More than sixty years ago, my mother was a patient in the Cleveland Clinic during the Christmas season. My father took myself and my younger brother from Erie PA to Cleveland on the Empire State Express – he worked for the New York Central and had a pass. When we had visited my mother, and were preparing to go home, we sat in Central Terminal and listened to a pianist playing a grand piano in the huge (or what seemed to be a huge) waiting room of the terminal. I remember vividly the crowd of travelers in the terminal, and the wonderful Christmas music the pianist played. It brought a great deal of joy and peace to a young boy whose mother was very seriously ill.
More than sixty years ago, my mother was a patient in the Cleveland Clinic during the Christmas season. My father took myself and my younger brother from Erie PA to Cleveland on the Empire State Express – he worked for the New York Central and had a pass. When we had visited my mother, and were preparing to go home, we sat in Central Terminal and listened to a pianist playing a grand piano in the huge (or what seemed to be a huge) waiting room of the terminal. I remember vividly the crowd of travelers in the terminal, and the wonderful Christmas music the pianist played. It brought a great deal of joy and peace to a young boy whose mother was very seriously ill.