When Lois Kirschenbaum, a culture buff who was a fixture at the Metropolitan Opera for more than half a century, died in 2021 at age 88, star singers paid tributes and fellow fans offered remembrances.
But that wasn't the end of Kirschenbaum's relationship with the arts.
Although not even her closest friends knew it, Kirschenbaum, a former telephone operator who lived in a rent-controlled apartment in the East Village, had made plans to donate a large portion of her life savings (about $1.7 million ) to cultural groups. to her death. After years of legal proceedings, donations of $215,000 each have begun to arrive, surprising groups such as the New York City Opera, the American Ballet Theatre, Carnegie Hall and the Public Theatre.
“I was amazed,” said John Hauser, president of the George and Nora London Singers Foundation, one of the honorees. “I had no idea she had that kind of money.”
Kirschenbaum had no spouse, siblings or children, and lived a simple lifestyle, working as a telephone operator for the International Rescue Committee, a humanitarian aid organization, until his retirement in 2004. Most nights, he traveled by bus and subway. to Lincoln Center, where he got free or cheap tickets just before the performances began.
Elena Villafañe, an attorney for the estate's executor, said Kirschenbaum had “an incredibly frugal, Depression-era lifestyle.” His father was an optometrist who died in 1990, Villafañe said; his first and second wives died before him.
“She didn't take a cab, her furniture was old, she didn't spend money on clothes, she didn't go to Bloomingdale's,” Villafane said of Kirschenbaum.
“What little money he spent,” he added, “he spent on the arts.”
For decades, Kirschenbaum was the doyenne of the opera fans who populated the Met's standing sections. Legally blind from birth, she often watched performances from the highest balcony through large binoculars. After the curtain call, she ran to the stage door to ask for autographs and brought a bag full of memorabilia (photos, recordings and sheet music) to sign.
Susan Jaffe, artistic director of American Ballet Theatre, who was a principal dancer with the company from 1983 to 2002, recalled seeing Kirschenbaum frequently after performances.
“In the world of ballet, Lois Kirschenbaum was not just a devoted fan: she was a quiet force, an unwavering presence outside the stage door,” he said in a statement. “What we didn't know was that, behind her humble demeanor, she had the power to surprise us with a wonderful legacy.”
Kirschenbaum's devotion helped her become friends with opera stars such as Beverly Sills, Renée Fleming, Luciano Pavarotti and Plácido Domingo. Obediently signing her belongings became a rite of passage for some singers. While they chatted, Kirschenbaum gathered information about her upcoming appearances and compiled it into homemade lists that she distributed to other opera fans.
He left behind a treasure trove of memorabilia—thousands of programs, many of them autographed, and even a few pairs of ballet slippers—which he ordered to be delivered to the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts at Lincoln Center.
The library has not yet received her items, but Bob Kosovsky, a rare books and manuscripts librarian who knew Kirschenbaum and helped her pack her belongings, called the material the “superfan documentation.”
He noted his frequent notes in the margins of his programs. In 1978, the New York Philharmonic gave three performances of a program that included the final scene of Strauss's opera “Salome.” She wrote in a concert program: “Even better than the first performance.”
“You really get a sense of his personality,” Kosovsky said.
The entire distribution of Kirschenbaum's estate, about $4 million, is divided equally between 18 nonprofit organizations and one person, a woman who helped care for her and her father. In addition to her donations to cultural institutions, she left money to Jewish groups, including the Simon Wiesenthal Center, as well as nonprofit organizations that help the blind, such as the American Foundation for the Blind. And she gave it to her former employer, the International Rescue Committee.
Despite his enthusiasm for the Met's performances, Kirschenbaum left no gift for the opera. Friends of hers have speculated that she may have been angered by the company's decision in the early 1990s (around the time she created her will) to ban her backstage, relegating her to the stage door. .
Instead, he gave money to other opera groups, including several that help young singers: the London foundation, the Richard Tucker Music Foundation and Opera Index.
The London foundation, named after the historic bass baritone George London and his wife, Nora, announced this week that it planned to give a prize in Kirschenbaum's honor at its competition for young singers next month. Kirschenbaum, who knew Londoners from backstage at the Met, was a frequent guest at the foundation's events.
“She was the absolutely perfect spectator,” the foundation's Hauser said. “I can't think of anyone who loves opera as voraciously as she does. She was just a super opera fan. She really was the most important thing in her life.”
