The following in an excerpt from my forthcoming book. Please note, this early draft does not reflect corrections, changes, and more recent discoveries. There may be substantial differences between the following text and that to be included in the final work. —David Maxine
|Paul Tietjens circa 1902.|
Tietjens's moods swung wildly. On one day he overflowed with optimism, the next day suffocated him in despair. He looked for any excuse to avoid the piano, burying himself in reading Kipling and playing Solitaire.
Chicago was not working out as he'd imagined. He was depleting his savings much faster than he had planned. The added financial stress inhibited his practicing even more. Each day he waited for the two mail deliveries to arrive. He grew dejected and worried if no letter came, but more dejected and worried still if a letter came bearing less than perfect news from home. In mid-February Tietjens asked his father for money. He received a draft of fifty dollars along with word that his father would probably have to sell the feed business at a loss, if he could sell it at all.