DIY History | Transcribe | Campus Culture | Cecile Cooper newspaper clippings, 1966-1987 | 1985-02-08 ""Roses for Iowa's own Estes"" Page 2

Transcribe
Translate

Cecile Cooper newspaper clippings, 1966-1987

1985-02-08 ""Roses for Iowa's own Estes"" Page 2

10A - Iowa City Press-Citizen - Friday, February 8, 1985
Roses for Iowa's own Simon Estes
Continued from page 1A
tioned for a group of University of Iowa music professors. The majority of them concurred that his was a nice voice, but unexceptional. 
The newest voice professor disagreed. Charles Kellis saw an untapped talent in young Simon Estes, whom he accepted as a voice student.
Estes had never heard of Schubert or Brahms or Verdi. His singing career had been limited to his grade school, where blacks were allowed only music and gym; his Baptist Church at Centerville, and, of course, his home where his family sang hymns together. 
But he loved to sing, and eventually that fact, as well as the $267 that Iowans contributed at his UI benefit concert, paid Estes' way to New York for a Julliard audition - his first step to success. Next came the great opera houses of the world, where he triumphed again and again.
Before his Metropolitan opera debut in 1982, he would sing for Presidents and perform with some of the world's greatest conductors. And he would also return to Iowa on more than one occasion, to celebrate his beginnings and contribute his generous gifts to the University of Iowa.
As I leaned against the auditorium wall, I peeked at the audience. Every seat was full. Theatrical producer Harold Prince was there; so was actress Joanne Woodward. I didn't see them.
Instead, I saw ladies dripping in furs and diamonds. Backless long gowns and tuxedos. The gloved and the gloveless. One man in blue jeans, another in a jump suit. Feathers everywhere: on heads, on hips, on the floor. Black and white; Yuppie and Wasp; old and young. A rainbow of colors. Passionless and impassioned, from orchestra to top balcony, rushing out at intermission for a drink or two and a cigarette; back in at the chimes.
I wondered how many knew that Simon Estes was from Iowa. (Most New Yorkers believe Iowa is located in Idaho and grows lots of potatoes. And if you say, "No, pigs," they look down as if you might be stepping along with your porcine companion.)
Simon Estes has dearly returned the Iowa "investment." As Charles Kellis said during intermission, "You never know what people are going to do. Sometimes there are big surprises, when art suddenly appears. The veil comes up and there it is." 
In a country where "Dynasty" tips the Nielson scales, hoodlums overrun Big Apple subways and prejudice lingers in American minds, a black boy from Centerville, Iowa, raised the veil. 
Not because of who he knew - but because of what he is.

Saving...

10A - Iowa City Press-Citizen - Friday, February 8, 1985 Roses for Iowa's own Simon Estes Continued from page 1A tioned for a group of University of Iowa music professors. The majority of them concurred that his was a nice voice, but unexceptional. The newest voice professor disagreed. Charles Kellis saw an untapped talent in young Simon Estes, whom he accepted as a voice student. Estes had never heard of Schubert or Brahms or Verdi. His singing career had been limited to his grade school, where blacks were allowed only music and gym; his Baptist Church at Centerville, and, of course, his home where his family sang hymns together. But he loved to sing, and eventually that fact, as well as the $267 that Iowans contributed at his UI benefit concert, paid Estes' way to New York for a Julliard audition - his first step to success. Next came the great opera houses of the world, where he triumphed again and again. Before his Metropolitan opera debut in 1982, he would sing for Presidents and perform with some of the world's greatest conductors. And he would also return to Iowa on more than one occasion, to celebrate his beginnings and contribute his generous gifts to the University of Iowa. As I leaned against the auditorium wall, I peeked at the audience. Every seat was full. Theatrical producer Harold Prince was there; so was actress Joanne Woodward. I didn't see them. Instead, I saw ladies dripping in furs and diamonds. Backless long gowns and tuxedos. The gloved and the gloveless. One man in blue jeans, another in a jump suit. Feathers everywhere: on heads, on hips, on the floor. Black and white; Yuppie and Wasp; old and young. A rainbow of colors. Passionless and impassioned, from orchestra to top balcony, rushing out at intermission for a drink or two and a cigarette; back in at the chimes. I wondered how many knew that Simon Estes was from Iowa. (Most New Yorkers believe Iowa is located in Idaho and grows lots of potatoes. And if you say, "No, pigs," they look down as if you might be stepping along with your porcine companion.) Simon Estes has dearly returned the Iowa "investment." As Charles Kellis said during intermission, "You never know what people are going to do. Sometimes there are big surprises, when art suddenly appears. The veil comes up and there it is." In a country where "Dynasty" tips the Nielson scales, hoodlums overrun Big Apple subways and prejudice lingers in American minds, a black boy from Centerville, Iowa, raised the veil. Not because of who he knew - but because of what he is.