Not Albert Schweitzer. He was all of these. Then, at age 30, he gave it all up to follow what he said was his truest calling — as a medical missionary to Africa.

Considering his earlier achievements, it's no surprise he made his mark in that arena. Years after his death, he remains one of the world's most influential humanitarians.

His most tangible legacy is the free hospital he built in Lambarene, Gabon, that still operates today. He was still overseeing the hospital at age 78, when he won the 1952 Nobel Peace Prize for his work.

The son of a Lutheran minister, Schweitzer (1875-1965) had an upbringing that lent itself to missionary work. But none of it came naturally to him.

He was undisciplined in school, painfully shy and anxious about fitting in, says James Brabazon in a 1975 biography of Schweitzer.

But he was sincere in his faith and willing to sacrifice anything to follow his calling. By mixing dedication, realism and a dose of humility, he became one of history's best-known humanitarians.

In his early years, he showed few of the qualities that later made him famous. As Brabazon recounts, one of Schweitzer's earliest memories was his mother's eyes, "red with weeping over her son's school reports." In school, Schweitzer often spent the day staring out the window, chewing his pencil and wishing he were outdoors. Unlike his scholarly father, Schweitzer thought reading was a waste of time — and it showed.

He overcame this weakness through sheer determination. He found subjects he loved and realized he'd have to dedicate serious time to these pursuits to master them.

The first of these was the organ, which he began playing at age 9 — not long after he could reach the pedals. He spent hours learning the instrument.

By the time he graduated from college, he'd become an internationally known concert organist, organ-building expert and recognized authority on Bach, one of his favorite composers.

His dedication also helped him in his study of theology, where he wrestled with the meaning of the Bible and how it applied to his life.

Willpower helped him overcome his natural shyness. Realizing that human relationships were a big part of living out his religion, he went out of his way to talk to as many people as possible.

"He made it his business to make everybody's business his own— to share their interests and concerns, their work, their jokes and their stories," Brabazon wrote.

It was a struggle, but Schweitzer taught himself to reach out to people. He'd look for the one person in a room standing alone and make a beeline to strike up a conversation.

Practical Idealist

Despite his idealism, Schweitzer was pragmatic. He quickly learned the value of realism and compromise in his work.

After taking charge of the music program at St. Wilhelm Church in Strasbourg — then part of Germany and now part of France — he found himself constantly balancing his artistic ideals with the reality of the church's limited budget. It was a constant battle, but Schweitzer made the most of it.

"He learned that the idealist must be more practical than the realist because he stands alone — that successful idealism cannot live on pure enthusiasm, but demands a willingness to muddy one's boots in incessant tedious detail and a certain cynical cunning in dealing with those in a position to be helpful or otherwise," Brabazon said.

This lesson would serve him well in Africa, where he learned to balance his desires for those he served with the harsh realities of Africa.

Erica Anderson, who won an Academy Award for her 1957 documentary on Schweitzer's life, described this practicality in her book about making the film.

The native African midwives around Lambarene advised pregnant tribeswomen not to visit the missionary hospital or let men treat them. That would violate tradition and bring bad luck, they warned.

That left many women dying in childbirth. Schweitzer felt frustrated and helpless.

Education was the ideal solution. But that would be a long process, and more women would die in the meantime.

His solution: a bribe. He gave all new mothers at the hospital a bonnet and a dress, attracting women from all over the area.

Schweitzer was also flexible, as shown in his treatment of lepers.

Ideally, sufferers should be quarantined during treatment so they don't infect others. But many tribesmen refused to split their families apart. So Schweitzer ignored conventional wisdom and let families stay together, even though it meant overcrowded treatment centers.

"I must treat them on their own terms or not at all," he said.

His idealism was put to the test in 1917, when the French government sent him and his wife to a World War I internment camp because of their German heritage.

He refused to become bitter.

Still dedicated after the interment, Schweitzer returned to the hospital after the war to work.

In some ways, Schweitzer's humility was the most important element of his work.

Had he been interested in acclaim, he might've been satisfied with the applause of a concert hall audience. Or the praise of academics. Or the loyalty of a congregation.

But he learned early that human approval was fleeting.

Painful Lesson

Keeping true to his beliefs was something Schweitzer had to learn through experience.

He never felt at home with any group of schoolmates. His family was richer than others in his native village. Yet when he went to college in Strasbourg, Alsace's capital, he felt poorer and more provincial than his classmates.

As a result, he worked tirelessly to fit in. One day when he was a child, neighborhood children were mocking a Jewish man from a nearby town who sometimes came through Schweitzer's village.

Though Schweitzer had nothing against the man, he joined in the verbal attack, hoping to be one of the gang.

The man gave the boys an "embarrassed but good natured" smile, which shamed Schweitzer to the core. He vowed never again to seek acceptance by hurting someone.

As he grew older, he resisted fame. He didn't like to be photographed, and told Erica Anderson, the filmmaker, not to bring her cameras when she came to visit the hospital. In her book, she details how hard it was to win him over to the idea of a film about his work.

Yet he learned to be shrewd about using his renown for good. Royalties from his books and personal appearances helped expand his hospital. It eventually grew to 70 buildings, with room for 500 patients.

With the $33,000 he received from his Nobel Prize, he created the leprosy treatment center. Typical of Schweitzer, he was too busy working to accept the award in person.

He oversaw the hospital until his death at age 90. Today, his work lives on through several books, charitable foundations and numerous nonprofit groups.