I am a conniving and ultimately resourcefully manipulative person. Let’s face it: it is a skill that I tend to unintentionally employ regularly - it seems to be an accidental fabric of my being. Perhaps this is why I love courtroom litigation. Anyhow, where an opportunity exists that I may be precluded from undertaking, I do whatever it takes, within reason, to enable myself to appreciate the occasion (usually accomplished by taking part in the opportunity, itself).
Before I get ahead of myself, I will evoke a careful chronology to keep the events clear.
In mid-March-ish, my nationally renowned contracts professor (the otherwise senile professor I often discuss) made a discussion-board posting to the larger-than-100-person class.
The post informed us that the professor “[has] an extra ticket for La Traviata at the Metropolitan Opera on Wednesday evening, March 19, at 7:30. If anyone in the class is interested in going, please let me know by email…”
I did not see the post until a few days after the notification was made. In a class as large as that, I knew that I had missed the train. To understand how glorious time with this professor can be, it must be realized that this professor rewards, quite abundantly, for participation. Basically, he uses participation to give people the grades he believes they deserve. Participation can affect a person’s grade in the class incredibly significantly. Being senile, if the man can remember your name, you are “made”. I not only wanted to go to the Metropolitan Opera and spend time with a nationally renowned professor (I will discuss him later), but I wanted to weasel my way into a good grade.
Understanding that my natural gifts are limited to humor, writing and resourceful manipulation, I decided to use what my mother gave me. Playing dumb is something I can be good at, but I tend to be an amateur. Judge for yourself:
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From: H
To: Professor
Subject: Opera
Dear Professor,
Not only am I interested in attending, but I am enthralled at the prospect of accompanying you to the Opera. Raised on the West Coast, the Met is only discussed in fleeting moments of dream, whereas now, living on the east coast, it is a possible reality.
Regardless of your decision, thank you for the opportunity!
Respectfully,
H
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Remember, I knew he had already found a student with whom he would be accompanied. It was unscrupulous, I know, but how could I not try?
I received the following reply:
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From: Professor
To: H
Subject: Re: Opera
Would you be able to go to Fille du Regiment (Dessay & Florez) on
Monday, May 5?
- Professor
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From: H
To: Professor
Subject: Re: Re: Opera
Professor,
I would be absolutely delighted to attend. I shall keep clear my schedule.
Thank you!
-H
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Success! Triumphantly, I accepted the invitation. My excitement grew over the next month-and-a-half. However, it was not until much later that I realized the date of the Opera would be a positive and negative packaged in a nice box with a bow (very environmentally unfriendly). As finals approached, time became more precious. My calendar of events was relied upon to budget my days properly. Waste was wanted, not.
As it turned out, May 5 was the day of my first final: Civil Procedure II. Contracts final examination was two days later, on May 7. The negative was that I would lose almost an entire day of studying. The positive was that I would be making an impression on my contracts professor two days prior to our examination.
I, of course, believed the Opera to be an investment in my future. I was overly excited for the occasion. I was not able to think about it for too long in the days leading up to the excursion because finals required all the brain-power I possessed (a limited quantity to begin-with).
Immediately following the Civil Procedure Final, I had to begin readying myself. I would meet the Professor at the Metropolitan Opera in the City. Travel time and getting ready would allow me an hour or two to spend getting lost.
I boarded the Long Island Railroad (the scourge of the first year tort law classes – you would understand if you have engaged in law school and know a Ms. Palsgraf) and made my way into Manhattan. I brought the notes I had prepared for the Wednesday final with me for study time on the train and wherever else I could fit them in. When I closed in on Penn Station, I remembered that I had a friend who was working and living in the City. I had not seen him in a few years, and we had been trying to coordinate a meeting. I called him up, and, luckily, he was about to go on his lunch break. I met him in Chelsea, by the dance theater by which he is employed, and we went for some deli sandwiches. He is originally from Arizona, and was a leader – the same level as I was - in the youth organization I have been active with since I was young.
I nearly walked right past my old friend. While I am no fan of New York the fact that I nearly missed him spoke to the positive effects of the locale: my otherwise fluffy (when my high school wrestling co-captain and I would tell our coach that he was fat, he would respond, “I am not fat, I am fluffy”) friend was half his width. I looked at him and said, “J: Do not perceive this the wrong way, but you look amazing! You have lost a ton of weight. What did you do or change?”
“I started working out, changed my eating habits and the City. I walk everywhere. It is an effect of the city,” he stated.
Well, I guess New York is only 99.5 percent horrible. As if.
After catching up with J and his life, we parted ways. I headed towards the Lincoln Center – home of the Met, the New York Philharmonic and the New York City Ballet, and Juilliard among others. My stroll by Central Park and the sights of the City renewed my belief that New York is a nice place to visit but not to live. I expect that it would be nicer to live in NY if you have a good amount of disposable income and an appreciation for the arts in general.
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An Aside: in the car, on the way to the train station, Roommate turned slightly to the right and said, “Beside the fact that you will be given an “A” because of tonight, do you really want to go to the opera?” I responded that, “I am more excited about the opera than I am about the prospect of the good grade.” She possessed a picturesque dumbfounded look. “Anybody who has an appreciation for the arts will have an appreciation for opera,” I said in response to her dumbfoundedness.
“How does having an appreciation for the arts correlate to liking opera,” she retorted, questioningly.
“Well,” I said. “How many people do you know who can sing opera?”
“None. But, I do not know anybody who wants to,” said my Roommate emphatically.
“That is my point, exactly,” I said with my trademarked smirk. “As somebody who cannot draw a stick figure, I have an immense appreciation for paintings and drawings. The same appreciation extends to all forms of artistic expression.”
She quickly changed the subject.
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While my parents were very careful with their spending of money, and tried their very best to shield their children from any knowledge of their very tight budget – my mother had the same pair of shoes for longer than is socially acceptable – they also sought to share their love of and expose us to every form of the arts possible. I am, quite possibly, one of a handful of the male gender (an important designation) who, at the completion of my 18th year of life, had seen more ballets than I have fingers, been to greater than five museums of art in at least three countries and numerous states, seen plays and musical productions with great regularity and seen the performances of philharmonics and orchestras on multiple occasions. As a great number of persons designated as “they” say, like death and taxes, an appreciation and desire to experience the arts is a sure thing.
That said, I was more excited than the average heterosexual male in his 20s would – or, to some, should – be. As the time to meet the professor in the lobby neared, I began to experience a good level of anxiety.
I was scared. Actually, literally, in the flesh scared out of my flesh. How in the world would I entertain and carry on eloquent conversation with a legal legend?
I realized that I had not researched the Opera I would be seeing, nor did I know how I would keep the Professor’s brilliant-self entertained for multiple hours. Technology saved me, in part. I looked up the Opera on my phone’s internet, and quickly memorized every fact my brain could hold on such short notice. I was hoping that the interesting nuggets of operatic insight would not become inter-twined with something contract-based. For example, thoughts of expressing that this opera is considered by the critics as the “Mount Everest of operas” because the male lead was to hit nine high-C’s in quick succession during the first act, usually before his voice could warm-up, instead coming out of my mouth as “I read that Judges have held that this Opera is unconscionably difficult for the Male lead, and, under the Everest Doctrine in the Restatement (Third) of Performance, must warrant that he will deliver nine high trees estoppels in the first provision of the contract.”
Luckily, my notoriously great brown-nosing skills were perfectly delivered throughout the night, which lasted from 7:00PM until 12:30. It was a long, late night with the Professor!
The whole experience was quite overwhelming. This was a significant event, to date, in my life, marked with excitement, a grandiose, larger-than-life environment and a quite unique feeling of being very special. The Professor, known as the "Father of Modern Legal Ethics," a man with more stories than Theodor Geisel, and a greater wealth of experience and knowledge than I could ever wish to possess. The Metropolitan Opera House is a great metaphor for this professor: world-renowned, host to a great many legends, and, quite frankly, one of the most amazing venues for performance. I, factually, was no less than 30 years younger than the next youngest opera-goer; it is not surprising either. What kind of young male (wants to) attend the opera, especially when his date is a greater-than-80 year old man (I only wish this was spent with my grandfather). As far as great choices made during finals, this easily tops the list.
The Professors seats were Orchestra level, and only a few rows from the stage. It could not have been much better. Needless to say, the vantage point was expensive, and I was lucky.
I cannot fully interpret my experience into cognizable words. Opera is believed to be without any emotion. The performers are thought to stand still, with their arms at their sides during some very intense scenes. This misconception is, actually, only partially misconceived. Some of the most amazing vocally renowned opera performers have been referred to as an “arm-chair” on stage. While acting skills were not important in yester-years, this Opera (La Fille Du Regiment) put the ever-existent notion of boredom to rest. Not only were the voices amazing, but the Principle performers acted as well as any stage actor I have viewed in the past. The Professor later told me, on our drive home, that while acting was not seen as important in years past, acting was becoming far-more recognized as a part of performances, and a necessary skill to be recognized. The acting was, in short: fantastic.
My professor, an opera attendee for the last 30 years, and subscriber to the Metropolitan Opera (and, at times to the New York Opera concurrently) has seen and experienced much of what Opera has to offer. Of the performance I watched, he said that there were a lot of firsts. The male Principle hit the nine High C’s with perfection, and was given the longest ovation my professor had ever witnessed. The lead (Florez) kept his pose for a great portion of that time, and then broke character to bow a few times, and like a giddy school-boy, giggled at the audience’s display of appreciation. After a few minutes, he looked down, into the orchestra pit, at the Conductor. He gave a questioning look to Conductor, who nodded in affirmation, raised his hands to signal the orchestra, and played the music to aide Florez in an encore. In 30 years, my Professor had not seen an encore performed. It was that outstanding.
Most people wonder how an opera can be enjoyable if in a foreign language. The response is that each seat is equipped with a translation device to any of a great many languages. The audience would often laugh before the French line was delivered. The performance was obviously tweaked for its audience. The pretentious potential mother-in-law for the female lead (Dessay) was American, and the prospective groom was a member of the Olympic Bobsled Team. At one point, the French mother got caught up in the English and French that was being exchanged on stage, and seemingly, by accident, responded in English when it should have been in French. It made the performance all the much more enjoyable. There was quite a bit of humor infused into the Opera. The composer and writer wrote such a great Opera, that the humor transcended over a century, and was received with laudable comedy.
The amazing experience of the Opera was complimented by amazing conversation and priceless insight. I learned a great deal about the man and his legendary life. Having spent is practical career as a civil rights and criminal defense attorney, the Professor explained that the reason he teaches first-year contracts is because he believes the class to be the best medium in which to teach practical lawyering skills. His true intent is clear: the Professor with the greatest tenure of any person at the law school chooses to teach where he can help students become the best attorneys possible. His altruism is admirable.
On the drive home, my dissociation with New York became apparent when he asked me to direct him to my house on our drive home. I was not too great a help.
I really cannot express just how impactful the night was on me. Not only have I garnered an addiction to opera, but I have obtained insight and retained a great deal of advice that will not go to waste.
I now refer to the professor by his first name, except when I am communicating with him. My friends and I figure I have earned the right to do so when he is not around.
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