전기
Brooklyn-born tenor Richard Tucker had a unique dual career. As one of the great voices of the Metropolitan Opera, Tucker made his debut there as Alfredo Germont in Verdi's "La Traviata" in January, 1945, and became a specialist in the Italian and French lyric roles. Among his most famous roles with the company were Rodolfo in Puccini's "La Boheme," B.F. Pinkerton in the same composer's "Madama Butterfly," Don Jose in Bizet's "Carmen," and Radames in Verdi's "Aida." The latter, in addition to many performances at the Met, was also a role he sang in a televised concert performance under Arturo Toscanini and on a special Met broadcast performance in honor of Enrico Caruso's centeniary in February, 1973. Concurrently with his operatic career, Tucker, an Orthodox Jew, was regarded as one of the finest cantors ever, ranked in the company of the great Josef Rosenblatt and Moishe Oysher. His recordings of the cantorial literature on American Columbia records are regarded as among the finest of their kind, and he traveled to Vietnam to preside over High Holy Day services there at the behest of the USO. Although he recorded the role of Canio in Leoncavallo's "I Pagliacci" in 1953, he did not perform it on stage until 1970, at which time he scored one of his last great triumphs.
Privately, Tucker was regarded as a warm, friendly man who was devoted to his God and his family. He and the former Sarah Perelmuth (the sister of his Met colleague and rival, Jan Peerce) were married for over thirty years and had three sons and numerous grandchildren. He was also well known for his waggish sense of humor. During the protracted death scene for the baritone in Verdi's "Don Carlo," Tucker, in the title role, leaned over to baritone Robert Merrill and whispered, "Will you hurry up and die? I've got to catch the train for Great Neck in 45 minutes!" Merrill, one of Tucker's closest friends off-stage, had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. In fact, he was in the midst of a concert tour with Merrill when he was found dead of a heart attack in his hotel room in Kalamazoo, Michigan, at the age of only sixty-one. He was just one week short of celebrating his thirtieth anniversary with the Metropolitan Opera Company, and his funeral service on the Met stage was only the second one ever for a company artist. The first? That of Enrico Caruso, the greatest tenor of all time and one of Tucker's idols.
Today, the most successful American tenor ever to sing with the Met, and one of the greatest American tenors ever, is honored with a portrait at the Met's Founder's Hall. That, and his considerable recorded legacy, will ensure that his name will live forever in operatic and cantorial annals.
