I promised on condition that I came unheralded. I
supposed I was going so far away no one knew me. Alas, this world is
small, so it behooves us all to make our reputation without fault. I
sent in my resignation to Calvary and the Synagogue musical
committees, and bade good-bye, I supposed, to music and old
associations forever. I would never be able to describe the deep
sorrow that was depicted on the countenance of pastor and people,
rabbi and congregation and the members of the young peoples' societies
of the church with whom I had labored for so many years and assisted
in their successful efforts from season to season. It was the heroic
battle of my life to voluntarily cut loose from all that had been so
auspicious during my many years of service. I was held in great
affection by the people of San Francisco, who always gave me the most
cordial welcome whenever I appeared in the churches or concert halls
or took part in patriotic exercises.
I left San Francisco December 1, and had two days of travel. It seemed
as though I was in another world, cut loose from all I ever cherished.
The world never looked so vast to me before and it was as an open
desert without one friendly face in sight, alone, adrift, knowing not
the ultimate point of my travels. I was rudely awakened the morning of
the second day by the whistle of the engine and the clamor of bells
and bustling of feet. I arose quickly and soon was received by my son,
who was awaiting my coming, and I said, "Here I am, I have obeyed your
orders and now I am to do just as I please, and rest from my labor.
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