Three years ago Serge Koussevitzky, conductor of the Boston Symphony, took a vacation. To pinch hit for Maestro Koussevitzky the orchestra's board of directors picked an obscure, lean, bald-headed Greek named Dimitri Mitropoulos. Boston's Brahmins, who thought all Greeks ran lunch wagons, had never heard of Conductor Mitropoulos. At the way he bounded to his place on the stage and went into action, they turned pale with alarm.
Not in many years had they seen such an exhibition of jumping, crouching and beating the air as this slippery-skulled Greek gave them. But under...
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