HE PEAKED too early, said his detractors. But what a peak. He
was the first classical music star of the television age; the
only one feted with a ticker-tape parade; the first to sell a
million copies of an album; above all he was the Texan who
brushed the frost off the cold war with his huge hands, modest
manner and electrifying renditions of great Russian composers.
It happened by chance. Having failed the medical for his
military service (because he had nosebleeds) America’s most
promising young pianist was facing a blank season for 1958. His
teacher, the émigré Russian Rosina Lhévinne, suggested the
International Tchaikovsky Competition in Moscow.  More than
music was at stake. The cold war was at its iciest. The new
Sputnik was bleeping mockingly at the earthbound Americans who
feared they were losing the race in space—and elsewhere.  Mr
Cliburn was no loser. He had won his first competition aged 12
and played at the Carnegie Hall at 14. He did not flinch at the
presence of Sviatoslav Richter and other