Bill's Passion
by William Santoro, MD

I used to accept patients at a local nursing home who did not have a doctor of their own. This is how I came to know Bill Marussio. His family had him placed there because it was becoming too difficult for them to care for him at home. Mr. Marussio had Alzheimer's. He also had talent, lots of it. He was a renowned concert violinist. He had played all over the world. I always addressed him formally and for that reason I have changed his name in this story to protect his privacy.

Under his bed he kept a very expensive violin. I was told the value was somewhere in the neighborhood of $250,000. Although the Alzheimer's was robbing him of his mind, it had not gotten to his passion… his talent… his music. On every occasion that I visited him I asked him to play something. The joy and pleasure in his eyes were evident. He would put his violin under his chin and the most beautiful sounds flowed out. I often asked his to play while I wrote notes in his and my other patients charts.

The year was 1989. My son, Justin, was three years old and recently diagnosed with Autism. One day while watching television a segment of a newsmagazine presented Itzhak Pearlman. Justin came running into the room and was mesmerized by this man playing the violin. There was a definite connection. He could not get enough of it. I knew he had to meet Mr. Marussio.

I introduced Justin to Mr. Marussio the next week. Justin asked if he could play something for us. Justin's reaction to the music was the same as it was for Mr. Pearlman's, pure pleasure. I knew this would become a new routine.

Whenever possible I brought Justin to the nursing home to visit with Mr. Marussio. Seeing us walking down the hall, he would go into his room and get out his fiddle. I found it odd that he would call this valuable instrument a fiddle. Justin would sit on the bed next to him and he would tell us in the most intricate detail different things about the violin. He told us the height of the bridge. He talked about the curvature in the wood. He even talked about the number of fibers in the bow. Several times he held the fiddle under Justin's chin and together they played the instrument. He always asked if Justin had any requests. One time Justin told him to play "Spring" by Vavaldi. He started to play the request but halfway through he forgot what he was playing and finished with "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star".

On one particular visit I brought a camera. We went through our usual routine. Mr. Marussio started playing one song and as had happened many other times, he finished with a different one. Justin kept correcting him, trying to get his to finish the song he started. Then Mr. Marussio did something different. He asked Justin if he wanted to play the violin. A child of few words, Justin simply said yes. At this point Mr. Marussio handed Justin the violin. Justin put the violin under his chin and ran the bow across the strings. As I watched this event unfold I thought to myself, here's a man with Alzheimer's handing a quarter of a million dollar violin to a child with autism and what am I doing… taking pictures. Had I been handed the violin I know the only sound I could create would be described as noise. But when Justin bowed that violin for the first time music came out. It was not a song, but it was definitely a note.

Several months later Mr. Marussio had a stroke. I sent him to the hospital. When I visited him I noted that they were having trouble working with him in physical therapy. I told the family to get his violin. The physical therapist used the violin as therapy. The day he was discharged from the hospital and readmitted to the nursing home I did not bring Justin with me. I was uncertain as to how Mr. Marussio would be. I helped him sit up in his bed. With some help he put the violin under his chin. He closed his eyes as he ran bow over the strings. All we mortals could hear was noise, but the look on his face told me that all he heard was beautiful music. Mr. Marussio died several months later peacefully in the nursing home. He was still playing his music that could only be heard in his heart. My son still remembers him. He incorporates his name into songs that he makes up and sings.

Justin became involved with music therapy shortly after Mr. Marussio's death. His therapist started him with the keyboard and used the violin as a reward for doing well. I remember Mr. Marussio saying that every child who wants to play the violin should first play the piano. Being completely devoid of musical knowledge and talent I still do not understand why. Within a short time Justin was playing the violin and his instructor informed us that it was not for therapy any longer. By this she meant that Justin was playing as well as any other child his age. To this day we still believe Justin's music is therapy.

Justin has been playing the violin for 6 years. He works very hard at his music. The rewards dwarf the effort. Justin's music gives him and those who hear it comfort. Throughout his life and especially in his last days music gave Mr. Marussio comfort. Mr. Marussio and Justin's path have paralleled each other. Sometimes going in the same direction and sometimes going in opposite directions, but always ending in the same space. What started out as music therapy for my son has become a passion. What started out as a passion for Mr. Marussio became therapy.