Trembling with excitement, a functionary of Manhattan's Ferargil Galleries telephoned frantically last week:
"Ignace Jan Paderewski is on the way over from his hotel to see the exhibition and there isn't a soul in the gallery!"
Reporters leaped for their hats, photographers jumped for their cameras, Artist Zdzislaw Czermanski was routed from his hotel room. A fleet of honking taxis bore down on 57th Street. Reporters reached the galleries just as the grey-haired Polish politico-pianist departed in a pale blue swirl of burnt gasoline. The perspiring assemblage was left to admire the pictures.
Zdzislaw...
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