“Play it again, it is not in tune.”

After another attempt, then another, and another, he leaped to his feet, grabbed his violin from its open case on the couch, and played the passage. To my astonishment, though the sound was rough, the notes were pure!

“Now, look at my hands! Look at my fingers!” I tried hard not to take a step back as he thrust them in my face. Each finger was twisted like an oak that had battled drought, wind and rain for a hundred years. How could he play in tune?

“You see, even I can play this in tune, and I am…three thousand years old!”

I think that beats even the hardiest tree.

Once I came into a lesson wearing a T-shirt reading, “Joseph-Beth Booksellers, Lexington, Kentucky”. Does that tell you anything about my sense of style back then? He took a long look, squinting and reading, finally repeating, “Lexington–Kentucky. Must not be a very good bookseller.”

Near the end of my second year with Mr. Galimir, we worked on Sarasate’s Carmen Fantasy. It is fraught with technical challenges, and takes a while to become comfortable to the hand. I had not reached that point during one lesson, and he made it his mission to stop me every time I played a note out of tune. For those of you who have never had this experience with someone who has discriminating ears, I recommend it. You will never want to play another out-of-tune note again.

One passage required him to stop me after nearly every note. Finally he threw up his hands and said, “You know, Mr. Nathan. You could go back to Alabama…and you would be a big success!” This last was delivered in a deep, almost growling voice, with both fists raised over his head. Then the arms dropped to his lap. “But not in New York.”