Concert Violinist
October 12, 2024
“Arnie, what do you want to do when you grow up?” From the time I reached puberty, the question was asked quite often by friends and family. “I’m going to be a concert violinist,” I answered, assuredly. How did I know? Well, I loved music, especially the golden sound of the violin, and people told me I was talented. All I needed to do was to put in long hours of daily practice and I would gradually approach the artistry of the great violinists such as Jascha Heifetz, Nathan Milstein, Mischa Elman, and Adolf Busch, whom I listened to on records that my dad brought home regularly. Then I’d be a concert violinist.
By the time I entered the Curtis Institute of Music at age seventeen, I had a rather high opinion of myself as a violinist, and therefore of my future in music. All the compliments of how well I’d performed in small concerts around Los Angeles where I grew up had gone to my head. Imagine my shock, then, when I began to meet fellow violin students at Curtis who were more technically advanced and musically formed than I. Not only that, the path to being a so-called concert violinist suddenly seemed vague and unpredictable.
Looking back at that uncertain time in my life, I cannot help but compare it to my grandson Julian’s quest to become a doctor. Julian is smart, motivated, and is getting pretty much straight A’s in college. Unless something unpredictable happens, like an asteroid hitting the earth, Julian will become a doctor. Oh, were it only so simple for young people aspiring to become musicians!
In my years as a Curtis student, worry about the uncertain profession awaiting me was most often swept away by the magic of music itself, the heady excitement of gradually developing as a violinist, and learning the mysterious art of communicating what I knew and felt to an audience. But in some kind of inverse proportion, the nearer I approached my goal of becoming a fine musician, the more aware I became of the uncertain future rushing toward me upon graduation.
During my final year at Curtis, in 1958, I won the Leventritt International Violin Competition. The prize was solo performances with six major American orchestras, affording a possible step toward a solo career. But it was only a single step, and although I greatly looked forward to performances with those splendid orchestras, I wondered, like so many other graduating music students, how on earth I was going to make a living.
Then, in late fall, the registrar at Curtis handed me a note saying that George Szell wanted me to call him. George Szell, the renowned conductor of the equally renowned Cleveland Orchestra? What would he want of me, still a lowly music student? But Szell had been one of the judges at the Leventritt Competition I’d just participated in, and on the phone he invited me to become assistant concertmaster of the Cleveland Orchestra. My career plans had not included being in an orchestra, but this was no ordinary orchestra or conductor. The Cleveland orchestra with Szell had a reputation for precision ensemble and music making at the highest level. Szell proposed that I join the orchestra, learn the repertoire sitting next to concertmaster Josef Gingold, one of my most cherished mentors, perform at least one concerto each year, and study at Szell’s expense with the great Hungarian violinist Josef Szigeti. As assistant concertmaster, I would lead the violin section when Gingold was not there. The position was already known as a launching pad: the three violinists who preceded me had all gone on to careers as either soloists or concertmasters of major orchestras.
I found George Szell’s dazzling offer impossible to refuse. It would be an experience of untold richness, and as the youngest member of the orchestra at age twenty-one, a sublime sort of graduate school. I accepted, but there was one big obstacle. I was in disgustingly good health, and, now that I was out of school, Uncle Sam wanted to draft me into the United States Army. Joining the orchestra depended on my getting into the Ohio National Guard to fulfill my military obligation. Szell, wanting to take no chances, personally drove me to the Guard armory and then to the doctor’s office for my physical. With his homburg hat, he sat impassively in the waiting room while the doctor looked me over. Everything appeared to be fine, but a urine sample was still required. As I walked by Szell to the bathroom, jar in hand, his eyes never left me. This was not really happening I thought: an aspiring twenty-one-year-old musician does not have to promenade before one of the great conductors of our time carrying a jar of his urine. We might have been characters in an Edward Albee play—this was true Theatre of the Absurd. As I emerged from the bathroom clutching my container of steaming liquid, Szell continued to scrutinize me. The warm amber liquid sloshed in the jar as I walked by him with as much dignity as I could muster. I reached the door, and heard Szell’s voice, with its clipped Viennese accent, “Imported or domestic?”
I passed the physical, and with one stroke became both the assistant concertmaster of the Cleveland Orchestra and the glockenspiel and bass drum player of the 122nd Army Band. And let me not forget to mention that my long-wished-for dream had finally been fulfilled. I was now a concert violinist.
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Comments
Write about Cleveland as a city and other places where you have had a chance to stay a while.
I especially love this “Key of Strawberry”. It should be read by every young hopeful singer, instrumentalist – especially those gifted ones at Curtis. A lovely tale. My best wishes to you and your family.
I love this story, Arnold!! Every bit of it and am certain Julian will be a doctor!
What a joy to read all that fascinating detail which I never heard
before dearest Arnold! One can just picture the scene with Szell
at the medical exam! It shows too what a nose he had for talent
to pick you out, even as a competition winner, so young with little
experience! And you sure didn’t do badly after that! Thank you for
another great piece!
Love this story! Thank you.
Arnold, you can always tell a great story! And this is marvelous!
Wonderful to have you share it!!!
All best to you and family, miss you back East!
Wendy
Arnold, I can’t tell you how influential you’ve been to me and continue to be with the incredible recordings you’ve made over the years. There are way, way too many magical moments that I go to when I need a boost…the Cavatina…Mendelssohn Op. 13….Dvorak Quintet w/Rubinstein…the list is endless. Thank you so much for your steadfast and consummate artistry. With gratitude, Ron Blessinger (classmate of John Baldwin)
P.S. I had the great pleasure of performing many years ago with your brother, Victor)
This is so beautiful and lovely. Thank you so much for writing. I read all of your stuff. Can’t wait for it. I feel so lucky to know you even a little.
never knew this
what an absolutely beautiful story
Thank you Arnold
I’ll never forget your sentence “I’ve been bitten by the writing bug”
when you started this.
How wonderful to be able to make music with words….
I love this, and all of your stories! I was privileged to have met many from the ‘golden era,’ albeit at the very end. We were actually at a party at Sasha’s together – the photo is one I cherish! I’m a cellist who went into medicine but would have given it up in a heartbeat to have had the experiences you have had. Thank you for brightening so many lives.
My son, Julian, became a lawyer, disliked it profoundly, and, at age 45, is just about to complete a PhD in Philosophy, his first love! It is never too late to follow your passion! Love all your stories, Arnold,…not the least because of our Julian’s!!
Dear Arnold, I can complete the story because i’ve read your wonderful boog “My first violin”. I also read, that at the beginning you were more interested in soccer and your father proposed to start practise violin every day only some minutes. Ok, finally you got it. Interesting also that Szell himself was looking with you for a good violin.Regards Peter
LOL
I relish every one of your stories but most especially those about Cleveland and Szell–thank you!
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