Page 29 - The Gluckman Occasional Number Four

Arturo was exposed. That night the manager of the club proudly
showed him the newspaper story. As soon as Arturo saw the tables
occupied by members of the press and people from uptown in
tuxedos, he fled from the bandstand. His heart was filled with shame
and anger. Where could he go now? He wandered through the dark
streets of lower Manhattan all night, taking refuge in alleys and
poking through garbage cans for leftovers.

At dawn a truck passed by and dropped a bundle of newspapers
on the sidewalk near Arturo. He could read the headline:
ELEPHANT MAESTRO FLEES JAZZ SCENE; DRUGS
FOUND IN BASS DRUM. His despair deepened; he spent the rest
of the day moaning softly in
an abandoned warehouse
near the waterfront. It was a
cold, damp, dirty place--
matching his mood perfectly.
By nightfall his mind had
driven him to thoughts of
suicide. He could find no
way out of his problems: the
public would never take him
seriously, and the idea of
being just a clown, a circus
act, drove him crazy.