Rachmaninoff rights

This afternoon the orchestra played a "run-out" in a tiny burg north of Indy. It was one of those concerts they tack onto a week when some far-flung rich person gives the orchestra money. We had already played this heavy program three times, so it was disheartening to see the small venue with half an audience. Why drag us up here to play for nobody in a high school auditorium, when we really wanted to rest our arms and brains? (I shouldn't complain--I'm on vacation for a week now!)
Anyway, it became clear within minutes of starting the concert that an audience member seated close to the stage had some kind of oxygen apparatus that made a sharp hissing noise every few seconds. It almost sounded like a cymbal swipe. My initial reaction was annoyance: this person should be asked to leave, or at least sit further away from the stage. As musicians, we often discuss the rudeness of noisy audiences (and uninformed audiences who applaud enthusiastically and inappropriately between movements). How dare they disturb the mood with their tubercular coughs and cell phones and hearing aid whistles and conversation and rustling programs! After about 15 minutes of allowing myself to be distracted by the whoosh of this unfortunate individual's machinery, I realized that I was practicing discrimination of some kind. How would I feel if my daughter were told she couldn't remain at a concert because of her disability? Why do I think that we are so special that we can command complete silence at the discomfort of our audience? Isn't music for the audience? At the same time, isn't the audience entitled to enough quiet to be able to listen without distraction? With all this running through my mind, I'm glad I didn't make a wrong entrance. Fortunately I have enough experience to be able to play large swathes of music while daydreaming. However, the question remains--whose rights are most important? In this particular situation, I decided that this oxygen-toting invalid came to the concert to experience something outside xemself, and that I should be able to put that sound into the background of my mind, just as xe has to all day every day. After a while I stopped really noticing the sound, an concentrated on doing my job, which is making good music, not making bad judgments.

DiLululemma

My husband has an old friend, from high school days, who is passionate about comics to the point that his old apartment was stacked top to bottom, including in the oven, with comics. When I first met this fellow, he and my husband discussed "Little Lulu" at great length. Having only recently been introduced to the world of comics, I just stood by silently while all these unfamiliar names and inside jokes went flying. But I did gather from the conversation that there was one item missing from his collection for which he'd give his eyeteeth: Little Lulu volume one, a set of three hardbound books in a sheath. There were several volumes which had come out in reverse order, and the interest in them at the time was so poor that they printed fewer and fewer of each succeeding volume, so that by the time volume one was published, they only put out about 1000 of them. This means that now this volume is extremely rare. When it shows up on eBay, it usually sells for about $700.

Last month my husband found this volume in a local comics shop for $125. Obviously these people had not done their research! He came rushing home, asking me what I thought we should do. For both of us our first reaction was to buy the books and let the friend buy it from us at cost. The friend was called, and I went, armed with a credit card, to acquire this mysterious item.

Later, we both felt some remorse. We could really use the money if we sold it on eBay. My husband even said that he'd be happy to keep the volume himself, as he is also quite the collector. We agonized over ways that we could retract the offer to the friend while maintaining our morality. No solution revealed itself to us, and we grudgingly followed through. The friend was pretty happy.

It is sometimes hard to be good and painful to do the right thing.
Any thoughts from my readers on what you would have done?