“Music was brought from behind the centuries and spread before us like a huge map.  Whatever meaning lay hidden under the musical theories of the ancients was explained in a clear and conscientious way.  Short decisive sentences swept into every obscure corner, and from all sides we saw reflected Professor MacDowell’s resolute spirit and sincerity of purpose....

“To illustrate [a point in connection with a discussion of popular music], Professor MacDowell went to the piano to play ’A Hot Time in the Old Town To-night.’  After playing a few measures, he turned abruptly toward the class, saying:  ’Why, that isn’t it!  What is it I am playing?’ Someone answered ‘Annie Rooney.’  Facing us with a droll smile, he asked if there was anyone present who could play ’A Hot Time.’  A dozen boys rushed forward and the one who gained the chair dashed it off with the abandon of a four weeks’ old freshman ...

“The lectures on musical form were distinguished by many brilliant demonstrations of MacDowell’s genius.  The ease and rapidity with which he flashed his thoughts upon the blackboard were both inspiring and bewildering to the student who must grope his way through notes before he can reach an idea.  If any were unwise enough to stop even for a moment to catch these spontaneous thoughts as they flew along the staff, they were very apt upon looking up to see them vanishing like phantoms in a cloud of white chalk.  At the same time he made sarabandes, gavottes, minuets, chaconnes, passepieds, gigues, polonaises and rondos dance across the piano in quick succession; and his comments were as spirited as his playing.

“Professor MacDowell’s criticisms were clear and forceful, and filled with many surprising and humorous touches.  Of Bach he said, ’Bach spoke in close, scientific, contrapuntal language.  He was as emotional and romantic as Chopin, Wagner or Tchaikovsky; his emotion was expressed in the language of his time.  Young women who say they adore Bach play him like a sum in mathematics.  They find a grim pleasure in it, like biting on a sore tooth.’

“He never approached the piano like a conqueror.  He had a nervous way of saying that he didn’t know whether things would go, because he had had no time to practise.  After an apologetic little preamble, he would sit down and play these rococo bits of trailing sound with fingers dipped in lightning, fingers that flashed over the keys in perfect evenness and with perfect sureness.

“The closing lectures were in reality delightfully informal concerts for which the class began to assemble as early as 8.30 in the morning.  By 9.30 every student would be in his chair, which he had dragged as near to the piano as the early suburbanite would let him.  Someone at the window would say, ‘Here he comes!’ and, entering the room with a huge bundle of music under one arm and his hat in his hand, MacDowell would deposit them on the piano and turn to us with his gracious smile.  Then, instead of sitting down, he would continue to walk up and down the room, his thoughts following, apparently, the pace set by his energetic steps.  He had an abundant word supply and his short, terse sentences were easy to follow.”