"Hello there, Norma. Can you wait a few seconds while I finish?" asked Bomar Cramer, Indianapolis' foremost pianist, as he suddenly emerged from his studio into his reception room. He extended a firm, warm hand into which I meekly put my cold one, and then he quickly disappeared again into his studio as I faintly murmured, "Why, certainly." I had been waiting for Mr. Cramer for about five minutes, and during this time, I surveyed his outer surroundings. The room was rather dark and was entered from the outside through a heavily-draped glass partitioned door. Directly opposite the chair in which I was seated was a bust of Mr. Cramer, to the right side an autographed picture of Lawrence Tibbet and to the left an autographed picture of Rudolph Ganz. The room was a small one, but not overcrowded with furniture. It was pleasing and restful.
Manuscripts: Vol. 11
, Article 11.
Available at: https://digitalcommons.butler.edu/manuscripts/vol11/iss4/11