Paul Childs was a violinist by training who developed a profound love of old French bows early in his career. Originally from Oklahoma, Paul came to New York City in the late 1960s and received a performance degree from the Manhattan School of Music. As a young professional, Paul was fascinated by bows and studied them with a rigorous, almost academic approach, cutting his own path at a time when bow expertise was largely underdeveloped.

One of Paul’s greatest legacies will be his contributions to the reference literature of bow expertise. In 1996 he wrote a groundbreaking survey, The Bowmakers of the Peccatte Family. Seven years later he published the definitive reference on Jean Pierre Marie Persoit. Last year he compiled a masterful work on François Xavier Tourte bringing together extensive archival research, historical contextualization and photographs of nearly one hundred bows.

Undaunted by controversy, Paul confronted several long-held truths that were unassailable in the French tradition. It was Paul who first recognized that certain Dominique Peccatte bows were made with original frogs by Nicolas Maire. And Paul was also insistent to discover and document the true facts of the life of François Xavier Tourte, not simply to accept the traditional version of his origins.

Undaunted by controversy, Paul confronted several long-held truths that were unassailable in the French tradition.

Paul was generous with his knowledge and expertise. He was a mentor to Isaac Salchow and he shared his love of bows with Jim Warren, David Fulton, Pierre Guillaume, Jean-Francois Raffin, Bernard Millant, Peter Oxley, Christian Secretan, Gabriel Schaff, Jerome Akoka and many others. He was the best man at Pierre Guillaume’s wedding; he was one of Charles Beare’s close confidants.

I learned many things from Paul. Some of which were about bows; but I also learned about life, about style, about New York City and about the nature of expertise. He was one of my greatest role models in this business.

Paul was a traditionalist and often gave the impression of being a man from another era. He was precise with language, correct with social protocol but light on tech. He was one of the last people I know to use a fax machine and he didn’t have a mobile phone until the late 2000s.

Paul Childs at the Violin Society of America in 1994 (Credit, VSA Journal).

Paul was an extensive traveler and a lover of good food, wine and great company. He knew most of the restaurants in midtown, and most of them knew him. Just days before the Four Seasons closed, Paul scored a reservation in the iconic Pool Room and invited Arnold Steinhardt and me to lunch. Paul’s apartment in Paris was a base for business and research and it allowed him to immerse in the French tradition, not just study it from afar. He traveled frequently to Japan, often several times a year, and was captivated by the aesthetics and tradition of that culture and its appreciation for music and musical instruments.

He was a consummate scout of beautiful things and worthy ideas.

There was a distinctive refinement and undeniable class in the way Paul carried himself. He dressed elegantly and deliberately but without consideration of trends and labels. His favorite shoes were made for him in Venice; his suits by a tailor on 39th Street. When the weather was good he picked you up at the train station in his silver 1962 Jaguar XK 150 convertible that he modified with a V12 engine.

Paul continued to play the violin for pleasure and stayed close with many of the leading musicians of his generation. Arnold Steinhardt and Elmar Oliveira were close personal and professional friends. Five years ago Paul commissioned a violin from Gregg Alf made of Koa wood imported from Hawaii where he spent frequent holidays. He was a consummate scout of beautiful things and worthy ideas.

That was a gift: when Paul spoke, people took time to listen.

One time not so long ago, Paul and I were having lunch on 57th street and Paul McCartney sat down at the table behind us. Paul told me, “Eleonor Rigby was just the most incredible song I had ever heard when it came out. I need to tell him that.” And so he leaned over his shoulder and started the conversation, “Excuse me, Sir Paul…” For the next ten minutes the three of us chatted about music, musicians and instruments – truly one of the most memorable experiences of my life. Paul even told Sir Paul a joke (the same joke he told to Bill Clinton in a restaurant a few years earlier, I later learned). That was a gift: when Paul spoke, people took time to listen.

Paul is survived by his wife Bérit, his son Karl and by his many adoring friends and colleagues. We will miss you greatly, Paul.