Tony Bennett. Life is a Gift
Not many people know this story; until now I had only shared it with a very few close friends and relatives. It seemed too personal to mention and has taken a few years to even digest. At the time of this writing, Anthony Dominick Benedetto is 94 years old. Most know him as Tony Bennett, the world famous multi Grammy winning singer whose popularity has never waned; his audience ageless. But I have come to know him as a messenger sent by my Mother from beyond.
Myself, circa 1975.
I was a very hyper-active child growing up, and unfortunately my mother was dealing with her own mental issues during that time as well. Although most of the time she was calm and collected, one day I witnessed her having a mental breakdown. I was a very young child and didn’t know what was going on with her. I often wondered, as I grew older, if I was the cause of that event. Her dream was to be an artist and she always had a dedicated art room to create in. She made things for friends, school programs and her church. She never pursued art professionally and instead lovingly raised a family, but she always was making something. One of the things that would calm me was being in her art room, creating my own art with supplies she would provide for me as she worked on her own creations. It seemed as if we both found peace in that realm. She loved Christmas time and especially Christmas music. One of her favorites was Tony Bennett’s Christmas album. When she introduced me to his music she explained to me that he was also a visual artist and that he shared my first name as well as my initials. When I was older, she bought me a book for Christmas one year, “Tony Bennett in the Studio; A Life of Art & Music.” There was very little doubt that Tony Bennett would also become a favorite of mine.
Ironically, I had a chance meeting with him after a concert when he performed in Binghamton, NY about twenty-five years ago. I was lucky enough at the time to be dating Pam, a woman whose company, M&T Bank, sponsored the event. I had just gotten into the Louis Meisel Gallery in NYC and was working professionally as full time artist. A few months prior to this concert, another NYC gallery in SoHo, Gallery Henoch, was the setting for a photo shoot that Tony Bennett was doing. Gallery Henoch happened to be one of the galleries I showed my slides to before landing with Meisel. One of Gallery Henoch’s artists, Dan Tennant, who I befriended, mentioned to the gallery director, George Shechtman that I loved Tony Bennett. George graciously invited me to be there during the photo shoot. It was very short notice and I just could not fit it in with obligations that I had at the time. I was really disappointed, so when this later opportunity came up, I felt redemption.
After the concert, some of the employees of the bank and their guests were given backstage passes; Pam being one of them. Pam and I were closer to the end of the line and I noticed as people moved their way closer, Mr. Bennett would be greeted with the obligatory handshake and polite pleasantries such as, “I love your music Mr. Bennett.” Tony Bennett was gracious, but you can imagine how after millions of interactions like this it could get a bit robotic. I thought to myself, “This could be my one chance to meet someone like Tony Bennett. What would make him pause and - even if for a brief second - have a memorable interaction?” I knew he loved painting as much as singing, information that most people in this line were probably not aware of, and I felt that it might come in handy. I also had that chance possible encounter with him at Gallery Henoch a few months prior. Our turn in line came and Pam greeted him first. He smiled, nodded and looked at me. “Hello, Mr. Bennett. What painting are you working on now? Did your photo shoot at Gallery Henoch go well?” Let’s say it definitely caught him off guard and after a few brief seconds for him to de-program from standard pleasantries, we had a nice back and forth. And you could see him light up as he talked about his paintings. Mission accomplished. I pretty much thought that would be the end of it, or so I thought.
During the fall of 2013, I sustained a pretty serious ice hockey injury. A few weeks prior to this injury, we found out that my mother’s eight-year stage 4 multiple myeloma diagnosis journey was coming to a close. We were told that she had 4 months to live. We did not tell her. We all went through some the most unbelievable highs and lows during this journey and she endured levels of treatments, remissions and pain that can only humble you. Despite it all her mantra was, “I love my family. I will do whatever I can to be here for you.” Unfortunately, prior to my injury and after her diagnosis, I went to visit her and an unexpected argument occurred between us. It seemed to come out of nowhere and was the last thing I could ever want to happen between us, especially knowing her fate. The details are pretty personal, but as I have written more extensively in other blogs, the general gist was on the existence of God. My mother was very religious and raised us Catholic and switched to Pentecostal during my high school years. Let’s just say that it was best if we did not discuss religion and when she brought up the subject of religion I made it a point to let it go in one ear and out the other, as I was pretty much agnostic. For whatever reason, I did not heed my own advice on this day. The interaction will be forever etched in my mind.
She stopped talking to me, and a few days passed with no contact. Then the collision on the ice happened. I never knew what hit me. I had my head turned, facing down as I looked back for a pass, (a no-no in hockey) and collided with another skater, also going full speed. The force flipped me over and I landed on my neck and the base of my head. That split second changed my life. My upper body was badly bruised and I could not move my arms for weeks. My neck and shoulders seemed frozen in that moment. X-rays and tests revealed no broken bones, but a lot of soft tissue damage that would take many months to heal and whiplash that the doctor said could take a year. The pain was pretty intense and for months I could only lay in one position. I needed help getting my clothes on and did what I could to navigate daily life. What I never saw coming was the effects to my emotional and mental state, brought on by PTSD. Unrelenting anxiety crept in and such violent thoughts popped into my head that I contemplated suicide as a way to be free from hurting anyone and so that I could end this seemingly impossible mountain I had to overcome. I became a shell of my former self and felt as if another entity was inhabiting me.
During the night of February 10, 2014, my mother slipped into a coma. As I peeked around the corner to go home for the night, the last act I witnessed her doing was of her grabbing her journal listing all the people she prayed for. This was something she did every night before she went to bed. Not even impending death would take this final act of her life away from her. It will be a testament to me of the power of the human spirit and the realization that what we want for ourselves we should want for others, even in the face of death. As I sat with my mother by her bedside on the morning of her impending crossover point, I, for a brief moment, let go of the stress that permeated the room. In this brief visceral present moment, there was no argument, no harsh words and no guilt for what had transpired. Her complexion was warm and smooth. Ironically, it was full of life; nary a wrinkle. Not a sign of the eight-year life journey with Stage 4 Multiple Myeloma cancer was visible. Her face resembled peace. In that moment, I let the analytical mind rest. I let go of the anxiety. I didn’t say anything. I just sat with her. For a brief second, I felt the peace that we shared in her art room as a child.
My mother and I, circa 2013.
My mother died February 11, 2014, almost exactly the four months that she was given to live. Sadly, we never resolved our confrontation. As I was healing from my hockey injury, she was there for me as much as she could be, but she was physically declining rapidly. I had gone to convalesce at our place in Florida where my wife was. I started to use natural methods to heal, like meditation and yoga, communing with nature and reading a lot on the brain and surprisingly, spirituality. I had a pretty strong aversion to anything religious or even spiritual before this.
That summer, my wife Emily and I returned to our place in Binghamton. Tony Bennett had a scheduled concert in Binghamton late that summer. I continued to slowly heal, but was still dealing with the anxiety and I would savor the moments when I could put together back to back minutes without anxiety. I didn’t like being around crowds or in a closed in space. I was suffering and knew I needed to find a way out. I was willing to do the work, feel the pain, but I needed to know I was on the right tract. I begged the universe for an answer and asked for strength to be able to endure this new life, if this is the way it was supposed to be.
My wife’s aunt, Sylvia Kerber had a customer at her furniture store that was a neighbor of my mother’s on the eastside of Binghamton. Ed Green and his wife Terri lived just a couple of blocks away from my parent’s house, the same house where I grew up. Ed was a former concert promoter and his wife Terri was from the family that had one of the oldest Italian restaurants in town, Cortese Restaurant, a favorite growing up. The Greens would see my mother often as she would walk her dog regularly by their house and they got to know her and of her journey. When they didn’t see her for a while they knew it was time for a visit and some home cooked meals. They became fond of her and our entire family, and were deeply saddened when she past.
Through Sylvia, Ed and Terri would check up on us and see how we were doing. She privately told him what I was going through. Somehow he found out that I loved Tony Bennett. Unbeknownst to me, he hatched a plan to see if Tony would come over to my studio for a private meeting. Being a former concert promoter, he had the right connections. They wanted it to be a surprise but came to a roadblock when Ed found out that Tony Bennett’s son was his manager and virtually shielded him from everyone and no longer allowed him to do meet and greets. I don’t blame him. Tony was on the verge of turning 90 and had endured these types of things for decades. He paid his debt for lifetimes to come. Sylvia called me and asked if Ed could come over and let me in on what was going on, as he had one last ditch effort he wanted to discuss.
Ed came over and asked if I could write Tony Bennett a letter. He also suggested a good bottle of Italian wine and said there was a chance it might get into Mr. Bennett’s welcome package in his room. I added a Photorealism book that had just been released, which featured my work, and a map to my studio that showed he was just a block away from my downtown studio and home.
I had avoided getting tickets to the concert, as I did not like being in crowds and closed in spaces. My anxiety was even more ramped up. My wife, Emily, went ahead and got tickets anyway, just in case I would be up for it. It was literally a day before the concert when Ed came and picked up my letter, the Italian wine we had purchased and the Photorealism book. As Ed left, his usual excitement was tempered and his skills and connections as a former concert promoter were done, leaving the rest up to fate. A fate he explained as having only a small chance of happening.
The next morning, I was up early having coffee. I had pulled out the book my mother gave me years ago “Tony Bennett in the Studio; A Life of Art & Music,” and started to leaf through it. For a brief moment, I was lost in the beautiful visuals of Tony Bennett’s painting and drawing. It reminded me of the bond my mother and I shared, not only as a child, but her fostering of my love of art throughout my life. The creation of art became a meditation on life for me. And then on the back cover of the book was this quote from Tony Bennett I hadn’t noticed before, “I’m on a journey. It’s a search for truth and beauty that I am trying to share…I’m on a journey to try to communicate how beautiful life is.”
Suddenly, the phone rang. I picked it up. On the other end was a warm, gravelly voice,
“Hello, is Anthony Brunelli there?” Caught off guard, I stammered, “This is him.” “This is Tony Bennett and I was wondering if you had anytime today for me to stop by and see your studio?” Well, this time the tables were turned on me. I was really caught off guard. I never expected Tony Bennett to personally call, let alone ask if I had the time for him to come over! He proceeded to tell me that he had a sound check in the late morning and could come over after. “I’m and old pro so it should only take me 15 minutes. I look forward to meeting with you and seeing your studio. We will call you when we are on our way.”
I got off the phone and collected myself. I ran to tell Emily, and then we both proceeded to feverishly clean. I ran up to my studio, which was on the 5th floor of the building we owned on State Street in downtown Binghamton. Then suddenly, my heart sank. I could not ask a soon to be 90-year-old Tony Bennett if he would walk up 5 stories to get to my studio. The only other way up was the old 100 plus year freight elevator. This could turn out to be one of the most embarrassing situations I have found myself in. An inner voice persuaded me to stop worrying and go with the flow. I still had the studio to clean up and that was the task at hand I focused on.
As I entered the studio, I looked around and suddenly felt a jolt to my inner body. It brought me to my knees. I started to sob uncontrollably. I lay on the floor rolling around and then my mother’s voice emanated in my psyche. “My beautiful talented Tony, I love you unconditionally. There can be nothing in the universe that will ever change that. I will be with you always. Please enjoy this day and every other day after, with all your heart. Be bold. Be brave. Be strong. “
I had asked the universe for a sign to end this terrible suffering I was going through. In reflection, it needed to be a pretty big message. It needed to shake me to my core. It needed to seem so impossible that it was even happening. My psyche was so deeply wounded. The little boy, who witnessed his mother have a nervous breakdown in front of him, and then as an adult challenged his mother’s belief in her God, in the final stages of her life, needed to be healed of the trauma that circled the inner depths of his being. The fact that the healing came through another human being like Tony Bennett seems ridiculously impossible. In hindsight, it makes more sense than anything else. This world we live in is more mysterious than we will ever be able to fathom. What we perceive is miniscule to what is really happening. The more we surrender to it(life), the more wonderful it appears.
Tony Bennett and Carrie-Anne Button, gallery assistant, in the Anthony Brunelli Fine Art Gallery, 2014
A big black sedan pulled up to our building and Tony Bennett and his driver got out and came up to the front entrance, which leads to the gallery that my brother and I own. Now mind you, we need to get Tony Bennett to the fifth floor. In light of what happened to me earlier in my studio, a sense of surrendering to the moment seemed as the only way to proceed. They entered and looked around the gallery, going from piece to piece. Mr. Bennett seemed at ease and was enthusiastic. I mentioned to him that I would like to show him my studio. He looked at me surprised, “This is not what you want me to see?” “No” I said, “My studio is on the 5th floor.” “Ok, let’s go there then,” he replied. As we approached the freight elevator, I quickly approached his driver/tour manager and asked him if Mr. Bennett would be OK going up in the old elevator. He replied that nothing fazes him, no worries. Now, you have to understand that this elevator goes back to the turn of last century. It is run by a big loud motor in the basement, that uses belts and pulleys. The elevator itself opens and closes the doors between floors as it goes up and down and passes each floor. It is basically a lift and completely wide open. It is not exactly a smooth ride and has in the past unexpectedly stopped in between floors on occasion. If that happens, you have to jump off or have someone get a ladder. As Tony got on, I instructed him where to hold on to and to just stay put, as it was moving. “Oh and don’t worry about the noise and shakiness of the ride.” He nodded, looked down at his feet and white knuckled it the whole way. I held my breath and released it as we stopped on the fifth floor without incidence. My armpits were drenched with sweat, but then I remembered I had an angel on my side and nothing bad was going to happen.
The painting I was working on when Tony Bennett visited, Plaza Mayor (Madrid, Spain) 2014.
We entered the studio and I told him a little about my process. The painting that I was working on of the Plaza Mayor in Madrid Spain was on the easel. He seemed very intrigued and asked me a number of questions that related to his work. We talked about brushes and paints and styles. Here we were, two artists in the studio sharing stories and techniques. I got the sense from him that he was generally eager to learn. He asked me how long it takes my paintings to dry. I explained that it could take months but that when I am finalizing the last coats of a piece I use a medium called Liquin that helps rapidly dry the paint. Making transport easier. He saw that I had a book of the artist Canaletto on my table. He picked it up and thumbed through, expressing how much he liked his work. He then excitedly told me about the sculpture he was doing. He was very eager to learn new things he said, and had never done sculpture before. He then reached in his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, leafing through to pull out a small picture of the sculpture he was working on. It was very good and he asked me for pointers. I told him that he probably could give me pointers, as I did not have much experience in that medium. His driver/manager was looking around my studio and called Tony over to see a print of one of my paintings that I had hanging. It was a scene of the Monaco Formula One races that I was commissioned to do a few years earlier, and the vantage point was from the top of the Fairmont hotel that overlooked the famous hairpin turn. They marveled at the detail and Tony mentioned how he loved going to Monaco and was good friends with Prince Albert. I showed him how I had painted Prince Albert into the painting as he was there watching the race the day I took the photographs for the scene. He asked me if Prince Albert had seen this painting and I told him that it went into a private collection so probably not. He asked if he could show him the image and I excitedly said yes and gave him a couple of note cards with the image on it.
The Monaco Formula One Racing painting View from the Fairmont, with Prince Albert watching the race in the Foreground, to the left of the Fairmont sign, flanked by security guards.
After about an hour, his driver/manager intervened and said that Tony should probably start heading back. I got the sense that Tony was in his element and could have been there talking art all day. Before he left, I got out the book of his work that my mother gave me years ago and asked if he would sign it. He obviously had no idea of the gravity that was contained in those pages for me. His personalization would be a reminder of the miracle that happened on this day. He obliged and asked if we needed tickets for tonight’s performance. I told him that we already had them and thanked him for his offer and more importantly for his time. He told me that it would be his pleasure if we would be his guests backstage after the concert. I happily accepted this offer.
Myself and Tony Bennett in my Studio, in front of my Madrid painting, 2014.
As we headed down the elevator, an inner confidence began to creep back in for me. The awesomeness of this moment was too profound to digest. I knew it would take bite size pieces to fully comprehend what had just transpired. As he drove off and I went back upstairs to my loft, I pulled out the book that he had signed for me. Inscribed: “To ‘Tony,’ One of the greatest artists I’ve ever met. ‘Tony’ Benedetto.”
The concert was fantastic. It took on a different tone this time. My friend was performing that night. Another treat we encountered at the concert was the surprise that his daughter, Antonia, was there to perform a few songs with him. I couldn’t help but think of the parallel between my relationship with my mother and the joy they shared on the stage. Antonia is also a redhead, like me. Another synchronistic event that helps confirm my belief that there are no coincidences in life. After the concert we went backstage. Tony welcomed us with open arms and excitedly wanted me to meet his daughter Antonia, his wife, Susan and their dog, Happy. He asked me for the name of the medium that helps paints dry again. As I opened my mouth, he frantically reached for the nearest thing he could write on, which happened to be a cocktail napkin. He literally was writing on the cocktail napkin in the air until his driver/manager came over and gave him some paper to jot down the word “Liquin.” To be almost 90 and have that much excitement over life was the best medicine that I could ask for. His effusive retention of our earlier meeting and re-telling to his daughter and wife of our experience that day made me feel special. It felt very similar to the way my mother made me feel when she talked about me to other people.
Myself, Antonia Bennett and Tony Bennett, backstage after his concert, 2014.
I will always be marveled by the gifts Tony Bennett has given all of us. His music; his art; his love of life. But personally, the gift of humanity that he gave to me on that special day is humbling. He most likely will never know of the “miracle” that transpired that day. But, just maybe, that is the way it is supposed to be. Maybe that’s how the universe works. Maybe we have the chance to be walking miracles for each other all the time, everyday. I have come to know it as unconditional love. Thank you Mom. I love you.
The Zen of Bennett:
*Be ready to recognize the gifts of life when they arrive at your doorstep.
*Remember that what goes around comes around. If you are good to someone, at some point in time that act of kindness will come back to you.
*Sometimes gifts arrive in the form of a happy accident. Be prepared to accept these rewards.
*Being angry is a waste of time. Instead, count your blessings every day.
*Make a real effort to appreciate the gifts that life has given to you.
