When my wife Renée’s father passed away some 16 years ago, her older brother began removing items from the family home. Tucked away under her father’s bed was discovered an old brown Moroccan leather violin case enshrouded in a thin layer of dust. Upon further inspection, the small portable case, exhibiting a simple beauty of outline, was found to house a seasoned violin burrowed in the plush emerald green velvet lining. No one in the family had any idea who the violin belonged to nor were they aware of anyone in the family ever having played the violin.
Cached in the interior compartments were a jar of Embur Solo Violin Rosin and Florentina genuine Italian violin strings—endorsed by Austrian-born violinist and composer Friedrich “Fritz” Kreisler, one of the most noted violin masters of his day and regarded as one of the greatest violin masters of all time. (In 1952 Kreisler donated one of his distinguished violins to the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C. where it remains in use today for performances given in the library).
Under the shuffled packages of violin strings was a small slip of paper outlining the division of practice time, which amounted to two and one half hours a day: scales and other technical formulas— 90 minutes; applied techniques—20 minutes; performance in concert style—20 minutes; and study of new music—20 minutes.
Beneath the practice schedule was an old black-and-white photo depicting a flower garden. The handwritten inscription on the back read, “Flowers growing by my home—November 8, 1933.”
The violin’s owner was no longer a mystery for the home was that of my wife’s great-grandfather, James A. Dean.
James A. Dean was born in 1875 and passed away at the age of 81 in 1956—one year after the tragic death of the Hollywood actor by the same name.
James A. Dean was a hardworking farmer who always worked for himself on his farm located in Bloomington, Minnesota. As too frequently happened during those days, James lost his right forearm in an unfortunate sawmill accident.
Renée only knew her great- grandfather— who possessed no more than an eighth-grade level of education— as a man who had a hook for a hand. Even in misfortune, nonetheless, she recalls with fondness that she always found him to be joyful in spirit; a man with a playful glimmer in his eye.
James studied violin at the Arnulu Arentzen Studios of Music located on East Lake Street in Minneapolis, paying somewhere between $1 to $4 per lesson.
As was often the custom during his day, neighbors would gather in the living room of someone’s farmhouse after chores and roll up the carpet on the distressed wooden floors and dance and fiddle the evening away. One can envision his arm moving rhythmically to the dance steps, nimble fingers deftly sliding along the fingerboard, his toe a-tappin’.
But James wasn’t just a country fiddler; he was also a bit of a virtuoso, performing works by notable composers such as 18th-century German-born, Ludwig van Beethoven; 19th-century Hungarian composer, Franz Liszt; and Russian composer of the romantic period, Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky.
That all came to a discordant end, however, following the amputation of James’ forearm.
Renée’s great-grandfather reluctantly unstrung his violin before ascending the narrow staircase to the farmhouse attic where he abandoned the violin to an existence of complete silence, entombed in the all-too-familiar confines of its diminutive leather case.
…Until that day Renée’s brother unearthed the violin among her father’s things. The violin had, unbeknown to all but Renée’s father, been transported from the farmhouse attic, upon the sale of the estate, and sequestered under his bed.
About that time, one of James Dean’s great-great-great grandsons Elijah, was himself studying the violin.
In 2013, the family bequeathed to the 10-yearold boy, the German violin with whom his great-great-great grandfather had spent hours immersed in music.
Once again, from Twin City concert halls to the casual intimate setting outside World’s Best Donuts— during the summer months here in Grand Marais—the violin’s resonant sweet tone and expressive phrasing can be heard as a young boy’s arm moves rhythmically and nimble fingers deftly slide along the fingerboard; his toe a-tappin’…just as did his great-great-great-grandfather’s nearly a century ago.
Former Cook County Commissioner Garry Gamble is writing this ongoing column about the various ways government works.
Leave a Reply