Roman Totenberg’s daughters Amy, left, Nina and Jill Totenberg get their first look at their father’s Stradivarius in nearly 40 years after it was recovered last year. (Seth Wenig/Associated Press)

To sing again

On that August afternoon in 2015, cameras flashed as the Totenberg daughters smiled and posed with their father’s Stradivarius. They were in their 30s when they last saw it. Now Nina, the oldest, was 71.

This was no regular news conference. Jason Masimore, an assistant district attorney and amateur musician, opened by playing Bach on his own violin. U.S. Attorney Preet Bharara declared the moment “a joyful ending to an amazing story.” Nina, sitting on the side, offered a different take. She remained angry.

Totenberg talked of how her father eventually cashed out a $101,850 insurance policy and used it toward the $300,000 purchase of a Guarneri built in 1736. Totenberg wished Johnson would have spoken up. While the thief was dying, her father was still very much alive. He died in May of 2012 at 101.

“He would have loved to have known it was not lost to humanity and that it would sing again,” she said.

In the workshop, Bruno Price politely disagreed with Nina’s wish. Price remembered visiting Totenberg in his 90s. The sisters had called him with concern. The violinist had been tinkering with the Guarneri and that had left scratches.

“His skin was almost like tissue paper on bone,” says Price. “He was more and more sensitive to how the instrument felt, and he had been moving the bridge around so the strings would be a bit lower.”

Delicately, Price and the Totenberg sisters suggested that the Guarneri be brought back to New York to the company’s vault for safekeeping. Totenberg would use a newer instrument that was easier to play.

As the Stradivarius rested in his workshop, Price shared a thought he said he hoped would not sound impolitic. He is glad the dying man didn’t return the Stradivarius.

“Roman would have wanted to hear its old voice, one of the most haunting things for musicians,” said Price. “But that would have been so cruel. Physically, he wouldn’t have been able to play it.”

The Strad never made it to Totenberg’s bedside in Newton, Mass. It almost slipped away forever. After Johnson died, Tran considered donating it to her youngest daughter’s school. Anderson, though, remembered the old violin that her brother had reminded her of as the end neared.

“You might want to check it out,” she told Tran. “The way Philip talked about it, it might be worth quite a bit.”

Now, both men are gone. The Stradivarius is being restored with a purpose. The Totenberg sisters are not searching for the highest bidder, a collector eager to place a mystical trophy on his mantel. The violin is being restored for a very specific buyer. A player. So that one day, the Stradivarius, a secret for decades, can be free, to sing again.