Trumpeter

At a "Concert Intime" in Washington, D. C. last week the solo performer was a dark-haired, comely young woman who appeared in a low-cut Nile-green gown, bowed graciously to her audience, raised a gold trumpet to her lips, closed her eyes and proceeded to tootle. Her arm muscles twitched while she played. The ruffles on her bosom and the orchids on her shoulder fluttered fitfully with each inspiration. But otherwise there were no signs of exertion.

Mrs. Grace Adams East of Berkeley, Calif, is a sure mistress of the trumpet, which she first took up to develop breath control when she thought seriously of becoming a singer. She proved her feeling for tone last week with Schubert's Du bist die Ruh' and the Ave Maria, her facility at triple-tonguing with Rimsky-Korsakoy's Hymn to the Sun, her physical stamina when at the end of her program she played three encores.

Mrs. East let herself out more freely lately when she stood on a pinnacle over-looking the Grand Canyon, played The Last Round-Up "in memory of my friendship for Will Rogers." Her wind at an altitude of 8,000 feet was so amazing to a cowboy that he said: "Lady, I think you're wonderful. We've never had a prizefight that lasted more than two rounds up here and I think you lasted about nine with that horn!" When not trumpeting Mrs. East runs a bookstore on the University of California's campus.

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