Lucky night

Back when I was doing "social work" for the newspaper, I got a delicious invitation from Danny Newman, the old-time press agent for Lyric Opera of Chicago.

(Danny is worth a book, not a brief mention. He was present at Lyric's creation, built its subscription-based marketing system -- a first in major nonprofits, and still going strong -- and flourished his borsalino to flog every opera season, diva, divo and maestro for almost 50 years. But I digress.)

Would I like to have dinner with Pavarotti, Danny asked?

Um, yes, thanks!

So there I was on a sleety weeknight, in a new marble-and-glass lobby in the Loop with a few other press people, some Lyric angels, Ardis Krainik and Danny -- and Pavarotti. The developer had opened his first floor to the black-tie group for the evening as yet another bit of marketing, and had arranged a wonderful little supper under the high ceiling. Pavarotti was charming, and got extra helpings of charm in return (this was long before his feud with Lyric over no-shows).

After supper, Danny rose, cleared his throat and launched into a voluble introduction of the man who didn't need one.

Polite applause from the little group, and the great Luciano rose, spoke for a moment about singing for his supper, paused, vocalized a bit to test the acoustics --incredibly bright, lots of reverberation -- and then launched into "Nessun Dorma" a capella.

In an opera house, that voice is strong. In the glass and marble lobby, it bounced back in waves. Covered in gooseflesh, I listened
. . . then rose quietly to steal into other angles, my heart shimmering in the reflected sound. Back into a corner -- astounding! I couldn't hold back tears. Around a little wall -- amazing. Into the even tighter elevator lobby. . . .

Where a street person sat, disheveled, slumped in an elevator-door recess. Our eyes met. He crooked his finger: come closer.

I bent down.

"Am I in heaven?," he said, his eyes bleary -- and also pouring tears as the voice soared on. "I have to be. I hear an angel."