MY FRIEND, ETHEL EVANS

 

MY FRIEND, ETHEL EVANS 

Ethel Evans, working with soprano, Janet Williams in 1987, during the Merola Opera Program, the training wing of San Francisco Opera. Janet went on to have a successful international career. 

 

 From time to time I would like to tell you about some extraordinary people I met as I battled my way through life. This blog is about Ethel Evans, an opera coach and acting teacher I met when I was executive director of the Merola Opera Program at San Francisco Opera from 1974 to1988. I wrote the following obituary for her memorial service in 1992.

Ethel was a unique individual! She was larger than life. She was intelligent, vivacious, obstreperous, overbearing, emotional, dedicated, jealous, passionate, loyal, loving, trustworthy, and down right exasperating. She could be infuriating beyond belief, and stubborn to the point of ridiculousness. But, she could also be overly generous, loyal to a fault and loving 'til it hurt. Life was a battle that she attacked with a vengeance. When she was around you knew it. Ethel was my friend.

We got together in the mid-seventies when I worked with her to form Opera Piccola. I helped her to get tax exempt status, form a board of directors, and produce her first show. Despite the fact she was already in her mid-seventies she worked like a dog. My phone rang each morning at six a.m.with some problem that she had to overcome. She was a perfectionist and because she trusted no one to be as perfect as she was, she did everything--- auditioning, coaching, stage directing, conducting, and playing the piano for performances. She was a one-woman orchestra on that piano. She worked with her board of directors, oversaw the designing of the brochure and ran the box office. It was a major effort, but she was able to keep Opera Piccola going for several years.You were lucky if you got to see one of her meticulous performances. 

Ethel was a faithful friend. If she cared about you she would worry about you, and if you had troubles, they were hers. If she loved you, she would defend you to the very end. She had a friend who died of AIDS. She went to his house everyday, took food, suffered as he failed, and mourned his death for many months.

Ethel was a romantic. She would talk for hours about John Barrymore,"Zimmy" (Efrim Zimbulist), and Paul Robeson, as well as her touring days as accompanist for the great tenor Tagliavini. She enthralled me with stories of her friendships with great opera singers, her old flings, three husbands, and the days when she was a starving student. 

 Ethel had a great sense of humor. Anyone who spent time with her at a party or in a relaxed atmosphere will remember her remarkable ability to tell a good joke. She had a whole repertoire of them and she could keep you howling for hours with her acting ability and funny accents. German was her specialty and Charlie Chaplin her favorite. I don't remember the jokes, but I remember the laughing.

 Ethel had different friends for different activities: one for the theater, one for the movies, one for dinner, and one for golf, etc. I was her main walking buddy, or - at least I think I was! Every week or so, we would go out to Mount Tamalpais with our sack lunches. She would tell me about her "checkered" past, about her students and her ideas on teaching. She was dramatic and would demonstrate everything she was trying to convey. Big gestures, demonstrative faces, and loud noises would accompany her story telling. People passing us on the path would look at us like we were crazy as I was practically rolling on the ground with laughter.

Ethel was a linguist. She could speak five languages: English, Spanish, French, German and finally, Russian. She studied Russian until the day she died. Ethel never let her mind rest. She disciplined herself to learn a few new words and translate a page of Russian each day.  She was a world traveler and could get along in any country. When she was eighty years old, she tramped around  Germany and India. India traumatized her. She talked about the children and mourned their poverty.

Ethel loved her work and could not imagine life without having some meaningful job to fill her days.  Most people are happy to take it easy in their twilight years. Not Ethel. She was so afraid of not being able to work, she "fibbed" about her age. For years I watched her go through all kinds of machination to keep me from finding out how old she was. Imagine her trying to buy a senior citizen ticket at the movie theater while at the same time trying to be "under age" to the person she was with. Finally when after I was no longer working at the opera house and she was in San Diego to coach John Del Carlo, she confessed.We were walking along the beach and she said,"Alice, I have something to tell you. I'm much older than you know." "I know," I said. She couldn't believe that I had known her age for years. She confided that she was worried she would not be able to work if her true age was known. 

 Ethel loved teaching. She would talk for hours about her students. She usually had a scholarship student she wanted to help. Acting ability was a big thing for her. It was more important than a great voice. If a student was hardworking, intelligent, and interested in what Ethel had to give, she would work with them until she dropped. A student who performed well was a great joy to her.  

One of my favorite memories of her, and the one I would call upon when I was most exasperated with her, was the time she invited me to dinner and then sang songs to me until late into the evening. We sat at the piano together. She got out all of her old sheet music, and in many languages serenaded me with the old songs. The room filled with warmth and I felt very close to her. It was an experience I will always remember.

I look back on our fifteen year friendship with great pleasure. A more complex, intelligent and unusual friend would be hard to find. Thank you, Ethel, for your friendship. I miss you. God speed.  

 

Great horned owl, photographed on Mt. Tamalpais, while on an early morning walk with Ethel.

 

Onward and upward.