the 80 percent high-water mark in Towner, et al. For example, works such as Gould’s On the more serious side of things, I still have the Riegger Music for Brass on my mind. The problem still is to find music scored for a closely similar combination so that we could devote a whole session to this kind of material without running in to the problem of extra players.
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First Five Recordings of the Eastman Wind Ensemble.
An Artistic Reprieve
Fennell received a reprieve when Hall exited Mercury Records in September of 1956 and Wilma Cozart assumed leadership of the Classical Division. The final album recorded under Hall’s leadership on May 6, 1956 was titled
After this shift in philosophy, listener-accessible recordings continued to dominate the landscape, but the serious recordings seemed more serious. With Cozart’s approval, Fennell was able to record more works that would rank well above the 80th percentile in the Gilbert study. He continued to record less serious albums consisting of marches (and repackaged versions of previous march recordings), a Civil War theme, Wagner, and ballet themes. The works listed in Table 3 are selected serious works (by the author) recorded after Hall’s exit. They represent an artistic liberation of sorts for Fennell, but one should consider that they were smattered between other recordings of listener-accessible music.
Selected “Serious” Repertoire From the 1956–1962 EWE Recordings.
That Mercury put business first can be confirmed by looking at sales of the EWE/Mercury Albums. Of the entire 26-album project, the top six selling albums were march based (see Table 4). Albums consisting of marches or popular themes outsold those that were serious. The sales figures suggest that Hall knew his audience and that the record buying public was simply more interested in marches and patriotic themes than bon a fide, serious wind literature. Wilma Cozart expressed this best: I believe you will recall, Fred . . . that both David and I told you that we did not aim
Record Sales, Eastman Wind Ensemble, 1953–1964.
Mercury Sales Statement, April 13, 1967. Eastman School of Music Conducting and Ensembles Library,
Cozart confirmed that Mercury’s aim was to offer listener friendly wind-band music to the “average record buyer.” It is not surprising that Mercury would aim to make a profit; after all they were in business, but questions of artistic purity come to the fore—especially given Fennell’s desires to propagate the wind ensemble concept and to elevate the repertoire. There was not enough demand for the serious works, and Mercury was unwilling to devote the capital to creating that demand. All of this may suggest that Fennell ended up in a position that was much more middle brow than high brow—he was participating in the mass marketing of quasi serious works.
The Sacred Concert Hall?
Thus far, this article has examined works recorded by the EWE and the forces from Mercury Records that kept Fennell from recording serious repertoire. Another aspect for consideration is Fennell’s concert programming with the EWE—in the revered venue of the concert hall, often seen as a sacrosanct venue for artistic expression (especially within academia, where ticket sales are less of a concern). Given the roadblocks with Mercury, one might suppose that concerts would offer Fennell the freedom to achieve his goals. But after examining the pieces performed in Eastman Theater and Kilbourn Hall during Fennell’s tenure (1952–1962), one may be surprised to see that many parallels exist between the recordings and the performances. To understand this better, it can be insightful to examine works repeatedly programmed over a long time span. Patterns can emerge that may suggest a conductor’s preference for certain works. When examining Fennell’s repeated works (Table 5), a pattern appears which mimics the Mercury project: serious works smattered between many listener-accessible works.
Eastman Wind Ensemble, Pieces Performed More Than Once 1952–1962.
Of Fennell’s concert programs with the EWE (259 pieces, repeated performances included), 38% of the works performed were marches—nearly paralleling the Mercury recording project, which consisted of approximately 40% marches or march-like pieces. Most of the works programmed were for large ensemble (scored for large symphonic band but performed with mostly one player per part). Only 10% of the works performed were for a reduced or flexible instrumentation. The much-contested Hindemith
Battisti suggests that was a result of logistics in support of the Mercury recordings. He expresses that “I heard almost all of Fred’s Eastman Wind Ensemble programs. They were all basically band music; they were kind of like preparations to make the recordings.”
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This viewpoint is supported by the fact that all performers in the EWE were required to join the American Federation of Musicians, paid union scale for recordings, and required to abide by the rules of local chapter. The Rochester organization required that all works recorded must also be performed live. When asked specifically about connection between Mercury and concert programming, Battisti adds, That’s exactly what it was. Because Fred could have done anything. I mean, the first concert they played which was 1/3, woodwind, etc. He could have done that. There’s no reason why he could not have done it . . . It was only because of the recordings that, what he was doing, he was playing band music with orchestrally trained players—so it was a new sound. That was the thing that the recordings did. You heard this music for the first time, played by orchestrally trained musicians. (Note 25)
Of Fennell’s proposed flexible instrumentation concept, Battisti says “Where the confusion comes is that after Fred made the manifesto, he made all those recordings of band music. That’s why people said ‘all a wind ensemble is, is a band in tuxedos.’” (Note 25)
To present day, this representation continues to lead to confusion surrounding the wind ensemble concept as Fennell intended it. Many ensembles are named “wind ensemble” but simply play one (or more) per part band music, or “wind ensemble” has become a name used to describe an elite concert band that does not utilize flexible instrumentation. Other groups use the term “Symphonic Wind Ensemble,” which was a title devised only for the purposes of marketing. Those who applied these aspects are the direct benefactors of the recording project and Mercury’s manipulation of Fennell’s intent for the wind ensemble concept.
Fennell as a Combination of Experiences
Fennell was unable to fully implement his vision for the wind ensemble due to the Mercury recording agreement as he was clearly engaged to meet the obligations and the pressures of Mercury management and the Accounting and Financial Management (AFM) requirements. One might assume that this would lead to frustration on his part, a dissonance between artistic vision and reality; however, the outcome seems quite the opposite: public acceptance, acclaim, and notoriety energized him. Of his first record with the EWE, Fennell exclaimed, “My copies came today, and now I can really believe again that I have made a record.” 26 As the recordings and public visibility grew it seems that Fennell enjoyed being a star. So much so, that in his Musician’s Diary (an annual date book), he added himself as a notable conductor (see Figure 1)!
Fennell’s Music Diary, 1959.
As his recognition grew, so did increased opportunities for guest conducting and recordings external to his duties at Eastman. In May of 1953, he made a guest conducting appearance with the Boston Pops and in 1956 was offered a “pops” recording contract with Unicorn Records (Adler, 2007, p. 69). His business acumen must have grown while working with the record industry for 2 years, as he leveraged this offer to his advantage with Mercury.
On May 29, 1956, Howard Hanson implored Mercury to offer Fennell an exclusive contract for orchestral pops recordings as a counter to the Unicorn proposal. Hanson went so far as to cede involvement and prestige in the recordings made at Eastman—which for Hanson’s personality type must have been a feat. He states that “I should be happy to have Fred do the bulk of ‘pop’ recording in Rochester, and should want to reserve for myself only the recording of those works in the ‘in between’ category in which I am particularly interested.” 27
Per Hanson’s urging Mercury offered Fennell an exclusive recording contract for popular orchestra albums to be recorded with the Eastman-Rochester Pops Orchestra (ERPO). This agreement blossomed into a total of 13 pops albums, recorded with ERPO and other pickup groups, all conducted by Fennell. In the initial agreement, Fennell negotiated to have exclusivity through Eastman waived, in case he became “engaged by an orchestra as its permanent conductor.” 28 One may find it ironic that during the height of his great successes with the EWE that he frequently applied to professional orchestral conducting posts. It seems that he became less concerned about advocating for “serious” music and more interested in furthering his career through the clearest channel as a conductor of “pops” music.
When one considers the stature of the Eastman School as an elite east coast orchestral training school, the gulf in registers of style programmed by Fennell seems at odds with the institution that birthed him. While some of this disparity was created by the possibilities of the Mercury agreement and the strings attached, it is worth noting that part of it probably came from Fennell himself. He left few specific writings about his philosophy of music, programming, or aesthetics, but considering his career ambitions and bending of principles for the sake of notoriety it becomes clear that he was less elite than the lay observer may have thought.
Like any artist, Fennell would have had vast influences and their effect on his personal aesthetic and preferences would be hard to quantify. He participated in fife and drum groups as the child of avid civil war re-enactors, he summered at Interlochen as a high school student (playing for conductors such as A.A. Harding, Mark Hindsley, and Howard Hanson), attended the Eastman School for his bachelor’s and master’s degrees, briefly attended the Salzburg Mozarteum, and attended Tanglewood as a conducting student of Serge Koussevitsky (Boston Symphony Orchestra Music Director, 1924–1949) where he was a classmate of Leonard Bernstein. Certainly his taste was affected by all of these experiences, ranging from the transcription-laden repertoire of the 1930s-era symphonic band to Koussevitzky’s insistence on serious repertoire and high-level performing. Koussevitzky’s influence is important to consider as a part of this composite; not only did Fennell study with him at Tanglewood but also he worked hard to develop and maintain a relationship that lasted until Koussevitzky’s death in 1951. Fennell’s archival material contains frequent correspondences to Koussevitzky, typically focused on scheduling visits in Boston and seeking Koussevitzky’s reference for applications to professional orchestral conducting positions during his tenure at Eastman. That Fennell “latched-on” to Koussevitzky seems apparent.
Koussevitzky was a “serious” musician, and there can be no question about this. He was known as a champion of contemporary art music, and his commissioning project generated esteemed works such as Bartók’s
Perhaps also influential to Fennell was Koussevitzky’s foil, Arthur Fiedler (the widely known conductor of the Boston Pops, 1930–1979) who invited Fennell to conduct the orchestra in 1953. (Rogers, 1953) Fiedler best summarizes his philosophy: “I have consistently tried to present music of wide entertainment value, but always with the thought in mind that the music must be tops of its kind regardless of the category to which it belongs . . . I have tried to make certain that no one shuns our concerts because the programs are either too classical or too popular.” 30 As Ayden Adler aptly summarizes, these statements represent “Fiedler’s lifelong attempt to develop a niche between ‘popular’ tastes of some and the ‘classical’ tastes of others” (see Note 30). Fiedler’s work was aimed at marketing concerts to the public, but with a certain set of standards—he was operating from a platform of middling sophistication. That is, the essence of high-brow literature repackaged for mass consumption, thus fitting a working definition of middle brow.
The evidence of Fennell’s work with Mercury, his concert programming, and interactions with conductors who appealed to varying audiences suggest that he was hardly an elitist, but instead a synthesis of the influential figures he had known and worked with (I suggest Harding, Howard Hanson, Koussevitzky, and Fiedler, nonexclusively). He was hardly the tortured artist type but instead one who sought notoriety and recognition, built a brand for the Eastman Wind Ensemble, and inspired generations of wind conductors to forge new frontiers in the commissioning and performing of high-quality music. He was willing to advocate fiercely for the highest standards of repertoire and performance while engaging with works that were listener friendly. Perhaps a good term to define Fennell’s approach is versatile.
A Refined Paradigm for the Wind Ensemble Concept
We should consider all of this within the context of the wind ensemble concept as Fennell defined it. The wind ensemble (at full implementation) is conceived as a player pool in which the instrumentation of the composition determines the size of the ensemble (8 players or 45, matters not). This could be thought of as a horizontal aspect of flexibility, one of moving with agility from work to work, pulling performers from the pool as needed. But Fennell’s programming choices with the Eastman Wind Ensemble suggest an additional aspect of flexibility: one of verticality. Meaning that the wind ensemble could be so flexible as to perform works that appeal to the masses (a middle-brow approach), yet handle the most elite works written for the medium (a high-brow approach), and do all of it in a stunning fashion. I believe Fennell demonstrated this as best he could at Eastman given his constraints.
This tradition has continued with the EWE since Fennell’s tenure. In fact, Donald Hunsberger touts his recording
Most recognize Fennell as an innovator and bulwark of performance quality—one who set the standard for the wind-band medium in the second half of the 20th century. However, along with this might come the assumption that Fennell was mostly a high-brow promulgator. To the contrary, the evidence suggests that Fennell was willing to perform the finest music he could access, regardless of its seriousness, entertainment value or otherwise, and do it at a standard-setting level of quality. He did advocate for serious music but also participated in the mass marketing of quasi-serious music. I believe this lands him much more in the middle than anything else. I argue that Fennell’s work with the Eastman Wind Ensemble (and the continued execution by his heirs) has lead to a refined ideal for the wind ensemble concept, one that implements a focus on flexible instrumentation, but
Footnotes
Acknowledgements
The author wishes to acknowledge Donald Hunsberger, Conductor Emeritus of the Eastman Wind Ensemble; Mark Scatterday, Conductor of the Eastman Wind Ensemble; and David Peter Coppen, Special Collections Librarian and Archivist of the Sibley Music Library for their contributions to this article.
Declaration of Conflicting Interests
The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: Partial funding for this project was provided by Scholarly and Creative Activity Grants Program/College of Liberal Arts, University of Nevada, Reno.