During my last trip to Yale’s Sterling Library to reseach this book, I spent my fnal evening there sitting on the College Green, on a park bench a few yards away from the Central Church on the Green, keeping an eye out for the ghost of a Yale student who had played organ at that church in the years 1894–1898. Te Yale students and New Haveners who strolled by probably imagined that I was an old Yalie there for my reunion and reminiscing about the old days. Imagining that Charlie’s ghost could hear me, I said to him, “All that music was born when you were, wasn’t it? I mean, it’s great that you had that father and that musical upbringing, but ten million people could have had the same father and same upbringing and not done what you did, not been born with their brain wired for that vision. Tat music needed to get into the world, and you didn’t make it wait long, though the world kept it from getting heard a lot longer than you did.” And as I fnished my cigar and walked away, I heard in my head the stern octave B, followed by A and A♯, that begins that incredible ...
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