The Marcella Sembrich Museum

In the summer of 1963, my parents took me to see an English-language production of Rossini’s BARBER OF SEVILLE given by the Lake George Opera Company; this was my third live opera performance. I still remember how cold it was in the small theater, how much I liked the Berta (played by Ellen Berse, who later joined the short-lived Metropolitan Opera National Company), and that my favorite part of the opera was the “Frigid and motionless” ensemble. 

We spent an extra day on Lake George, which included a visit to the Marcella Sembrich Museum; this was housed in a pink cottage at Bolton’s Landing, NY, where the legendary Polish soprano spent her off-seasons from The Metropolitan Opera, giving voice lessons.

The main thing I remember about our time at the museum was that it was far briefer than I had anticipated. Although I was fascinated by all the opera artwork, old photographs, scores, even some of Sembrich’s costumes and accessories, my parents seemed oddly tense. It took me a few minutes to realize that the middle-aged man who was overseeing the place was subtly eyeing me; whenever I stopped to examine a particular photo or artifact, he would hover nearby and comment on whatever it was I was looking at. My mother would then materialize out of nowhere.  

We’d only been there for 15 minutes when my father announced that it was time to go; I was not anywhere near done looking around, and I had also wanted to ask if I could play the piano (I was sure it was forbidden) and then sit outside the cottage, enjoying the sun and the lake view. The man then suggested that my parents leave me there and come back and pick me up in an hour. My mother turned frosty, and we left a few seconds later. Once in the car, I complained that there was so much I hadn’t gotten to see. They quickly changed the subject: where should we have lunch?

Of course. I knew perfectly well what was going on: they viewed the man as a predator and me as an innocent victim. I wasn’t exactly innocent anyway; I’d been fooling around with one of the neighbor boys for a while. But I sometime think back on that afternoon; it would be another ten years, filled with fantasies and frustrations, before I took the leap.