OTAS, you found it

If one could classify the great classical world, there are the current divas, great conductors/composers, and then there are the operatic legends. Last week, though a friend of mine, I was able to go to opera’s only award ceremonies, the Opera Awards, where they are honored, not with a cheesy “nominees” vs. the “winners”, but with simply a ceremony that takes a long view of the art and hands out five awards to those presently singing, and those having sung. It was black tie, at the majestic Pierre hotel on the Upper East Side.

This years’ awards honored the current great singers: Olga Borodina, the mezzo that sung to great dramatic acclaim, then to the great comedies of Rossini; Stephanie Blithe, who sang the great roles of Verdi, to Puccini’s triptych, Il Trittico (one of my personal greatest moments at the Met); Then there was Thomas Hampson, the ham of the baritone repertory. More seriously, there was the vocal conductor Julias Rudel, who conducted more singers and world premiers than I can count. But, honestly, the reason we were all there was to see Leontyne Price, the ledgenary soprano, be honored.

On an operatic level, she was the one of the greatest sopranos in recorded history. She’d sung the great Verdian and Puccini operas to perfection. On a personal level, she was an American inspiration. Wikipedia recalls: Once, when discussing whether she would sing in Atlanta, the Met's general manager Rudolf Bing warned her she wouldn't be able to stay in the same segregated hotel with the company. She looked at him and said, "Don't worry, Mr. Bing, I'm sure you can find a place for me and the horse."

You see, see she made her fame during the early 60s, a time of racial turmoil. No doubt, Marian Anderson opened the door for black artists when she was denied her performance in Washington with the Daughters of the Revolution, then invited to sing by Ms Roosevelt to sing at the Lincoln Memorial. Then there was Leontyne Price, with her flawless technique, smoky voice, and technical perfection, that completely ripped that door off its fucking hinges.

In her Met debut she was afraid to take her curtain call for fear of the audience’s reaction to a “colored” Leonora. She was shoved onto the stage by friends. The ovation set the Met’s record for its longest – 41 minutes – and still stands today. (You can find her sounds in the Met's archives with her perfect trills and rich sound - 1961.) She would later become the standard in the soprano-crushing operas. Just last month, PBS had a voted “the greatest moments at the Met” where Price won over Pavarotti, Callas, Domingo, Sutherland, Felmming, etc.

Second only to Callas, in my mind, was this great Verdian soprano. You can imagine when I was standing at the door at the ceremony, and saw her at 72, thin, (fragile) and elegant. I’m not sure how, but I escorted her to the reception. “You are an inspiration.” I told her. In her own dignified way, she said in her Southern accent: “Thank you.” “It is the honor of my life to meet you.” I said. “Thank you.” And that was the beginning and end of my interactions with Price.

When she came out to receive her award, after a tear-jerking recording of “O Patria Mia.” she said a few brief words. Then she simply sang a few lines with those glorious Price tones (at 72!). I heard Price sing!

I was honored to hear her. We all were.

Those that came to honor her were none other than the GM of the Met, current great singers (that I met such) Voigt, DiDonato, Grahm; Broadway ledgends like Barbara Cook; conductors (Rudel); generals of the Army (I forget their names); great singers of the Met’s past such as Roberta Peters and Robert Merrill; and New York’s social elite.

Her portrait hangs in the Met with but a few dozens of others (among them, Caruso, Callas, Toscaninni, Verdi, Strauss, etc.) like King’s bust in the Capital. OK, i'm being a little dramatic here.