New York Daily News (NY) -Sunday, January 7, 1996:
An autopsy will be performed to determine what caused the death of a singer who fell 10 feet from a ladder onto the stage during a performance at the Metropolitan Opera House.
Although opera officials stated tenor Richard Versalle, 63, suffered an apparent heart attack, the singer's manager Anthony George said his client had no heart condition or medical problems.
"He didn't hold his chest or anything," George said. "All of a sudden he let go and fell down backward. And he hit his head."
Versalle's death stunned first-nighters attending a Friday night performance of "The Makropulos Case," an opera about a woman who has the formula for eternal life.
He suddenly toppled backward from the ladder during the opera's opening scene after singing the words, "You can only live so long."
Versalle was dead on arrival at St. Luke's-Roosevelt Hospital and the performance at the famed Lincoln Center opera house was canceled.
The 40-foot ladder Versalle was climbing was checked by an opera company technical crew and no defects were found, said Met spokesman Peter Clark. "It's not a flimsy ladder," said Clark. "It is a heavy metal ladder bolted to the scenery."
An autopsy on Versalle's body is expected to be performed today, said Dr. Charles Hirsch, the city's chief medical examiner.
The singer, who lived in Hendersonville, N.C., leaves a wife, Alexis, and an 11-year-old daughter, Tess. He also has four children from a previous marriage.
A DEATH ONSTAGE SPOTLIGHTS A DRAMATIC LIFE
The Charlotte Observer (NC) - January 21, 1996:
Opera singer Richard Versalle, 63, died of a heart attack on Jan 5. Most Americans hadn't heard of him. Most Carolinians probably hadn't, even though he had lived in Hendersonville since 1988. What made his death so noticeable wasn't Versalle's age, or his career, but the setting.
He collapsed and fell to his death while singing the opening scene in Janacek's "The Makropulos Case" at the Metropolitan Opera in New York. Perched high on a ladder where he was putting files on shelves in his role as Vitek, an elderly law clerk, he suddenly couldn't breathe. He missed a line. Then he fell, straight down to the floor, on his back. The curtain was lowered, and the company canceled a show for one of the few times in its history.
I'll stop here while you think, "What a way to go." How dramatic. How, well, operatic. Versalle, much better known in Europe than in America, even made the front page of the New York Post. Though his death was spectacular, the more remarkable thing about Versalle was his life. Many of us nurture dreams, but don't pursue them. Versalle, in a thorough, workmanlike manner, chipped away at his against tough odds. His persistence and patience teach us something about our own lives.
Versalle, a native of Muskegon, MI, was a late bloomer. Although he had sung since childhood, it wasn't until his early 40s, friends and relatives say, that he quit his job as a lab technician and chemical salesman, relocated to Chicago, and pursued opera.
There was tragedy along the way. A marriage was lost in a bitter divorce. One of his four children by his first wife died of AIDS. There was adversity. Although he made his debut at the Met in 1978, the company didn't encourage him. Versalle, then 46, was a little too old for romantic lead roles, the meat of the tenor repertoire, says Tony George, Versalle's agent. His Italianate singing style, a silvery tone mixed with a big, projecting voice, made him difficult to cast. So Versalle went to Germany, where he became a kind of working man's hero.
"He didn't have an education. Dick was just like (the people he was performing for), a guy who went out and got a job," remembers fellow singer and Muskegonite Erik Johanson.
Versalle carved a name for himself as a Wagnerian heldentenor, singing roles that require strength and endurance and grand dramatic abilities. He even sang at Bayreuth, Wagner's own theater.
Versalle remarried, and at 51 became a father again. When he and his wife, Alexis Darden, tired of the European pace, they bought a home in the N.C. mountains. Versalle was known for his work in AIDS hospices and with his neighborhood association. Back in America, he also restarted his career from scratch, going through the humiliating process of auditioning for roles he had sung for years abroad. As Versalle contemplated retirement, his big break at the Met finally came. When the lead tenor and an understudy fell sick during a production of "Tannhauser" last year, Versalle, hired as second backup, stepped in. This time, management loved him. They hired him again last fall, then gave him the role in the Janacek - a Met premiere - a signal that the company was moving Versalle into its upper echelon. When he was perched on that ladder singing a few weeks ago, he was, both literally and figuratively, at the peak of his career. Versalle 's whole life was the stuff that operas are made of: passion, adversity, tragedy, love lost and gained, persistence, faith, redemption, triumph, and, at the moment of resolution, irony. That he was, by all accounts, a gregarious and generous man who didn't spread bitterness only makes him more of an everyday hero. Art offers us introspection and understanding about ourselves, but in the end it is a reflection of life, not the reality. Richard Versalle died doing what he loved most, after a lifetime of choices that added up to a pattern of courage. His death offers us a moment to pause, reflect and think about the patterns of our own lives. In such reflections, we can find the art of living.
Children:
Michael Jon Versalle
Jodi Rae Versalle
Jeffrey Bruce Versalle
Timothy Lee Versalle
Second marriage:
Tess
An autopsy will be performed to determine what caused the death of a singer who fell 10 feet from a ladder onto the stage during a performance at the Metropolitan Opera House.
Although opera officials stated tenor Richard Versalle, 63, suffered an apparent heart attack, the singer's manager Anthony George said his client had no heart condition or medical problems.
"He didn't hold his chest or anything," George said. "All of a sudden he let go and fell down backward. And he hit his head."
Versalle's death stunned first-nighters attending a Friday night performance of "The Makropulos Case," an opera about a woman who has the formula for eternal life.
He suddenly toppled backward from the ladder during the opera's opening scene after singing the words, "You can only live so long."
Versalle was dead on arrival at St. Luke's-Roosevelt Hospital and the performance at the famed Lincoln Center opera house was canceled.
The 40-foot ladder Versalle was climbing was checked by an opera company technical crew and no defects were found, said Met spokesman Peter Clark. "It's not a flimsy ladder," said Clark. "It is a heavy metal ladder bolted to the scenery."
An autopsy on Versalle's body is expected to be performed today, said Dr. Charles Hirsch, the city's chief medical examiner.
The singer, who lived in Hendersonville, N.C., leaves a wife, Alexis, and an 11-year-old daughter, Tess. He also has four children from a previous marriage.
A DEATH ONSTAGE SPOTLIGHTS A DRAMATIC LIFE
The Charlotte Observer (NC) - January 21, 1996:
Opera singer Richard Versalle, 63, died of a heart attack on Jan 5. Most Americans hadn't heard of him. Most Carolinians probably hadn't, even though he had lived in Hendersonville since 1988. What made his death so noticeable wasn't Versalle's age, or his career, but the setting.
He collapsed and fell to his death while singing the opening scene in Janacek's "The Makropulos Case" at the Metropolitan Opera in New York. Perched high on a ladder where he was putting files on shelves in his role as Vitek, an elderly law clerk, he suddenly couldn't breathe. He missed a line. Then he fell, straight down to the floor, on his back. The curtain was lowered, and the company canceled a show for one of the few times in its history.
I'll stop here while you think, "What a way to go." How dramatic. How, well, operatic. Versalle, much better known in Europe than in America, even made the front page of the New York Post. Though his death was spectacular, the more remarkable thing about Versalle was his life. Many of us nurture dreams, but don't pursue them. Versalle, in a thorough, workmanlike manner, chipped away at his against tough odds. His persistence and patience teach us something about our own lives.
Versalle, a native of Muskegon, MI, was a late bloomer. Although he had sung since childhood, it wasn't until his early 40s, friends and relatives say, that he quit his job as a lab technician and chemical salesman, relocated to Chicago, and pursued opera.
There was tragedy along the way. A marriage was lost in a bitter divorce. One of his four children by his first wife died of AIDS. There was adversity. Although he made his debut at the Met in 1978, the company didn't encourage him. Versalle, then 46, was a little too old for romantic lead roles, the meat of the tenor repertoire, says Tony George, Versalle's agent. His Italianate singing style, a silvery tone mixed with a big, projecting voice, made him difficult to cast. So Versalle went to Germany, where he became a kind of working man's hero.
"He didn't have an education. Dick was just like (the people he was performing for), a guy who went out and got a job," remembers fellow singer and Muskegonite Erik Johanson.
Versalle carved a name for himself as a Wagnerian heldentenor, singing roles that require strength and endurance and grand dramatic abilities. He even sang at Bayreuth, Wagner's own theater.
Versalle remarried, and at 51 became a father again. When he and his wife, Alexis Darden, tired of the European pace, they bought a home in the N.C. mountains. Versalle was known for his work in AIDS hospices and with his neighborhood association. Back in America, he also restarted his career from scratch, going through the humiliating process of auditioning for roles he had sung for years abroad. As Versalle contemplated retirement, his big break at the Met finally came. When the lead tenor and an understudy fell sick during a production of "Tannhauser" last year, Versalle, hired as second backup, stepped in. This time, management loved him. They hired him again last fall, then gave him the role in the Janacek - a Met premiere - a signal that the company was moving Versalle into its upper echelon. When he was perched on that ladder singing a few weeks ago, he was, both literally and figuratively, at the peak of his career. Versalle 's whole life was the stuff that operas are made of: passion, adversity, tragedy, love lost and gained, persistence, faith, redemption, triumph, and, at the moment of resolution, irony. That he was, by all accounts, a gregarious and generous man who didn't spread bitterness only makes him more of an everyday hero. Art offers us introspection and understanding about ourselves, but in the end it is a reflection of life, not the reality. Richard Versalle died doing what he loved most, after a lifetime of choices that added up to a pattern of courage. His death offers us a moment to pause, reflect and think about the patterns of our own lives. In such reflections, we can find the art of living.
Children:
Michael Jon Versalle
Jodi Rae Versalle
Jeffrey Bruce Versalle
Timothy Lee Versalle
Second marriage:
Tess
New York Daily News (NY) -Sunday, January 7, 1996:
An autopsy will be performed to determine what caused the death of a singer who fell 10 feet from a ladder onto the stage during a performance at the Metropolitan Opera House.
Although opera officials stated tenor Richard Versalle, 63, suffered an apparent heart attack, the singer's manager Anthony George said his client had no heart condition or medical problems.
"He didn't hold his chest or anything," George said. "All of a sudden he let go and fell down backward. And he hit his head."
Versalle's death stunned first-nighters attending a Friday night performance of "The Makropulos Case," an opera about a woman who has the formula for eternal life.
He suddenly toppled backward from the ladder during the opera's opening scene after singing the words, "You can only live so long."
Versalle was dead on arrival at St. Luke's-Roosevelt Hospital and the performance at the famed Lincoln Center opera house was canceled.
The 40-foot ladder Versalle was climbing was checked by an opera company technical crew and no defects were found, said Met spokesman Peter Clark. "It's not a flimsy ladder," said Clark. "It is a heavy metal ladder bolted to the scenery."
An autopsy on Versalle's body is expected to be performed today, said Dr. Charles Hirsch, the city's chief medical examiner.
The singer, who lived in Hendersonville, N.C., leaves a wife, Alexis, and an 11-year-old daughter, Tess. He also has four children from a previous marriage.
A DEATH ONSTAGE SPOTLIGHTS A DRAMATIC LIFE
The Charlotte Observer (NC) - January 21, 1996:
Opera singer Richard Versalle, 63, died of a heart attack on Jan 5. Most Americans hadn't heard of him. Most Carolinians probably hadn't, even though he had lived in Hendersonville since 1988. What made his death so noticeable wasn't Versalle's age, or his career, but the setting.
He collapsed and fell to his death while singing the opening scene in Janacek's "The Makropulos Case" at the Metropolitan Opera in New York. Perched high on a ladder where he was putting files on shelves in his role as Vitek, an elderly law clerk, he suddenly couldn't breathe. He missed a line. Then he fell, straight down to the floor, on his back. The curtain was lowered, and the company canceled a show for one of the few times in its history.
I'll stop here while you think, "What a way to go." How dramatic. How, well, operatic. Versalle, much better known in Europe than in America, even made the front page of the New York Post. Though his death was spectacular, the more remarkable thing about Versalle was his life. Many of us nurture dreams, but don't pursue them. Versalle, in a thorough, workmanlike manner, chipped away at his against tough odds. His persistence and patience teach us something about our own lives.
Versalle, a native of Muskegon, MI, was a late bloomer. Although he had sung since childhood, it wasn't until his early 40s, friends and relatives say, that he quit his job as a lab technician and chemical salesman, relocated to Chicago, and pursued opera.
There was tragedy along the way. A marriage was lost in a bitter divorce. One of his four children by his first wife died of AIDS. There was adversity. Although he made his debut at the Met in 1978, the company didn't encourage him. Versalle, then 46, was a little too old for romantic lead roles, the meat of the tenor repertoire, says Tony George, Versalle's agent. His Italianate singing style, a silvery tone mixed with a big, projecting voice, made him difficult to cast. So Versalle went to Germany, where he became a kind of working man's hero.
"He didn't have an education. Dick was just like (the people he was performing for), a guy who went out and got a job," remembers fellow singer and Muskegonite Erik Johanson.
Versalle carved a name for himself as a Wagnerian heldentenor, singing roles that require strength and endurance and grand dramatic abilities. He even sang at Bayreuth, Wagner's own theater.
Versalle remarried, and at 51 became a father again. When he and his wife, Alexis Darden, tired of the European pace, they bought a home in the N.C. mountains. Versalle was known for his work in AIDS hospices and with his neighborhood association. Back in America, he also restarted his career from scratch, going through the humiliating process of auditioning for roles he had sung for years abroad. As Versalle contemplated retirement, his big break at the Met finally came. When the lead tenor and an understudy fell sick during a production of "Tannhauser" last year, Versalle, hired as second backup, stepped in. This time, management loved him. They hired him again last fall, then gave him the role in the Janacek - a Met premiere - a signal that the company was moving Versalle into its upper echelon. When he was perched on that ladder singing a few weeks ago, he was, both literally and figuratively, at the peak of his career. Versalle 's whole life was the stuff that operas are made of: passion, adversity, tragedy, love lost and gained, persistence, faith, redemption, triumph, and, at the moment of resolution, irony. That he was, by all accounts, a gregarious and generous man who didn't spread bitterness only makes him more of an everyday hero. Art offers us introspection and understanding about ourselves, but in the end it is a reflection of life, not the reality. Richard Versalle died doing what he loved most, after a lifetime of choices that added up to a pattern of courage. His death offers us a moment to pause, reflect and think about the patterns of our own lives. In such reflections, we can find the art of living.
Children:
Michael Jon Versalle
Jodi Rae Versalle
Jeffrey Bruce Versalle
Timothy Lee Versalle
Second marriage:
Tess
An autopsy will be performed to determine what caused the death of a singer who fell 10 feet from a ladder onto the stage during a performance at the Metropolitan Opera House.
Although opera officials stated tenor Richard Versalle, 63, suffered an apparent heart attack, the singer's manager Anthony George said his client had no heart condition or medical problems.
"He didn't hold his chest or anything," George said. "All of a sudden he let go and fell down backward. And he hit his head."
Versalle's death stunned first-nighters attending a Friday night performance of "The Makropulos Case," an opera about a woman who has the formula for eternal life.
He suddenly toppled backward from the ladder during the opera's opening scene after singing the words, "You can only live so long."
Versalle was dead on arrival at St. Luke's-Roosevelt Hospital and the performance at the famed Lincoln Center opera house was canceled.
The 40-foot ladder Versalle was climbing was checked by an opera company technical crew and no defects were found, said Met spokesman Peter Clark. "It's not a flimsy ladder," said Clark. "It is a heavy metal ladder bolted to the scenery."
An autopsy on Versalle's body is expected to be performed today, said Dr. Charles Hirsch, the city's chief medical examiner.
The singer, who lived in Hendersonville, N.C., leaves a wife, Alexis, and an 11-year-old daughter, Tess. He also has four children from a previous marriage.
A DEATH ONSTAGE SPOTLIGHTS A DRAMATIC LIFE
The Charlotte Observer (NC) - January 21, 1996:
Opera singer Richard Versalle, 63, died of a heart attack on Jan 5. Most Americans hadn't heard of him. Most Carolinians probably hadn't, even though he had lived in Hendersonville since 1988. What made his death so noticeable wasn't Versalle's age, or his career, but the setting.
He collapsed and fell to his death while singing the opening scene in Janacek's "The Makropulos Case" at the Metropolitan Opera in New York. Perched high on a ladder where he was putting files on shelves in his role as Vitek, an elderly law clerk, he suddenly couldn't breathe. He missed a line. Then he fell, straight down to the floor, on his back. The curtain was lowered, and the company canceled a show for one of the few times in its history.
I'll stop here while you think, "What a way to go." How dramatic. How, well, operatic. Versalle, much better known in Europe than in America, even made the front page of the New York Post. Though his death was spectacular, the more remarkable thing about Versalle was his life. Many of us nurture dreams, but don't pursue them. Versalle, in a thorough, workmanlike manner, chipped away at his against tough odds. His persistence and patience teach us something about our own lives.
Versalle, a native of Muskegon, MI, was a late bloomer. Although he had sung since childhood, it wasn't until his early 40s, friends and relatives say, that he quit his job as a lab technician and chemical salesman, relocated to Chicago, and pursued opera.
There was tragedy along the way. A marriage was lost in a bitter divorce. One of his four children by his first wife died of AIDS. There was adversity. Although he made his debut at the Met in 1978, the company didn't encourage him. Versalle, then 46, was a little too old for romantic lead roles, the meat of the tenor repertoire, says Tony George, Versalle's agent. His Italianate singing style, a silvery tone mixed with a big, projecting voice, made him difficult to cast. So Versalle went to Germany, where he became a kind of working man's hero.
"He didn't have an education. Dick was just like (the people he was performing for), a guy who went out and got a job," remembers fellow singer and Muskegonite Erik Johanson.
Versalle carved a name for himself as a Wagnerian heldentenor, singing roles that require strength and endurance and grand dramatic abilities. He even sang at Bayreuth, Wagner's own theater.
Versalle remarried, and at 51 became a father again. When he and his wife, Alexis Darden, tired of the European pace, they bought a home in the N.C. mountains. Versalle was known for his work in AIDS hospices and with his neighborhood association. Back in America, he also restarted his career from scratch, going through the humiliating process of auditioning for roles he had sung for years abroad. As Versalle contemplated retirement, his big break at the Met finally came. When the lead tenor and an understudy fell sick during a production of "Tannhauser" last year, Versalle, hired as second backup, stepped in. This time, management loved him. They hired him again last fall, then gave him the role in the Janacek - a Met premiere - a signal that the company was moving Versalle into its upper echelon. When he was perched on that ladder singing a few weeks ago, he was, both literally and figuratively, at the peak of his career. Versalle 's whole life was the stuff that operas are made of: passion, adversity, tragedy, love lost and gained, persistence, faith, redemption, triumph, and, at the moment of resolution, irony. That he was, by all accounts, a gregarious and generous man who didn't spread bitterness only makes him more of an everyday hero. Art offers us introspection and understanding about ourselves, but in the end it is a reflection of life, not the reality. Richard Versalle died doing what he loved most, after a lifetime of choices that added up to a pattern of courage. His death offers us a moment to pause, reflect and think about the patterns of our own lives. In such reflections, we can find the art of living.
Children:
Michael Jon Versalle
Jodi Rae Versalle
Jeffrey Bruce Versalle
Timothy Lee Versalle
Second marriage:
Tess
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