Produced with the stated purpose of commemorating the fiftieth anniversary of Cincinnati, Ohio, as a center of music, it was conceived by Thomas G. Melish, a coin enthusiast who controlled the group which was allowed to buy the entire issue from the government, and who resold the pieces at high prices.

Until 1954, the entire mintage of such issues was sold by the government at face value to a group authorized by Congress, who then tried to sell the coins at a profit to the public.

This piece had been issued at the behest of L. W. Hoffecker, a Texas entrepreneur and coin dealer, who put aside a fifth of the 10,000 mintage for himself and sold them well into the 1940s, by which time he had served as president of the American Numismatic Association (ANA).

At the request of the groups authorized to purchase them, several coins minted in prior years were produced again, dated 1936, senior among them the Oregon Trail Memorial half dollar, first struck in 1926.

[4] Anthony Swiatek and Walter Breen, in their volume on commemorative coins, concluded that "pressure from the above-named Association on Congress induced passage of the Act".

[10] The models were submitted to the Commission of Fine Arts, charged since 1921 with advising on coin design, though the government was not bound to follow its recommendations.

The paper also reported the controversy before the Commission of Fine Arts, that Melish had travelled to Washington the previous day, and had announced he had no objection to the change.

[15] Ortmayer remembered that the "boss" of the Bureau of the Mint (presumably Ross) objected to the reverse design, not liking the position of the goddess' legs.

On May 23 its superintendent, Edwin Dressel, sent O'Reilly a memorandum from Chief Engraver John R. Sinnock, stating that the sculptor's models were in too high relief, and suggesting that Ortmayer come to the mint to discuss the matter.

Frank Duffield, editor of the ANA's journal The Numismatist, noted in the October 1936 issue that the coin had been awaited with anticipation by hobbyists because of an announcement that it would bear the likeness of Foster, but "when it finally appeared many expressions of approval of the designs were heard and a few criticisms ... Foster deserved a better bust than the one the artist has given us ...the toy four-string lyre [the goddess] holds in her hand is not in keeping with the times or the occasion ... After all these years, Music deserved something better.

[22] Art historian Cornelius Vermeule, in his 1971 volume on American coins and medals, Numismatic Art in America, criticized Ortmayer's design: The details and style of this coin perpetuate the slender lettering and weak surfaces of the John Sinnock school, as exemplified in the Philadelphia Sesquicentennial half dollar of 1926.

Surfaces are glazed or rubbed over, and the coin has a worn look ... Stephen Foster's bust on the obverse is a distorted or compressed lump, and the "goddess of music" has much the same appeal of a dancer with cramps.

At the Philadelphia and Denver mints, 5,005 pieces were produced, and 5,006 at San Francisco, with the excess from the even thousands held for inspection and testing at the 1937 meeting of the United States Assay Commission.

[24] Melish had been fielding inquiries from collectors since Roosevelt signed the legislation, but from mid-May, those who wrote received only postcards stating the new issue was oversubscribed.

The summer of 1936 was the peak of the commemorative coin boom, and Melish announced the new pieces would be sold in sets of three by mint mark for $7.75 (a high price at that time).

[26] By December, the bottom had dropped out of the commemorative coin market, and dealers who had purchased quantities found themselves unable to dispose of them at a profit.

[29] The circumstances of the issuance were not clear at first: Mehl wrote that the coin was to honor the 50th anniversary of the "Cincinnati Musical Center" which was "founded in 1886" and that "either through good distribution or a great demand, the sets did not go around to all those who wanted them".

[31] Swiatek and Breen, in their 1988 book, suggest that Melish's group "had only one idea in mind: enriching themselves by publicizing and distributing a limited issue which could be priced into orbit by speculators".

According to Bowers, "Overlooked was the fact that the greatest pirate of all was surely Melish himself, who undoubtedly treated many of his guests with money taken from them a few years earlier in the sale of Cincinnati sets!