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<aside> <img src="/icons/info-alternate_orange.svg" alt="/icons/info-alternate_orange.svg" width="40px" /> Did you know that although Franco never sang Carmen AT the Met, he sang it WITH the Met? In one of the Met's most wonderful initiatives, they performed the operas in various parks of New York City and brought the genre to audiences in boroughs outside Manhattan for free, with their biggest stars, in concert format. Unfortunately, I couldn't find a single photo of these performances, but here are four articles on Franco's two performances of Carmen in the parks of New York in June 1968 (11th at Crocheron Park in Queens, 14th at the Bronx Botanical Garden (on Daffodil Hill).
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<aside> 📜 The Morning Call, Allentown, May 7, 1968
By Mary Campbell
New York (AP)
ITALIAN tenor Franco Corelli is going to chance humidity, the draft of breezes through a hot summer night and a mouthful of bugs, and sing outside this summer when the Metropolitan Opera presents free concert operas in the city's parks.
This will be the first time Corelli, one of the Met's most famous tenors, will sing outdoors in America.
It will be the second summer for the Met to present free opera in the parks. Last summer, nine performances of three Puccini operas were given in all five beroughs, in two weeks — the first time that the Met ever had put on a free performance of any kind.
This year, twelve free performances of three French operas will be given in three weeks, starting June 11.
Corelli will sing in two of the five "Carmens," June 11 in Queens and June 14 in Brooklyn. He's hoping to break the attendance record of last summer's 50,000 at Crocheron Park in Queens for both "La Bohème" and "Tosca."
He's sure that he'll break his own attendance record; an audience of 22,000 has heard Corelli sing in Verona. He sang outdoors for eight seasons in a row in Verona, then stopped when he started making so many recordings in the summer that if he did both he'd have no time left for vacation.
He won't prepare for singing outside any differently than for singing inside an opera house — an hour's vocalizing before the performance and drinking tea at intrmissions.
Corelli doesn't like to sing with a microphone, which he'll have to do in the New York parks but didn't have to do in Verona because the arena there has such good acoustics.
And he says, "It's bad to have wind in your mouth. Many people don't sing in the open because they think it is not good for the throat. Anthing can happen."
He's doing it because of the vast audience and because of the opera, which he never has sung in New York. "It's the first opera I ever sang and I love it. I have sung more performances of 'Carmen' than any other opera, about 110 'Carmen,' 60 'Aida', 50 'Tosca'. Don Jose's true character comes out after Carmen gives him up. He kills for love. The drama makes blood on the stage. Of Verdi operas, only 'Otello' has such emotion for the audience."
At other "Carmen" performances, Barry Morell and William Olvis will sing Don Jose. Rosaling Elias and Regina Resnik will alternate the title role and Justino Diaz and Robert Merrilll will alternate as Escamillo.
For the five performances of "Faust," John Alexander, Barry Morell and Jan Peerce will sing the title role. Jean Fenn and Gabriella Tucci will take turns as Marguerite. Justino Diaz, as Jerome Hines and Giorgio Tozzi will be heard as Mephistopheles.
"Samson and Delilah" wil be sung twice, by the husband and wife team of James McCracken and Sandra Warfield.
Parks are Crocheron in Queens; Daffodil Hill in the Botanical Garden in the Bronx; Nether Mead in Prospect Park, Brooklyn; Sheep Meadow in Manhattan's Central Park, and Clove Lake Park on Staten Island.
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<aside> 📜 Newsday, Nassau Edition, June 12, 1968:
By Ron Eyer
Bayside — In a fine mist that lasted throughout the evening, the Metropolitan Opera Company opened its second season of alfresco concerts in the five boroughs of the city last night in Crocheron Park. The opera was "Carmen" and the stars were Rosalind Elias, in the title role; Franco Corelli, as Don Jose; Jean Fenn, as Micaela, and Robert Merrill, as Escamillo.
The threatening weather obviously cut the attendance at this initial performance, but the crowd officially was estimated at 15,000 with more and more people arriving as the evening went on. None apparently were discouraged by the dampness of the gently sloping greensward on which most of them sat, nor by the saturated atmosphere. Some came with beach chairs, others with blankets that they spread on the ground. Still others just stood or wandered around the grounds from one vantage point to another.
This was not a typical popcorn-chewing, beer drinking park audience. The big crowd was intent on the music. Their "bravos" were as enthusiastic as any in the opera house itself, and there even were some scholarly types like the young man who followed every note of the score with the aid of a flashlight. One couple, who were hearing live opera for the first time, said, "At least we can get into the park," something that they had been unable to do at the Metropolitan because of the cost and the scarcity of tickets.
The company of 225, including the orchestra of 90, the chorus of 80, principal artists, staff and technicians, were transported to the park site in buses and trucks and performed in their specially constructed acoustical shell which also is used by the New York Philharmonic.
Though amplified over a battery of loudspeakers, the sound was extraordinarily clear and undistorted and usually in good balance, thanks to the constant monitoring of three technicians who moved about the vast area with walkie-talkies to keep the central panel advised of any deficiencies.
Despite the cool wetness of the air, which traditionally strikes terror into singers, everyone performed with abandon and infectious enthusiasm. Miss Elias, who, along with Corelli, was singing her role in New York for the first time, said, "They're such a wonderful audience!" And that seemed to be the stimulus that was inspiring everybody last night.
On hand were August Heckscher, commissioner of parks; Donald M. Kendall, president of the Pepsi Cola Co., one of the sponsors of the series, and George S. Moore, president of the Metropolitan Opera Association.
The next performance will be "Faust" tomorrow night in Prospect Park, Brooklyn.
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<aside> 📜 The New York Times, June 12, 1968:
By Donal Henahan
That warmblooded heroine, Carmen found her way to Queens last night and warmed up a damp audience of 15,000 persons who sat on the grass of Crocheron Park in Bayside to hear the Metropolitan Operal open its second season of free concert operas. Rosalind Elias, appropriately gowned in scarlet as the scarlet woman of Seville, made her first public appear ance in New York in the title role of "Carmen," and the high caloric radiation of her mezzo soprano voice was never more welcome.
In the front row, on the damp ground and under a drizzle that continued throughout the night, sat a woman in a light brown mink coat, her legs wrapped in a blanket. But for the most part the up-front fans were vociferous teen-agers, long-hairs in both old and new senses of the term.
They and the hardy thousands who fanned out into the dark reaches of the park heard a first-rank Metropolitan cast that included Franco Corelli, dapper in black Nehru suit, as Miss Elias's Don José.
Heckscher Thanks Sponsor
The opera, cut somewhat to bring it home in the 2½-hour time limit, was the first of 12 such performances scheduled this summer, under the sponsorship of the city, the Metro politan Opera Association and Pepsi-Cola-Frito-Lay. August Heckscher, Parks Commissioner, made a brief speech at the single intermission, thanking the commercial sponsor for its interest in the series. Rudolf Bing, who could not be present, sent best wishes from his vacation hideaway in the Dolomites.
Besides the doomed lovers, the night's cast included Robert Merrill as Escamillo - his one big aria was almost dealt a coup de grâce by a passing jet plane and Jean Fenn as Micaela. Alain Lombard conducted the chorus of 80 and orchestra of 90. In all, 225 Metropolitan company members, made the trip in buses and autos. Others in the cast were Lilian Sukis, Nancy Williams, Charles Anthony, Gene Boucher, Morley Meredith and Robert Goodloe.
Backstage, Mr. Corelli's poodle, Romeo, waited in a trailer within comfortingly close hearing range of his master's voice.
New Kind of Backstage
Behind the portable music shell, which also is used for thei New York Philharmonic's out door concerts, Mrs. Merrill sat on a bench with a bag of sweat socks and other clothes, mark ing them for her son's immi nent trip to summer camp. Miss Fenn sat in a trailer, when she was not onstage, warming her throat with hot coffee. It was all very much like backstage at any opera house in the world, only different.
As the singers went at their work, one could see clouds of condensation billow from their mouths. No one seemed to mind the discomfort too much, and certainly the youngsters who got the opportunity to crouch within 25 feet of their heroes could hardly have sounded more happy. They fired 'bravos" at every opportunity, and camera flash bulbs incessantly.
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<aside> 📜 New Yorker, July 13, 1968:
THE Metropolitan Opera, concerned over the chronic shortage of seats in its handsome new house, has just put on a second season of free opera in the city parks before large and appreciative outdoor audiences. Although the performances — five apiece of "Carmen" and "Faust," two of "Samson et Dalila" — were presented in concert form, they were organized in a commendably grand manner. Participants included stars of the company, a ninety-man orchestra, a chorus of seventy-eight, and a backstage crew of twenty-five, plus sizable contingents of police and Parks Department personnel. The operas were given in the Minnie, the portable steel and-fibre-glass shell that the Parks Department bought for the Philharmonic a couple of years ago and that is currently being used by both the Philharmonic and the Met — a pleasing example of cross-cultural coziness. The cost of this three-week event — something over three hundred and fifty thousand dollars — was shared by the Met, the city, and Pepsi-Cola Frito-Lay, a private sponsor that came into the project at the very last moment. To judge by the size and enthusiasm of the audience that showed up in the Bronx for a "Carmen" in the New York Botanical Garden a week or so ago, it was a sum well worth paying.
Daffodil Hill, a natural amphitheatre at the southern end of the Botanical Garden, is an ideal site for an the outdoor concert. The Minnie, a modernist rectangle with a flat, raked roof, was placed at the lowest point of a gently sloping green meadow, and the eight enormous trailer trucks that carry the shell and its equipment were parked in wagon-train fashion behind it, providing a measure of backstage privacy for the performers. We arrived by bus with the chorus an hour before curtain time and found several thousand people stretched out on the grass in front of the shell eating picnic suppers (one enterprising man was tossing a salad in a green plastic bowl) and keeping watch over children and dogs.
Wandering backstage to the trailer that serves as an office and a dressing room for the soloists, we came upon Charles Riecker, the Met official in charge of outdoor concerts, reminding the control tower at LaGuardia Airport that a performance was imminent. "We'll be in the Botanical Garden from eight-thirty to eleven, and we'd appreciate anything you can do to help us out," Mr. Riecker said. He put down the phone and told us that the tower had promised to keep low-flying planes away from the concert area, provided weather conditions did not deteriorate. "We play unless things get very bad, because a large, complex operation like this is difficult to cancel," Mr. Riecker said, casting a professional glance at the overcast sky. "Last year, we set some kind of record here at Daffodil Hill with a non-stop 'Bohème.' It rained very heavily at the beginning of the performance, but the audience had come prepared with umbrellas and plastic raincoats, and the artists, seeing that the people were going to stay, agreed to go straight through the opera with a two-minute break between Acts II and III. As it turned out, everybody had a ball. Our equipment continued to work despite the flood, and the rain created a tremendous current of sympathy between the cold, wet people out on the grass and the cold, wet bohemians on the stage."
By eight-fifteen, the backstage area of the shell was in the state of seeming chaos that always precedes an opera performance. Chorus and orchestra stood about in clusters, chatting, smoking, and swatting mosquitoes, while the principals warmed up their vocal cords and sipped hot drinks. Franco Corelli — nervous, because he was singing Don José in French rather than in Italian — unbuttoned his shirt and stuffed a folded newspaper across his chest for protection against the wind.
"I record in Paris next week," he told us, "and I must protect the voice."
"Franco was in an automobile accident yesterday," Mrs. Corelli said, handing her husband a container of tea and a flask of Scotch, "and he has three stitches in the back of his head. Look!" She pulled up a lock of Mr. Corelli's hair and showed us a nasty gash.
"I hope the stitches do not come apart when I am singing a high note,' Mr. Corelli said grimly.
"Non più in auto, Franco," said Mr. Riecker, handing his tenor a trouser belt (Mr. Corelli had forgotten his) and a score.
Nearby we found Robert Merrill, relaxed and suntanned, joking with his wife, Marion, and his two children, David and Lizanne.
"Just keep your fingers crossed and hope the wind doesn't blow too hard in my mouth," Mr. Merrill said. "That's the real hazard of outdoor opera. One time in Denver, the wind was so strong that I had to turn around and sing into the mike with my back to the audience." "What about bugs?" Lizanne asked.
"I've swallowed bugs, too," Mr. Merrill said. "I remember a night in Omaha when every insect in town showed up for the concert. Sure enough, a large moth flew into my mouth just as I started the 'Figaro' aria."
A squirrel darted in panic among the ladies of the chorus; a young man in a white dinner jacket helped Rosalind Elias, the Carmen of the evening, across a patch of muddy ground to the steps of the shell and, as the warning chimes sounded, told her cheerfully to break a leg — the old theatrical expression for good luck. Miss Elias, a petite, dark-haired girl in a red evening dress, gave him an impish smile and remarked that she didn't mind getting wet as long as she could be heard.
Mr. Riecker gazed apprehensively at the sky and informed us that the Weather Bureau had just raised the probability of rain to forty per cent.
"In bocca al lupo," Mr. Corelli said. He snapped on a black bow tie and began to look through the score for his entrance.
Out in the dark, as the orchestra crashed into the opening notes of the brilliant Bizet overture, was an audience estimated at thirty five thousand people. "They're a great crowd, and they're here to stay," Mr. Riecker said, returning from a quick check of the outboards. "At Lincoln Center, we wouldn't reach that many people in a week of sold-out houses."
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