s head, turning his
hair into a glittering golden halo. The ladies forgot all about their
friends' dresses. Why, the darling boy looked like an angel descended
into a tomb to waken the dead!

Stoky explained to the press that the spot was necessary to enable his
men to follow the play of his facial expressions.

Most conductors make their appearance in a leisurely manner. Carrying
the stick, they stride out on the platform, acknowledge the audience's
reception with a courtly bow, say a few kind words to the men, and
when musicians and listeners have composed themselves, begin the
concert.

Leopold changed all that. Leander-like, he leaped from the wings,
dashed to the center of the stage, nodded curtly to the customers,
then accepted the baton which was handed to him, with a flourish, by
one of the viola players, and, before you could say "Wolfgang Amadeus
Mozart," plunged into the opening number.

His audiences, particularly the ladies, doted on his conducting
technique. His slim, youthful, virile figure was held erect, his feet
remained still as if nailed to the floor, while his arms went through
a series of sensuously compelling, always graceful motions. The view
from the back was enhanced by the fact that the tailor who cut his
morning and evening coats was almost as great as Stoky himself. And
his hands! Ah, my dear, those hands----!

There was so much ecstatic comment on those slender, nervous,
expressive hands that Mr. Stokowski decided to give the gals a full,
unhampered view. He did away with the baton.

About the same time he invented a new way of rehearsing the
orchestra--the remote-control method. An assistant conductor wielded
the stick while Stoky sat in the rear of the dark hall manipulating an
intricate system of colored lights that made known his wishes to his
understudy on the platform.

Mr. Stokowski is inordinately fond of gadgets and fancies himself as
quite a technical expert. When he first conducted for the radio he
strenuously objected to the arrangement whereby the engineers in the
control room had the last word as to the volume of sound that was to
go out on the air.

Radio executives pacified him by rigging up an elaborate set of dials
on his desk. These he happily twirled, completely unaware that the
doodads were dead.

Meanwhile--and please don't lose sight of this cardinal fact--he made
transcendently beautiful music. His stature as a conductor grew
with the years and so did th