Happy Year of the Dragon 2012

I want to wish everyone a beautiful Year of the Dragon 龍, the sign under which I was blessed to be born. 恭喜發財, 恭喜发财 and Chúc Mừng Năm Mới! :-)

Luise Rainer - Happy Advance 102nd Birthday

Luise Rainer, the German-born, Hollywood legend who was the first to win two Academy Awards(r) for Best Actress, and to win them consecutively (1936 and 1937), will turn 102 tomorrow--she was born in Dusseldorf, Germany on January 12, 1910.

Happy Birthday, great lady!

Happy 2012!

I want to wish everyone a very Happy, Healthy 2012, filled with LOVE, SUCCESS, CREATIVITY and GIVING.

Dear Anthony Amato 1920 - 2011 Rest in Peace

On a very busy work day, I have to pause for one moment to acknowledge personally devastating news. I just learned of the passing of the one-and-only, Anthony "Tony" Amato, of his now legendary New York opera company, AMATO OPERA. Founded in New York by Tony, and his late, beyond-beloved wife, Sally, Amato in 1948, the "small, but oh, so grand" company -- which was first housed in the basement theater of Our Lady of Pompeii Church on Bleecker Street, followed by other locations, then a long-term home at 159 Bleecker Street, then its longer, final home at 319 Bowery -- gave thousands of performances over nearly 60 years, and an equal amount of aspiring singers (some who ended up at the MET and other great companies) the opportunity to learn operatic roles, stage craft, and the magic that was Tony and Sally.

For me, Tony's passing means much more than what he represents to opera lovers in New York and around the globe. He was a friend. My mother, another Italian-American, born and raised in Greenwich Village, who was baptized, married, and baptized me at Our Lady of Pompeii Church, first saw/heard live opera in the church's theater by way of Tony and Sally's company. My mom aspired to be a pop star and had the talent to do it. She heard/saw the Amato performances of Bizet's Carmen and the "twin bill" of Cavalleria Rusticana and I Pagliacci, and she was permanently mesmerized by a musical and performance medium that, at the time, was, in her mind, formerly "square." She was so hooked that she audaciously auditioned for Tony -- with a lot of informal stage and singing experience, but, at the time, no operatic training -- for the Bleecker Street theater, he accepted her, and she sang in his chorus and danced with the company. It changed my mother's life, and she dedicated nights, weekends, any time she could while she also worked, took voice lessons (classical/opera), and dreamed of becoming an operatic star.

Much ensued in my mother's life over the years that curtailed her aspirations to an operatic career, but, for many years, she stayed with the Amato company, only stopping in the later 1950s when circumstances did not allow her to continue. She remained close with Tony and Sally for years afterward, but then met my father, started a very different life, gave up her singing (she did so a few years before becoming engaged to my dad), and did not, for many complex reasons, attend performances.

In 1979, my mom and I went to hear/see a production of Tosca at Tony and Sally's Bowery theater. Though my mom continued to share holiday greetings throughout the years with Tony, Sally, Sally's late sister, Ann (Frydel--married to former, fellow Amato singer, and, later, MET chorus member, John Frydel), and their family, she had not heard/saw a live performance of an opera for decades. It was when I found a love of opera -- independently of my mom -- in my early teens that I began to reengage my mother in her passion for music. She saw Tony and Sally, and others, at the "new" theater, and it was like all of them were never separated. My mother did not pursue re-joining the Amato chorus; instead, she became a loyal attendee at performances from 1979 through the last season of the company, was part of the Sally Amato Opera Circle, and, in many ways, re-joined the family.

I first heard Jon Fredric West, the great, internationally-renowned tenor, and my, and my mom's, now three-decade friend, at Amato's -- "Down at Amato's" was the colloquial way of addressing the company (because it was "downtown") -- and many heard MET legend, Mignon Dunn, world opera star, Neil Shicoff, and countless other important operatic figures with the company.

I have so much more to say, but, in the interest of time, most importantly, rest-in-peace to Tony, a one-of-a-kind, tireless, passionate, genius, dynamo, and a beautiful human being. He will be missed more than I can express in mere words.

Frank Ufert World Trade Center Survivor

 

The photo above is the hard hat given to my late father, Frank Ufert, by his final employer, the Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA), of the U.S. Department of Labor, following the 9-11 Tragedy, All of us in the United States, and throughout the globe, have personal recollections of that world-changing day. Only a few of us, however -- and by "few," I mean tens of thousands out of billions of humans who live on Earth -- lost someone, or were, or knew, a survivor, to whom we we were related or knew first-hand. My dad was one of those survivors.

 

On September 11, 2001, my father had worked for OSHA for nearly 10 years; this after a two-plus-decade career as a professional photographer, and then, after closing his business, returning to his earlier trade as a journeyman carpenter and construction contractor. He was a compliance officer for most of his time at OSHA -- winning awards for his service (my dad is pictured in the center of the photo above) -- and a union shop steward, and was later promoted to a safety educator.

As an OSHA compliance officer, my dad -- who worked in 6 World Trade Center, the small building adjacent to (and immediately underneath) the North Tower -- was a first-responder to the February 1993 World Trade Center bombing--wherein, lest we forget, a truck bomb was detonated in the garage below the North Tower. Many who focus on the awful events of 9/11/2001 forget that there was another attempt to destroy the WTC almost ten years prior.

On 9-11, I remember walking to my place of work -- which was only four blocks north of my home in the Chelsea section of Manhattan -- early that morning with the skies bright, blue and beautiful and the air warm but crisp. The perfect day. As I walked north, I saw and heard countless fire engines, ambulances, and other emergency vehicles racing south on 7th Avenue. Being a leather-skinned New Yorker, I didn't even consider looking at where they were going. I ran into a colleague, we headed into the office sunny and happy, and learned only moments later of the events that were unfolding.

As soon as I initially heard was occurring, I immediately called my mom, and, without even thinking about the fact that phone lines could be jammed --she and my father also lived in Chelsea, probably on the same telecommunications trunking line as my office -- and reached her with no trouble. She was home after having taken my dad to work. In 1999, my father suffered a diabetes-related heart attack and had triple-bypass surgery. The following year, he suffered a paralyzing stroke; this, just months after recovering from his heart surgery -- which left him feeling healthier than he had in decades -- and receiving his promotion from OSHA. He was bound to a wheelchair for the rest of his life--he passed away in July 2009. For a variety of reasons, he returned to work again, even after suffering his stroke--he was given special dispensation to be able to continue to work as the only part-time employee of the NE Region for his division of the USDL. He would go to work very early in the morning so he could leave earlier in the day. My dad was 67 on 9/11/2001; my mother, 6 years older than him, would heroically wheel him to his office every day he reported for work. As always, on that morning my mom took him to 6 World Trade Center at around 5:30 or 6am. She was considering staying in the WTC area to wait for the Borders Bookstore to open so she could sit down, relax, and have a cup of tea. Why not? It was a beautiful day. However, something compelled her to head back to their apartment instead. And she did, hours before the unthinkable happened.

When I called my mom at home, she hadn't even turned the television on. I said "turn it on now." She sat, stunned -- like all of us -- at what she was seeing. I said to her on the phone, again not thinking about the implications of phone lines being inaccessible, "Let me call dad and see if he's still in his office." I hung up, called my dad, and, again miraculously, reached his office. The phone rang and rang and then I got his voicemail. I ran out of my office and downstairs with some of my colleagues to 6th Avenue (called the "Avenue of the Americas"), where, on 27th Street and 6th, because of the angle of the city, we could see those giant Twin Towers as though they were directly in the middle of the street, even though they were approximately two miles away. It was then that we saw the actual devastation. It was surreal; like we were watching a movie, but real at the same time. When I was on the street, only the North Tower had been hit--remember that Tower One was burning for almost 20 minutes before the second plane hit the South Tower. We stood, stared, gasped, turned behind us to see the largest building in the vicinity, the iconic Empire State Building, which was less than 10 blocks away (less than 1/2 mile) from us, and were nearly paralyzed with fear as to what may have happened if "this was more than just an accident"... we knew it was not an accident.

I ran back to the office and told my bosses that I had to leave to be with my mother because my dad was at the Trade Center and we didn't know where he was. I called my mom, astonishingly reached her again, and told her I was running over to her apartment. It was then that she told me a second plane hit. Just before this, I was trying, in the heat of the moment, to put a plan together with one of my bosses to contact two of our company's employees (systems engineers) who were heading to the Trade Center for a technology training. Fortunately, as I was racing out to see my mom, we heard that both engineers were fine--one couldn't get downtown because of the trains; the other  -- a moment of levity here -- didn't make it on time because he was chronically late for just about, um, everything, and was expectedly late to the training session (thank G-d!).

When I arrived at my mother and father's apartment, I found my mom dazed, but not in a panic. Why? While I was en route, my mom just received a phone call from the wife of one of my father's colleagues telling her that he was out of the building -- the photo above shows the destruction on 9-11 to the office building where my dad worked, 6 World Trade Center -- and safe. Wait... a PHONE CALL? Yes. Remarkably, my mom heard from the wife of this colleague via a cell phone call -- almost all mobile phone lines were completely jammed -- from New Jersey after she (my dad's colleague's wife) heard from her husband via another cell phone from the city. It turned out that they were pushing my father's wheelchair up West Street out of the dust, smoke, rubble, and sheer devastation.

The story of my dad's rescue is an astonishing one, chronicled in several articles. See:

• From the St. Petersburg Times, September 12, 2001: "Shaken survivors tell tales of luck and bravery"
• OSHA publication (Fall 2001): "An OSHA Office Evacuates" (PDF)
• OSHA.gov (September 2001): "Saving Lives at the World Trade Center"

All we knew was that, several hours later -- after they stopped to eat something! -- my mom and I heard the door unlock, and there before us were my dad and his colleagues, them pushing him healthily in the door in his wheelchair, and we were eternally grateful. The resolve and bravery of my father's colleagues on that day can never be repaid.

My father worked for the Federal Government in his late life, but never lost his zeal for his left-wing politics. On 9/11/2011, ten years after the tragedy, I know that my dad would honor the memory of those who were lost and their families, of the heroism of his own colleagues in the Feds, of the police and firefighters that responded and continued to respond, and/or were also lost then (or later) as a result, to the union members who were affected, and all of humanity who suffered and continue to suffer. But he, a survivor, who saw people above him jumping from the top floors of the building when they knew that their only choice was to do so or burn to death, which gave him memories from first-hand, right-there experience that haunted him and gave him nightmares for the rest of his life, would also not condone the "jingoism" that has served as "patriotism" when reflecting. In my survivor father's honor -- who was also a U.S. Army veteran (Korean War) -- and his memory since his fortunately not directly 9-11-related, but still untimely passing, I want us to reflect on loss, overall, to everyone involved, directly or indirectly. Reflect on injustice, but not the "obvious" injustice. Loss occurred in more ways than can be calculated.

Happy 50th Birthday President Barack Obama

I want to wish a very Happy 50th Birthday to our great President, Barack Obama.

I continue to deeply admire this strong leader, who methodically, quietly, and brilliantly, handles each of the challenging situations that he faces as an American President. Additionally, he continues to be forced to contend with the most conspicuous greed ever in history from the party/"parties" of his opposition -- and even blatant bigotry from those who would typically support him politically -- and does this with the greatest of dignity.

We are also fellow August Leos--both born in the 1960s. Rrroarrrrrr, President Obama!

Please celebrate with our President by continuing to support him and his work with citizen pressure to the U.S. Congress to be more responsible, and less avaricious, than they've been in recent months/weeks, with your votes, and with your donations to President Obama's 2012 Presidential Campaign.

Bernard Herrmann Postscript

I just learned that the great composer, Bernard Herrmann, was born 100 years ago in Lying-In Hospital in Gramercy Park, Manhattan. Lo and behold, 53 years later, I was born in the SAME HOSPITAL (then called Manhattan General Hospital).

My connections to this towering figure are many. Fascinating...