Starker moved to the United States after the war and became principal cellist of the Dallas Symphony, then the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra and, ultimately, the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. His career as a soloist took him all over the world, and his former students now play as soloists, chamber musicians, and members of opera and symphony orchestras. The list of his recordings fills 33 pages of his memoir, The World of Music According to Starker, published in 2004 by Indiana University Press. His edited versions of concerti, sonatas, and the Bach Suites have been in print for decades, and his long-awaited edition of the Kodály Sonata, Op. 8, for unaccompanied cello, was recently published by Master’s Music Publications, Inc.

A true master, Starker is respected as much for his formidable personality as for his impeccable intonation and focused sound. Students travel thousands of miles to study with him, but they may tremble in his presence.

According to Emilio Colon, a former Starker student who now teaches alongside him at Indiana University, Starker “fired” more than half of his students during his first year as a teacher in 1958. Colon himself was almost fired.

“I was thrown out of his studio before I played even one note,” says Colon, who went from Puerto Rico to Indiana in 1986. “He claimed I missed my lesson. I disagreed, respectfully, and stood up for myself, so he said he would give me one more chance. I was used to Caribbean time, where 12 o’clock can mean 1 o’clock, and he wanted me to know the importance of being punctual. It’s about standards. He expects you to work at your highest level at all times. He gives his students the same experience he went through.”

Maria Kliegel, who studied with Starker in the 1970s and became his teaching assistant, is now the world’s most recorded cellist on CD. Yet she vividly recalls the abrupt ending to one of her first lessons with him. “I played the slow movement of Haydn D major,” she says. “When I finished, he was very quiet. He lit a cigarette and said very slowly, with a very deep voice, ‘If you ever play so out of tune again, I will deny I was ever your teacher.’ He knew how proud I was to be his student, so his comment affected me very strongly. I packed up my cello and left the room. There was nothing I could say.

“It was horrible, but he knew I could take it. He knows how much his students can take, because he’s a good pedagogue. And I got the point. What he meant was that you never own good intonation. You always have to work for it. Last May, I played the Elgar Concerto at a concert in Japan, and afterwards, he came backstage. I said, ‘How was my intonation today?’ He made his eyes twinkle. That’s how he answers, just with his face, which I know so well. He can just raise an eyebrow, or smile with one part of his mouth, and you know what he means.”

Shin, 19, remembers the master class in Seattle where she first met Starker.

“There was an earthquake right in the middle of the class,” she says. “Half of the people went out in the hall, and the other half stood close to the walls of the room. Mr. Starker waited for the shaking to stop and asked everyone to sit down and get back to work. Last semester, he made three girls cry in their lessons. Everybody deals with it at some point. You get upset, but you live, and you work harder. He’s such a great teacher, great performer, that it’s intimidating to think you’re going to play for this person.”

It has been said that he has become kinder and gentler in recent years, and that the change occurred when he had grandchildren.

“He has grandchildren?” Shin laughs. “I hope he has some more.”

To work with Starker is to join an extended family, says Brant Taylor, a former student who is now a member of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. “His level of perception leads to close relationships with his students. If you’re willing to be unguarded around him, to give yourself over to him, you get the best of what he has to offer. I refer to him or his principles when I practice and in every lesson I teach, because his ideals still inspire my own musical thinking.”

After class, Starker heads for his private studio on the first floor of the IU music building. The distinguished professor of music is the only person allowed to smoke indoors on campus. Settling on a chair in the corner, next to a standing ashtray, he lights a cigarette before beginning our interview.

His students say he would do anything for them, I point out. What can he do for them, and what must they do for themselves?

“They have to do everything for themselves!” he responds, “The only thing I am supposed to do is show them the road.”

They also say Starker can see right through them.

“Because I’ve seen it all,” he says. “The difference between me and other teachers was described by Susan Moses, a former student of mine who also studied with Piatigorsky. She said Piatigorsky sees people’s strengths and enhances them. But I’m not interested in the strengths. I’m interested in the weaknesses, because the strengths are fine. If someone plays with a beautiful sound, I leave it alone and concentrate on the left hand. I am interested in the problems, in helping people overcome the obstacles.”