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dents, teachers, brain specialists-the exquisite, the vulgar, from all walks of life they came.  "Overnight" experts expounded on the theories of the "abstract versus the concrete".  Cezanne was explained nine different ways or more.  The then cryptic words, "significant form", were in the air. Brancusi both baffled and delighted.  Matisse shocked, made enemies on one day, developed ardent fans the next.  People came in limousines, some in wheel-chairs, to be refreshed by the excitement.  Even a blind man was discovered, who limited to the sculptures, nevertheless "saw" by the touch of his fingers.  Actors, musicians, butlers and shopgirls, all joined in the pandemonium.

  We gave away thousands of free admission tickets to schools and societies.  The place was crowded; the exact attendance will never be known.  On March the fourth, the day of Wilson's inauguration I had the pleasure of escorting the former president, Theodore Roosevelt, through the rooms of the exhibition.  Perhaps the Ex-president felt that the Armory Show would be the right sort of counter-irritant to what was just then going on in Washington.  If he did, he never showed it, for he was most gracious, though noncommittal.  Later in the "Outlook" he discussed the show more freely.

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  One day I lunched with John Quinn at the old Hoffman House.  He had begun to enjoy the fight, but he would not buy.  I urged and urged, finally I won him over.  His purchase of between five and six thousand dollars worth of pictures reached the ears of Arthur Jerome Eddy, famous in Chicago I was told, for having been the first Chicagoan to ride a bicycle and later the first man there to own an automobile.  Eddy bought some of the most radical works in our show.  Others followed suit.  Rivalry between the collectors grew.  Bryson Burroughs made history - through his efforts the Metropolitan bought a Cezanne, the first ever to be owned by an American Museum.

  Mr. Aldis came from Chicago with a committee to secure the show for The Art Institute.  It was arranged to have it there from March 24th to April 16th.  Here in New York everybody was happy and every member worked with a will until the end.  On the show's last night at the Armory, we paraded with regimental fife and drum, led by the giant, Putnam Brinley, wearing a bearskin hat and twirling a drum major's baton.  Through each room of the exhibition we marched and saluted our confreres past and present.  The work of dismantling began at once and lasted until morning.  I spent the night with the workmen. At

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