Obituary: Dr. Frederick Lewis was committed cancer doctor, piano virtuoso

For some, caring for cancer patients for more than 40 years would be enough to fill a lifetime.

But Dr. Frederick "Bruce" Lewis also was a classically trained pianist who brought music to those who listened to him in concert or merely stopped on the sidewalk outside his White Bear Lake home as music wafted from an open window.

"This man was an absolute virtuoso as a pianist," said neighbor Trudi Taylor, who sometimes heard him play as she sat on her porch. "A couple of times I started to mow the lawn and then I would hear him, and immediately I and everyone around would stop and just listen. It's a beautiful thing … it had that lilt that says, 'This isn't just me hitting notes. It's me telling a story through music.' He spoke through his music. And he saved a lot of lives."

On July 19, the music stopped for Lewis. He died of cancer one day short of his 86th birthday.

Lewis, who was named after Frederick Chopin, was a child prodigy, playing Mozart on the piano with the Elizabeth, N.J., Philharmonic at age 9. Posters for the event called him "Little Amadeus," according to his family. While at Harvard University, he divided his time among medical studies, practicing piano and working as the music editor for the Harvard Crimson newspaper. He later received his medical degree from Columbia University's College of Physicians and Surgeons and eventually was trained in hematology and oncology.

Although he practiced medicine on both the East and West coasts, most of his career was spent in Minnesota, where he moved in the 1960s, said his wife, Diana.

"He put the lid down on the piano for years" while in medical school and early in his career, his wife said. Eventually, he came back to it.

Until he retired at 79, Lewis spent most of his time caring for cancer patients.

"He was the sort of doctor who thought about something and then thought about it again," said Dr. Patrick Daly, who practiced alongside Lewis for about a decade. "Good doctors don't make instant-bang diagnoses. They think about something, and they think about where they could be wrong about it. And if they're tired, they'll think about it a third time before they make a decision. [Lewis] was like that every day."

Lewis was a "straightforward" man who spoke plainly, Daly said. "He understood the eccentricities and peculiarities of people, but didn't play on them."

If he got annoyed, it was with other doctors, "who thought they were in direct communication with the deity on a regular basis," Daly said with a laugh.

Lewis quickly became an expert in anything he became interested in, whether it was the old fountain pens he collected, the heirloom tomatoes he grew or the bread he baked, his wife said.

In addition to his wife, Lewis is survived by a son, Jordan, of Fort Lauderdale, Fla.; three daughters, Beth Lewis of Minneapolis, Jessica Truax of Coppell, Texas, and Antonia Deignan of Chagrin Falls, Ohio; a brother, Matthew of New York City; a sister, Kathleen Lewis of Cranford, N.J., and 13 grandchildren.

Services have been held.