"There isn't much time for the Ivory Tower"

Very interesting section added, after I found an article by JB in Etude, November 1951.

Once you are on your way, artistic abstractions become merged with time schedules and possible emergencies. You can't count on practising. Your pianistic equipment must be in such condition that you can play without practising. The average tour covers about three concerts a week, in different towns, some near each other, some not. You move by train, by bus, by car, by plane. If all goes well, you may have half a day in a new town before you play. But don't count on it.

I remember the time I was due to arrive in New Orleans at 7 A.M., after having played the night before. At 8 o'clock I was to entrain at a different station for the town where I was to play the same night. My train was late, we got in at 8:15 A.M. instead of at 7, and the connection was lost. The next train to my town went the following morning. That meant scouting over town for other connections. At the third station I tried, I found a bus that left at 2:30, reaching my town at 7 P.M. That left time enough at either end, and turned out to be one of the easier hops.

Another time, after three days of constant travel, I got into Temple, Texas, at 2 o'clock on a Sunday afternoon. My itinerary called for a recital at 8:15 that night, so I looked forward to a good nap. At the station, I was met by three very worried members of the concert committee. It seems there had been an error in typing - my recital was at 3:15, not 8:15. In the 70 minutes between stepping off the train and on to the platform, I shook off the idea of a nap and did the following :- drove to the hotel; checked in: unpacked my afternoon clothes; found there was no pressing service at that time; hung my things in the bathroom for an emergency steaming; drove to the concert hall ; saw to the lights; placed the piano; tried it; washed the keys (I always do this myself); rushed back to the hotel; swallowed a sandwich and a cup of coffee; showered, shaved, and changed to my freshly steamed clothes; went back to the hall; slid into the stage door at 3:12; and walked out to the platform at 3:15, conscious of the need to give my best efforts.

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Air travel cuts distance, but weather is another thing, as I learned the time I flew from Houston to Shreveport, to be met by friends who were to drive me to the town - two hours distant - of my evening recital. I went to sleep on the plane. On awakening, I was told that Shreveport had suddenly become fog-bound, our plane had not been able to land, and we were at that moment approaching Little Rock. The moment we got there, I arranged for a car to take me back to Shreveport and then telephoned the concert committee my change of plan. This done, word came that the Shreveport airport was clearing and that an afternoon flight out of Detroit would stop at Little Rock and take me back to my destination. I was worried about the time and decided this would be quicker than going by car. So I again telephoned the committee my second change of plan.In time, the Detroit plane was announced - 45 minutes late- then an hour late - then 90 minutes late. I reached Shreveport at 6:15. My friends were waiting for me, I shaved, changed, and ate in the car, and reached the hall in time to appear according to schedule.