WANTING TO BE GIUSEPPE VERDI
(on the author's 61st birthday)
While Verdi was dying in Milan in January 1901, the Milanese laid straw
on the pavement so the old man was not disturbed in his final hours by
the clop of horses on the pavement or by the noises of cars.
At the old man's state funeral Arturo Toscanini conducted a chorus in
"Va, pensiero," and thousands of Italians joined in, singing softly. It
was the unofficial national anthem of a 30 year old nation that Verdi's
music had helped bring about.
The old bastard ruined longevity for everyone else.
Someone wrote of W. Eugene Smith the photojournalist "He could have been
a Verdi or Picasso." They are the touchstones of creative longevity.
This morning, I got a call at work. The voice sounded like a black
female nurse's aide, asking when I was planning to check myself into the
same nursing home where my mother died 13 years ago. The voice had me:
"What the?...." until I realized it was my 26-year-old son calling to
wish me a happy birthday. The unprintable names I called him were
balanced by how hard he had me laughing.
It's too bad there's no market for that kind of pathological talent or
the kid could be the funniest standup comic at a Klan rally. He got
that manical humor from me. There's no market for that either.
I am not Verdi. I have made certain efforts to act like Picasso
off-canvas, but they were not a great success. I am not Eugene Smith
either. He took better pictures in his dreams that I take with a
camera. But I survived him. It may be an imperfect trade, but I'll
take it. I don't have a choice unless I want to be Hunter Thompson.
KW/2-23-05
--
Kenneth Wolman
Proposal Development Department
Room SW334
Sarnoff Corporation
609-734-2538
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