Amir

February 28, 2020

Amir, a salesman from a local blind and shade store, came up to our house some time ago in order to advise my wife, Dorothea, and me about some kind of window covering. Well into our discussion, Amir somehow learned that I was a violinist. With that, all talk about blinds and shades abruptly came to a halt, and out of the blue, Amir blurted out, “Who do you like better, Heifetz or Menuhin?” I sputtered a slightly incoherent answer about great violinists being quite impossible to compare, but really what set me back on my heels was the admittedly prejudiced idea that a guy from a blind and shade store would know the names of Jascha Heifetz and Yehudi Menuhin. Amir ignored my vague answer with yet another question. “Heifetz or Perlman, who is better?” Again, I provided Amir with a slightly different version of the same answer. Both Jascha Heifetz and Itzhak Perlman are marvelous violinists that I’ve admired immensely but in different ways. Apples and oranges, I almost added to the conversation, but thought better than to compare these towering artists to fruits.

Amir looked displeased with the way the conversation was going and remained silent for a moment. Then without warning he asked an even more startling question. “Would you play for me?”

During my teenage years, friends who were invited over to our house by my parents would occasionally ask me to play for them after dinner. It was something even encouraged by mom and dad who were eager to show off their talented son’s progress. None of my parent’s friends were musicians, but almost all of them were music lovers. Looking back on those living room mini concerts, I’d have to say that they provided me with performance experience while soothing my juvenile ego with the oohs and aahs that followed such items as Wieniawski’s Scherzo Tarantelle, Bloch’s Nigun, or a movement from Lalo’s Symphonie Espagnol.

Arnold Steinhardt, age 13, playing on the Billie Burke Television Show.

As a professional musician, however, I find it hard to recall a single instance in the last half century when I’ve been asked to perform in someone’s home after, say, an afternoon tea, or dinner, or a friendly late night poker game: “Hey Arnie, how about a couple of Paganini caprices while we count up the chips and fold up the card table?” No, it would be ill mannered and inappropriate. Imagine asking your friend, Fred the plumber, to fix a leaky faucet after having invited him for beef Strogonoff. Or asking neighbor Max, the doctor, to take your blood pressure before offering him apple pie and ice cream. Or insisting that your golf partner, Sam, the CPR, look at your IRS tax returns, after eight holes.

And yet, when Amir asked me to play the violin, he looked at me so directly and with such sincerity, that the word, yes, floated out of my mouth.

I played a song I dearly love, “All the Things You Are” by Jerome Kern, for Amir and Dorothea who both sat at the dining room table. When the music came to an end, Amir, his eyes aglow, fairly shouted at me, “You are a genius”. I, a genius? Absurd. Even laughable. Nevertheless, I thanked Amir, for he obviously meant it as a high compliment.

Later, as Amir drove away, and as I put my violin back in its case, the thought occurred to me that for the first time in more than two years, I had just given a performance. True, it lasted not much more than a few minutes, and for an audience of only two, but so what. One or a thousand listeners, in my dining room or in Carnegie Hall, a performance is a performance.

Approaching the age of eighty, I decided to stop performing in public before people began throwing last week’s fruit at me. Since then, I’ve had no regrets about my decision and only thankfulness for the blissful life I’ve had in music. But in its modest way, the performance in our dining room brought back the heady feeling of the concert stage. Practicing by oneself, which I still do on a regular basis, is an entirely different animal. I might try to imagine an audience listening raptly to my Bach, my Beethoven, my Bartok, but nothing compares to the beating hearts and open ears I faced in the concert hall. They impelled me to offer my music as an openhearted gift, an act of common bond, a shared humanity. At its best, we musicians are in a service profession that can sooth, uplift, and nourish the soul.

And so, I played “All the Things You Are”, trying my best to deliver its alluring melody and seductive harmonies as a gift to Amir, the blind and shade salesman. Amir had unexpectedly lured me out of my practice room and for a brief moment back onto the wondrous world of the concert stage.

Thank you, Amir.

Comments

From Ellen Goldensohn on March 2, 2020

Just wonderful, Arnold. Thank you.
P.S. I am a retired editor now. At the age of 77, practicing 4th-position etudes in my dining room.
From ruben greenberg on March 2, 2020

Beautiful and heart-warming, as always. Thank you. How about posting a video of you playing: “All the Things You Are”?
From Kenneth Davidson on March 2, 2020

What a sweet story, Arnold. I trust you and Dodo are well. Love to you both from us…Ken
From John Steinfirst on March 2, 2020

So lovely. This is the first “Strawberry” story I’ve seen in over a year. And, as usual, so well-written with the empathy you have and express in many ways. It’s so interesting because about a year ago, Sharon and I hosted an informal recital with a flutist whose first name was Amir. Studies at Yale. When I told Paula Robison about Amir, she had heard him and gave high marks.
From scott on March 2, 2020

What a lovely story. Thanks for sharing. (And Amir’s a lucky guy.)
From Eleanor Roth on March 2, 2020

All I can say is…lucky Amir! (…and, he is right…)
From Judith Costello on March 2, 2020

Arnold, what a lovely story! (And you chose well: “All the Things You Are” is right up there among my favorite pieces from the Great American Songbook.)

I’m so glad you’re writing again. I had missed your monthly commentary.

All best to you,
Judith
From Peter Bucknell on March 2, 2020

Nice
From Jennifer Birckmayer on March 2, 2020

what a beautiful and inspiring story!I hope Amir enjoyed his concert with one of the worlds greatest violinists!
From Warren Kaplan on March 2, 2020

I too am retired from my profession after 49 years. But now and then I do get to use my past expertise to bring back memories of my heyday. Still, I cannot shake loose of Shakespeare’s line from King Henry VIII.

“I have touched the highest point of all my greatness. And from that full meridian of my glory, I haste now to my setting!”
From Rosemary Waller on March 2, 2020

That was just lovely, Arnold!
From Martha katz on March 2, 2020

Thank you Arnold, so very moving. We are all getting older but music is always with us, and the memories of your beautiful, loving concerts. Thank you again!
From Marian Grebanier on March 2, 2020

Thank you for this lovely story. Sending best regards to you.
From Euthemia Matsoukas on March 2, 2020

Lovely, Arnold. Thank you. Euthemia
From Harvey Zirofsky on March 2, 2020

You have let the cat out of the bag. Now everyone is going to ask for a performance. I’m coming to New Mexico as soon as the Corona virus finishes its course for the recital.
From John Yeh on March 2, 2020

I concur with Amir. You ARE a genius, Arnold!
From Peter on March 2, 2020

Love this. We are the Arnold fan club, and Amir is our rep.
From Richard Stoltzman on March 2, 2020

So sweet. Although I’m still playing concerts at 78, I can’t help but recall my performances of a half century ago with the esteemed Guarneri quartet. As I prepare to perform the Busch quintet Op. 53 Romanze in remembrance of dear Peter, I can totally empathize with your living room performance of Oscar Hammerstein . You are the promised kiss of springtime …that trembles on the brink of a lovely song. Bless you, Arnold
From JACKIE ANDERSON on March 2, 2020

jackievln2@earthlink.net
Wonderful story! Also being retired from a long career as an orchestra and chamber music player, I can relate to what you felt very easily. I was always a great fan of yours and the Guarneri Quartet and heard many of your concerts in D.C..

The world is changing drastically from day to day, but music and its memories for each of us remains intact and is a wonderful world unto itself.

Wish I could hear you play again! Thanks for your story. It will stay in my mind.
From Annabelle Weidenfeld on March 2, 2020

Dearest Arnold How wonderful to be reading you again and what a beautiful and touching piece. I read it to Menahem and we both cried. How I wish I had been there to listen to you play “All the Things you Are” and I know I would have cried. To give you some comic relief, Menahem through his tears said to me “and to think that he was blind” – he had mis-understood; we both had a laugh at the idea of a blind advisor for window dressing…One of the many wonders of music is that memorable performances live on in our ears and hearts for ever after and every time I hear a quartet – any Beethoven and countless others, I am right back all those decades, hearing and watching you play and the performances are as alive as when they happened. Please keep writing, you have such a gift and are such a joy to read. All love and gratitude from Menahem and me Annabelle
From Judith Norell on March 2, 2020

What a lovely story!! And I hope the shades were as beautiful as the music.
From Barbara Wasylenki on March 3, 2020

Lucky Amir!
From Sonya Hamlin on March 3, 2020

You’ve done it again!!! What a lovely tale, told with such openness—- so touching and personal. Love the key of strawberry!! More more!
From Joanna on March 3, 2020

Mr. Steinhardt,
It is good to see more articles from you! Thank you for continuing to write and post these little gems. I had missed the stories and the refreshment it is to read your articles. I am glad you had the chance to play for Amir. Music is a precious thing.
All the best,
Joanna
From Deli Sacilotto on March 3, 2020

Many years ago i sat with you and your wife at an outside Cafe in Cremona. You played in the deconsecrated church with your violin for half the program and with a violin by the maker Frances Kuttner. It was a wonderful concert even though the space was not air conditioned and it was during a heat wave in Italy. We talked about my colleague Don Saff and the times you came to the University of South Florida to play and the poker games afterwards.
I enjoy all of your writing ( and your playing) and have followed your Key of Strawberry anecdotes with great relish. I’m delighted to see them appear once again on my computer.
I’m glad that you are enjoying Santa Fe. It’s a wonderful city . I spent time there in the early eighties working on a printing project involving the Edward Curtis photogravures of the North American Indian.
My question regarding the comments by the window blind salesman , would be- is he or was he a violinist? How does he know to ask such pointed questions? Perhaps you know. With warm regards Deli Sacilotto
From Ken Goldsmith on March 3, 2020

…a lovely story, Arnold, and lovingly told…and I love the photo!

Ken
From Margrit Wakefield on March 3, 2020

I was so happy reading about you and Amir this morning. I really missed your stories. Thank you.
From Noelle Goslee Smith on March 4, 2020

Splendid story, and I’m so thankful you are writing again. “All the things You Are’ is such a touching and lovely song.
From Hava Beller on March 4, 2020

Dear Arnold,
Amir is such a wonderful story. An Arnold story. It made me very nostalgic. I wish I could hear your playing again.
But you are a wonderful storyteller, and I am grateful for your writing. So Please don’t leave us in the dark again. Love, Hava
From John Dalley on March 6, 2020

Are you using my bow? No? Why not?
From Peter Hoenisch on March 10, 2020

Lieber Arnold,
das ist eine sehr schön, aber auch merkwürdige story. Warum spielst Du nicht mehr? Unterschätzt Du Dich? Niemand würde Tomaten werfen. Mein Vater, sehr befreundet mit Chaim, hat mit über 90 noch täglich mehrere Stunden geübt. Und wenn ich es organisiert hätte, wäre er noch in der Beethovenhale in Bonn aufgetreten. Er hat sich in seinem hohen Alter allerdings total überschätzt. Sei herzlich gegrüßt. Unser Treffen im Boulezsaal in berlin war ja eine herrliche Überraschung. Dein Peter
From Brendan Joyce on March 11, 2020

What a lovely story Arnold (and I can’t believe you are nudging 80!). For some reason this reminded me of a performance last year in a regional town in QUeensland, Australia (if you remember me from UMD days then you may remember I’m from Qld), our chamber orchestra played a concert at a community centre at lunch time as we often do during the daytime of tours. Afterwards I chatted to a lady who said, “that was so beautiful. I’m really glad I heard that because I’ve never heard an orchestra live in my whole life; I’m 84 you know!”. There are so many stories like this…a 43 year old in Longreach (far western Qld) was once in tears after hearing us..quite possibly nothing to do with us but it was the first time he had ever heard an orchestra live, playing “classical” music. These performances — so often in places that are the antithesis of Carnegie Hall — are so precious when you start looking back, not because of “nailing it” but because yet again the power of music shone through.. Very best to you and yours ;-)
From Richard Potter on March 27, 2020

One admires Amir’s direct earnestness, which seems to come out of living with connection. He does not live life with limitations imposed by decorum but rather with inquisitiveness driven by sharing and connection. Also, what is behind the passion Amir felt for music that drove his interest, knowledge, and appreciation.
You weave wonderful stories with your words. Much as you do with your music. I have just discovered your stories after years of listening to the Guaneri quartet. And now I am exploring your individual performances. Thank you for the beauty that you share with us all.
From Francis Kuttner on April 1, 2020

Another beautiful story, Arnold. These give me great pleasure.
Un abbraccio da Cremona.
From Rohan Fernandes on May 26, 2020

Thank you for your wonderful and moving story, Mr. Steinhardt. On another note, I was wondering if anybody knows where I could find a video clip of Arnold Steinhardt playing at age 13 on the Billie Burke television show as depicted on the caption in the middle of the article?
From Per Berg-Andersen on November 25, 2020

Just been listening to that marvelous recording from your youth of the Brahms quintet with Rubinstein. Imagine you and your friends/colleagues still giving such pleasure, such happiness, with what you did so many years ago…. So I googled to see if you were still active. Glad to see your spirit is still young! Have a wonderful retirement! Kind greetings, Per Berg-Andersen
From anna meyer on September 15, 2021

Dear Mr. Steinhardt:

My amateur quartet friends and I loved your performances at UCLA’s Royce Hall. We always came to your generous pre-concert informal sessions in one of the classrooms, where we were fascinated by the stories you told and the answers to questions some of us dared to put to you. We could not understand why there were so few of us, but you were very generous answering questions and even demonstrating some of the answers.

We amateurs found great joy in playing together for many years. I am the only one left, as I was the youngest, and I am now quite deaf and music is lost to me. But I remember the quartet literature and your many concerts. I just needed to tell you how much we enjoyed hearing you!

Anna Meyer
Los Angeles

About

When I first posted stories about music on my web site, I assumed that there would be just a handful of things to write about. Now, more than four years later, I'm still writing. This has everything to do with the nature of being a musician. When musicians get together, we inevitably have stories to tell about music, musicians, concerts, audiences, instruments, travel, food, and ever so much more. We talk about the great moments, the disasters, what was memorable, forgettable, hilarious, and unexpected. The stories seem never ending and never less than engaging. I plan to keep writing. I hope you will keep reading.