As fate would have it, they were showing Doctor Zhivago. I know that I read the book years ago, struggling with all the Russian names, but, for some reason, I never saw the film.
Well, today I did. And it brought memories of my dear friend and beloved mentor, Olga Averino.
I first heard Olga sing when she was in her late sixties and was stupefied by the ease and beauty with which she sang. She was already a good friend of my life partner, John Ferris, so it was natural that I got to know her and to study voice with her. I quote her obsessively in my teaching and in my writing. She was an incredible musician and a wonderful human being.
Today's film reminded me of the many times Olga and I sat on the sofa in her apartment in Cambridge after one of her dinner parties and talked.... and talked...
Often about singing, but also often about her amazing life.
As Zhivago in the film, she, with her husband, her baby daughter, and a nanny, fled across Russia to escape the Revolution following WWI.
She had many tales of these harrowing adventures. In one, she tells of a friend who was also trying to escape and had hidden her jewels to avoid having them stolen by the Bolsheviks. Olga asked her where she had hidden them. She said, 'There is a place in my piano where I concealed them'. Olga said, 'O my dear, that's the first place they look!.'
She, herself, was trying to keep some jewels to use for cash for the long trip across Siberia. She had a large cabochon emerald ring, which had a very great value. When the soldiers found this she told them, 'Oh, that's just a piece of stage jewelery; it's worth nothing.' The soldiers, looking for sparkling diamonds and such, believed her, and the money from the ring got her family across Russia to Vladivostok. She tells how the train was stopped from time to time; everyone was forced to get off and find somewhere to stay, sometimes for days, until the train went on its way. They slept in whatever humble dwelling they could find. From Vladivostok they finally went into China.
Olga said that she sang in Western Opera in China until they were able to get passage to the United States. When she finally got to New York City, where she sang in the Greek Opera (her grandmother was Greek), walking down the street one day she saw her father, who had escaped by a different route from Russia.
Her husband was a fine violinist who became a member of the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Olga became Koussevitsky's favorite soprano. She was the first to sing the 'Lied der Lulu' of Schönberg in this country. This was before any recording of the work had been made. Koussevitzky was amazed at the first rehearsal when Olga sang it perfectly. He said, 'Olga, how do you do that?' She answered. 'It's like teaching the rabbit to ride the bicycle; do it over and over until he doesn't fall off.'
I have used this illustration of preparation in my teaching for years. I quote Olga in practically every lesson. Just yesterday in a lesson with a new student, a fine young soprano, Olga was right there with me. This is the wonderful thing about teaching: we pass down to following generations information that we have received from our mentors. I owe more that I can say to this wonderful woman. A good teacher is not just out there on his own. He has a wealth of wonderful teachers behind him who inspire him to pass it on to the next generation.
Everyone who reads this post should go to
http://www.youtube.com/ and type in 'Olga Averino'. There are two wonderful posts by Olga's grandson, Michael, which have her speaking, and, above all, singing, in that free, beautiful, intense voice.
She is one of the reasons I am still teaching voice at 81 and a half.
