Golden Thighs (cue the tights . . . )

My art teacher in high school introduced me to the wonderful tenor voice of Franco Corelli. For a girl with a penchant for baritones, Corelli was a perfect compromise — a dramatic tenor with a dark, very baritonal sound. His voice was pure, animalistic sex. Of course it didn't hurt that he looked like a god — over 6 feet tall and so good looking he could have been a movie star. He looked like Marcello Mastroianni, Rock Hudson and Gregory Peck all rolled into one. He also had famously beautiful legs, earning him the nickname "coscie d'oro", or golden thighs. He spent a good number of roles in tights.

He retired from the stage before I saw my first opera so I never got to see or hear him live. No matter, there are records, photos and, best of all, films and TV shows. He was on Italian TV a lot in the 1950 onwards.

When I started working at Rizzoli, I had heard that Corelli was in regularly to buy his newspaper. He lived down the street from the store near Carnegie Hall. If he came in, I never saw him. But one day, I just happened to be on the ground floor at the customer service desk when a handsome, older man walked past on his way to the newspaper department. As he passed me, he paused, smiled and nodded to me in greeting. FRANCO CORELLI!!!!!!!!!!! Finally, I saw my idol and he smiled at me! I was in heaven . . .

About a year or so later, I became customer service manager and was now located on the ground floor behind the customer service desk. I used to see Corelli almost daily with his little black poodle. He would always nod or say hello in greeting, except for the times he came in with his wife. Then he would look straight ahead while she looked right and left in suspicion. It was obvious that he knew that I knew who he was.

One day, I was at the front register and happened to ring him up. We greeted each other and as he was about to leave, he turned and said to me, "Tell me, do you sing?" I told him only in the shower until my neighbors tell me to stop. After that, we always chatted unless Loretta was with him. One of the nicest experiences was when I had just gotten back from vacation and was on a ladder putting books away when he came over, got my attention, asked me how I was doing, etc. It was a really nice chat.

He  always seemed a bit sad to me, not unhappy but "sad" — I really can't describe it. Then someone would recognize him and  he stand up straighter, puff out his chest and look like a god.

I would also see him on the street, usually walking his dog. He would always stop and say hello. That always gave me a huge thrill because he was such a opera legend and I was a big fan. I once saw him years later after I left Rizzoli. I was on 57th Street and he was walking the dog. He stopped and said "hello".

He died in 2003.

Corelli in the 1950s or 60s

An appearance from The Bell Telephone Hour 1962 "E lucevan le stelle" from Tosca. Nice view of his legs.

Eros Ramazzotti story for Julia W

1992 and his first American album, Tutte storie, came out and I think it was also his first US tour. Rizzoli Bookstore, being the Italian-owned bookstore that it was and being one of the few places at the time to sell international pop CDs, of course scheduled a signing to coincide.

At the time I was customer service manager and was pretty much planted on the first floor. I was standing in front of the registers when Eros came in with his entourage. His arm brushed my boobs as he walked past me. There was a line of girls waiting for him that stretched from the middle of 57th Street all the way around Fifth Avenue. HUGE crowd. Lorenzo, one of the managers, was a young Milanese and he didn't like female atention when it wasn't aimed at him. He said in a fit of pique, "I don't know why they are making such a fuss over some stupid Roman." Jealous Lorenzo? Anyway, the signing was on the second floor and after Eros got settled in, the flood gates opened.

I eventually got the opportunity to go upstairs and cut the line to get my CD signed. I never got Tutte storie because I had the Italian verion, In ogni senso. I waited for a while then it was my turn. He signed it, "A cara Sara, Eros Ramazzotti." I was all aquiver.

After a few hours, the signing had to come to an end. There were still droves of girls waiting. They were eventually turned away, poor things. I was standing in the same spot on the first floor when he left. Again, he brushed my boobs with is arm. I knew then that both times were done intentionally. Made me feel good, lol. He had a thigh-high cast on his leg having broken it in a motorcycle accident. During the concert, he ran aroumd the stage even with the cast hindering his movement. It was a really fun concert even though he never even took his jacket off. He completely sweated through it too.

His visit was not without controversy, however. In an interview (I believe it was in the Italian-language American newspaper America Oggi), he stated that he wanted "real Italians" at his concerts, not "pizza fattori", or in other words, American-Italians who are mostly from the South. Rose, my friend Angela's sister, wrote a scathing letter renouncing him, sayng that it was such people who made him popular in the US, etc. She was then interviewed in Corriere della sera and other papers. I think he ended up apologizing but it didn't stop our enjoyment of his music, just disillusioned us a bit.

When I left Rizzoli in 1994, I stopped following his career and those of all of those pop musicians.

Without a Woman (cue the synthesizers . . .)

Working at Rizzoli I became very familiar with Italian pop music of that time. Rizzoli was one of the few places one could get international pop music and we would play a lot of Italian and French pop day in and day out. I grew to like a lot of it — Lucio Dalla and Eros Ramazzotti were two of my favorites, as was Zucchero. One of my favorite Zucchero albums was Zucchero Blues. He had a huge hit with the song, "Senza una donna." We played that album constantly but I enjoyed it. Anyway, Zucchero came out with an English-language album and he had quite a crossover hit with "Senza una donna," which he sang with British pop star Paul Young. Well, one day I was standing at the front register with Flor, one of the cashiers, and the song was playing in the store. I was humming and singing along then turned to Flor and said, "I've heard this song so many times, I understand all the words now." Flor looks at me and says, "He's singing in English."

Flor was a huge Eros fan and we went to see him together with another co-worker, Porfirio, at Radio City Music Hall. Flor screamed, fainted, danced, and hit Porfirio over and over again on the arm in her excitement and ecstasy throughout the entire concert. Poor Porf! His arm was entirely black and blue. I was glad that I was sitting on Porf's other side and not next to Flor. It was fun.

Rock of Ages (cue the guitars . . .)

For some reason, people think that I only like opera, that I only know about opera and opera singers. I love it. I think it's my favorite musical form but I listen to a lot of different kinds of music and I always have. I really like almost all forms of vocal music. Anyway, it was the late 1980s or early 1990s and I was working at Rizzoli when these incidents occurred.
One day in 1991, I was at the front register when a very familiar-but-older-looking man made a purchase.  I check the name on his Amex: Raymond Manzarek. Of COURSE! Ray Manzarek of the Doors! One of my first music cassette tapes was the Door's album. I loved them. We chat, he leaves. I almost faint!

"Oh my god! (we didn't have OMG back then) Do you know who just left?"
No, who.
"Ray Manzarek!!!"
(puzzled looks galore)
Who's that? An opera singer?

I look at my coworkers as if they were crazy, just like they are looking at me as if I was crazy.

"Ray Manzarek from THE DOORS! You know, the rock band with Jim Morrison? You know the new movie with Val Kilmer. Kyle Maclachlan is playing him in the movie!" The movie was all over the place at the time and I was the only one who knew who he was. Raymond Manzarek would come in occasionally.




Another time I was covering the magazine register when Dave Davies came in and bought a British tabloid. The Kinks were in town during a concert tour. I recognized him right away. I was all "Wow! Did you see Dave Davies?"

Who?
"Dave Davies of The Kinks!"
You mean Ray Davies.
"No, I mean Dave Davies the guitarist, Ray Davies's younger brother."

I got crazy looks for this one too. I LOVE The Kinks too!

(But then again, I had to point out Sid Fernandez after he left the store to Matthew, the avid Mets fanatic who didn't recognize him even as he was helping him.)

"I never sat for Mapplethorpe."

My late father collected books on ballet and dance. He has a huge collection of rare and out of print books. It's a really fabulous private collection.

One of the books is a 1986 book of photography by the Dutch choreographer Hans Van Manen. Dad saw the book mentioned in a European dance magazine--only the title and publisher. Since it was not published, nor available in the US, it took quite an effort to get it. A family friend, an older Dutch woman named Hanni, was going to visit relatives so Dad asked her to purchase a copy of Portrait. She found a copy and brought it home and gave it to my dad. It was very good thing that the book came shrink-wrapped because little prim Hanni would have had a heart attack. Though the book was called Portrait, there was only a small section of portraits of such people as Marcia Haydee of the Stuttgart Ballet and obscure Dutch artists. Most of the photos were homoerotic photos of naked male dancers, with and without erections, alone, together, ejactulating, spitting, swallowing, masterbating, etc. (And a token nude female.) None of us were expecting this at all! The weirdest thing of all was the fact that one of the naked men was someone who went to ballet school with my sister and me. All of the photos are black and white and "artistic." Anyway . . .

A few years later I am working at Rizzoli Bookstore and we are having a signing for a book of fashion photography by designer Thierry Mugler. The author photo looks extremely familiar. Is it? It IS! It is one of the rare clothed portraits in Portrait! I decide to bring in the book to get Mugler to sign his photo for my dad.

We've set up the signing and Mugler has arrived. We take him to the offices to hang up his coat, etc., and I ask him to sign the Van Manen book. I try to show him the book. He is in a hurry, glances down and disdainfully says "I never sat for Mapplethorpe." and is about to brush me aside. Wait! It's not Mapplethorpe but Hans Van Manen. That gets his attention and he stops short! Hans Van Manen?! I nod and we go into the breakroom so he can look at the book. He explained that the photo was taken at three in the morning, he had just gotten off the plane and was tired. Then he left the next day and never saw the completed book. He asks if he can look at it. I tell him sure! He sits down and slowly flips through it. He is rather shocked that my father would have such a book. I explained about the dance book collection, Hanni, our suprise and everything. He takes out his pen and scrawls,

"To Jim!

The Mysterious Book!

Thierry Mugler '89"

The book signing was great. Dianne Brill, in her previous incarnation as party girl and fashion muse, spilled her glass of champagne over the balcony of the second floor onto the store manager's head. She leaned over to shout an apology, he looked up and was in love.