Prodigy at 60

Once a winter a piano with a specially constructed keyboard is rolled on to the stage in Carnegie Hall, Manhattan, while in the lobby a box-office attendant drones: "Everything sold for this performance. All standing-room gone." When the hall is hushed, stubby Josef Hofmann ambles into view, his head cocked quizzically to one side, an appraising look in his keen brown eyes. Few notice the piano with its keys cut short to suit the short fingers.

Hofmann sounds a few trial chords and externals are forgotten for music that is great.

Last week Hofmann again proved his power with long-familiar music, made his piano seem not like a man-made instrument but like a vibrant human voice spontaneously singing, whispering, shouting to the skies. Every piano student knew the pieces by Gluck, Beethoven, Chopin, Liszt. But fresh cause for wonder were Hofmann's dazzling arpeggios, the flying double octaves, the countless tonal colors. Said Critic Olin Downes in the New York Times next day: "It was playing of the grandest and most compelling sort."

Nearly half a century has passed since the Times first wrote of Hofmann. then a shock-haired youth of 10, who made his U. S. debut playing the Beethoven Concerto at the Metropolitan Opera House. Then the Times said: "Many people leapt to their feet. Pianists of repute were moved almost to tears. The child had astonished the assembly. He was a marvel. . . ."

Seldom has a prodigy been so unscrupulously exploited. After his amazing debut, Hofmann was booked for 80 concerts, played 52 before his health broke under the strain. The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children intervened. The late Alfred Corning Clarke, wealthy Manhattan realtor, donated $50.000 so that the boy could go home to Poland, study in peace. Luck came on a visit to Berlin where young Hofmann played for Anton Rubinstein, became the master's only pupil.

At 18 Hofmann was touring again, this time as a full-fledged artist with a technique that surpassed Paderewski's. At 60, his powers are undiminished. his energy strong. He played in Europe all last autumn, plans to give 30 U. S. recitals this winter, make a South American tour next spring. Other years he has spent more time in Philadelphia, where he is the director of Mary Louise Bok's Curtis Institute of Music. There he takes a few private pupils who speak of each lesson as an inspiring experience. One lately complained: "He shows you what to do and, alas, not how to do it!" Sprightly Betty Short used to be a Hofmann pupil. Now she is Hofmann's wife, mother of his two sons, Anton, named for Rubinstein, and Edward, for the late Publisher Bok.

In his younger days, Hofma--m spent some time composing, credited his pieces to one Michel Dvorsky, whom he liked to describe as a poor, sickly Pole living in Spain. Hofmann still plays "Dvorsky" music, much of it reminiscent of the Chopin he reveres. But the hoax was exploded years ago when someone took the trouble to translate Hofmann into Polish, found that it meant Dvorsky.

Unlike Paderewski, Hofmann is not one to practice for hours on end. He spends his time off-duty tinkering with inventions. He has homes in Switzerland; Merion, Pa.; Aiken, S. C.; Camden, Me. In each there is a workshop. The prime pianist has made automobiles and motor boats, patented shock absorbers, air brakes, hydraulic snubbers. Four years ago he developed a new-style of oil burner, installed it in his Merion home. Lately he has been working on collapsible roller skates, a model house that can revolve to meet the sun.

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