Seven years ago a sleek, pale-faced young Russian Jew rushed up the back steps of Manhattan's Carnegie Hall, tore off his coat and hat, took a photograph of Liszt from his pocket, glanced at it prayerfully, then fairly galloped out on the stage for his U. S. debut. For critics it was a double-barreled evening because Sir Thomas Beecham, famed son of a famed pillman, was also making his U. S. debut. Sir Thomas was as athletic a conductor as New Yorkers had ever seen. But young Vladimir Horowitz, with all his stage...
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