Two years ago, in an uncommunicable mood. I fled the Currier House dining room with my tray, and settled down in front of a television set. The Lawrence Welk Show came on, and I watched, chuckling cynically, groaning as Welk sped his musicians through a medley of "old-a time favorites." Suddenly a voice came out of the corner of the room. "No don't laugh. Listen to the musicians. I don't like what they're playing, either, but, you know, they really know what they're doing. I turned and there sat this guy with a violin case resting across his knees. An odd duck. I thought. What does he do on that fiddle anyway?

A few months later, at a chamber music concert, I got my answer. There he was, revealing himself to be an exceptionally talented violinist. Ronan Lefkowitz '75 is, as one member of the Music Department has put it, "an extraordinarily beautiful musician, a musician to be reckoned with."

I recently sought out Lefkowitz for an interview, and found him circling around the pool table, lips pursed in concentration, examining every angle, analyzing every prospective shot. "I approach things analytically," he said. "A question exists; you search for the answer. That's the way I approach the violin, too. If you're not getting the proper sound projecting--there are always ways of improving. It's actually very scientific in a way."

Lefkowitz has been playing the violin since he was seven. His father, the head of the Music History Department of Boston University, and himself a violinist, started his son's training. "Sure there was plenty of parental push," Lefkowitz said, chalking his cue. "I guess my basic nature is rather easily impressed. I'm more or less manipulatable. I didn't classically rebel, unlike my sister who quit playing the piano years ago. I guess you could say I'm repressed," and saying this he broke the rack of balls with a shattering crack.

"Of course, I wouldn't stay with the violin if I didn't love it," he added. Among the musicians of the Harvard community, Lefkowitz is renowned for dedication, and for his concentration. Yo-Yo Ma '76 attributes his newly-found commitment to diligent practicing to Lefkowitz's example. "Four to five hours a day--nobody around here practices like that," he says.

"I enjoy the practicing itself," Lefkowitz told me. "But practicing that much really doesn't mean anything. Sometimes it's a crutch to practice as much as I do. You think, 'I can just punch the clock, put in my time, and there's no way I can't make astounding progress.' What I'd really like to be able to do is say to myself, today I'll practice twice as hard for four or five hours, and tomorrow I won't practice at all. But if I miss one day, I panic. I feel incredibly guilty. There's this fear of guilt in me which goes so deep I can't even approach to explain it. And there's this lack of faith in my ability, this lack of confidence in myself, as well. There are many factors that lead me to practice this way."

While music may be the driving force of Lefkowitz's life, he has never been limited by his main passion. An avid, "indiscriminate" reader, he never seriously considered going to a conservatory. "In high school I thought I was interested in science," he said. "Here I discovered that it was really a superficial interest. But there's nothing really that I could find at a conservatory that I can't find here if I look for it."

A music major, he feels the Music Department, as a whole, has offered him little. But, he pointed out, "If you really want something from the department you have to go after it. That's true in most departments, I guess. Music, as a department, as something to study, is strange. There's no one method to learning and teaching music. Nothing's complete; nothing's defined. Just the term 'musician' is weird, you know.... Nobody knows what it means. It could mean you know all the plots from operas, you could know all the record jackets."

What being in Boston has offered him has been the opportunity to study with Joseph Silverstein, a professor of Music at Boston University, who, Lefkowitz declares, "has been the most profound influence in my life." What especially attracts him to Silverstein is Silverstein's "serious attitude about the serious nature of music," as well as his recognition of the obligation a musician has to the intent of the composer.

"Silverstein helped me appreciate what the capabilities of a person are," says Lefkowitz. "He sets an example for me. He does the most with his time and his life possible. He's taught me that under proper discipline I can teach myself to learn faster, and learning faster is the thing that makes life more exciting. I always thought that I had to work slowly to get anywhere. I used to believe you had to spend a lot of time in repetitious practicing, just taking one short section at a time, and going over it again and again. What's more important is to work on your technique so that you can play a piece without mistakes. Sure, to do what you want to do musically takes time, but not nearly as much as some people think."

Lefkowitz aimed cautiously, and smiled with satisfaction as the eight-ball disappeared into the side pocket. As he paused for his new challenger to rack the balls, I lit up a cigarette. "Don't you ever worry before you smoke a cigarette that it may do something to you?" he asked. "I'm always a little afraid it will alter my senses, put me a little bit out of control. For years I had this shaky bow arm. All I did was worry about whether I could ever pull a smooth bow. I was terrified that I would never be steady. So if I smoked I'd be afraid it would alter my state of condition. I need all my senses, I need my states of condition and concentration all I can when I'm playing," he said, and picked up his cuestick. "I'm too logical for it. I mean, I'll celebrate all night. That's all right because I know I can wake up the next morning and start again. But smoking...I don't know...."

There exists a Natural Way to play the violin. Lefkowitz believes. It's something he's working towards. "I work on technique more than anyone around here," he told me, "just so I can learn how to play the violin." The Natural Way of playing involves relaxation (for which he does yoga breathing exercises), confidence, and finding the right position. "So many people play with such awkward poses, and they end up having problems with their muscles, as well as having problems with their technique."

"I think I'm improving these days. A little bit, at least," Lefkowitz told me as he finished his final game, defeated, and walked down the hallway to the room in which he practices. "I'm depressed these days, and I always make progress when I'm depressed and realize I have deficiencies. I can't do this, I can't do that. I may be harder on myself than I have to, maybe, but it's the only way, I'm obsessed. It's not so funny, but it gives my life meaning."

Lefkowitz has not always been this diligent. His attitude toward practicing and learning changed the year before he came here. He had been touring in Israel and Switzerland as a soloist with the Greater Boston Youth Symphony Orchestra. While in Switzerland he won first prize for violin soloists in the International Festival of Youth Orchestras, earning the opportunity to remain and study with Max Rostal, who has been called "the greatest violin teacher in Central Europe." Lefkowitz was 16 at the time, and living in Switzerland made him miserable. He was lonely and he's never played as poorly as he did under Rostal. "I was overwhelmed by his reputation, by his caliber. I wasn't sure if I could face up to his standards. He's a very authoritarian teacher, a disciplinarian, who believes there is only one way to play a piece--his way--whereas Silverstein allows for personal interpretation. It was a bad time for me. I was realizing I didn't know what I was doing."

Lefkowitz returned home for Christmas, "had a good time," and, as far as he was concerned, was back in Switzerland too soon. "I was still playing really sloppily, really lousy," he said. "I was just punching the clock, waiting to go home." His change in attitude towards his commitment to studying came a few months later when he had to play for the opening of the Jewish Center in Berne. "I played the Meditation of Theis by Massine. I was sounding pretty good until just before I had to play, when I became extremely nervous, and my bow began to shake terribly. It was really bad. Afterwards I walked around the Center, looking like I wanted to talk to someone, because I did--I was incredibly lonely. But nobody wanted to talk to me, so I left, I decided then and there I wanted to change things. I decided to start practicing well, to always try to do the best to my ability, to analyze my problems, take everything apart. It was a quiet decision, but a very important one. I just knew that starting the next day I would work constantly and well, and I did."