The Cleveland Symphony Orchestra at
Nashville Screen 2 of 4
"Here it is under the front seat," she answered pleasantly. "Remember, you put it
here when we had that last puncture. You said there was no room for it in the
tool box."
"Oh yes, that's right," Mr. Harris said as he took the can from her and unscrewed
its top. "Now, Chester, I'll show you how to repair a puncture. You may have to
do it sometime by yourself."
With that, he pulled out of the can a small sheet of rubbery looking tire
patching material, a metal scraper and a tube of glue. After finding the two
holes again, he stretched the rubber tubing over a flat rock and scratched the
surface of the rubber where the patches were to be attached with the rough
scraper. "That's to make the glue and patches stick better," he explained. "Now
we'll put the glue on and let it dry a little before applying the patches."
While the glue was drying, he cut from the sheet of patching a patch for each
hole in the tube. "We'll peel off this thin backing from the patches before
putting them on," he added.
He soon finished the job, put the tube back inside the tire, and with but very
little help from me put the tire and tube back on the rim, rather quickly I
thought. He certainly knew how to use that tire tool with skill.
"Now, Chester, you can exercise your arm and back muscles a little," he said with
a sly grin. "Bring that tire pump over here--it's in the bottom of the tool box
under those side curtains--and then you can begin pumping up the tire."
I did what he told me and began pumping by pushing the handle up and down, at
first rather fast, then much slower as I became tired. In fact, I had to rest
several times before the tire began to get hard. I was surprised that the patches
really held the air in, but they did and we were soon on our way again.
Another problem arose just before we arrived at Nashville. The radiator became
too hot and boiled over, causing us to stop again; but Mr. Harris told me how to
take care of that. I took a small bucket he had in the car to a nearby pond,
filled it with water, brought it back and poured the water into the radiator
which was still steaming. One bucketful was not enough, but after Mr. Harris
poured the second one into the radiator, it soon cooled down, allowing us to
continue our trip.
About six o'clock we arrived at the War Memorial Auditorium and purchased our
tickets before going to a nearby cafeteria to eat supper.
A little before eight o'clock we were ushered to our seats in the back part of
the main floor. It was a very big auditorium, and I was quite impressed. The
musicians were practicing and warming up their instruments while the people were
being seated. That part of the concert--what the members of the orchestra did
before the conductor came on stage--thrilled me that night, because I had never
heard anything like that before. And through out all the years since that night,
whenever I attend a symphony concert, I have tried to arrive early so that I can
see and hear the musicians going through this routine. I still enjoy it.
At the scheduled time, Mr. Sokolof, the conductor of the orchestra, came on
stage, modestly took a bow, and then stepped onto the podium. Everything was
quiet; the musicians were very attentive and sitting up straight; the house was
almost full, and my first symphony concert was about to begin. I was sitting on
the edge of my seat--both because of my excitement and because I was having
trouble seeing around a big hat worn by the woman sitting directly in front of
me. A big ostrich feather was pinned to the side of her hat, and it almost
blocked my view completely. So with my mother's permission I moved to the vacant
seat next to me, and from there I could see very well.
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