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Having always considered the best critic the one who agrees with me, I have placed Jay Nordlinger at the top of my list: His assessment of Luciano Pavarotti's incredible career ("Farewell, Fat Man," April 5) was warm and touching.
After a half-century of attending several dozen opera performances a year, and having heard all singers of consequence since the mid-1950s, my wife and I still most treasure our Pavarotti experiences. One particular memory illustrates why.
In about 1972 we went to see the first performance of a new Met production of La Fille du Regiment, because it starred Joan Sutherland. Midway through Act I, an unfamiliar tenor came bounding over the hill singing effortless high C's. A total stranger leaned forward to whisper urgently, "Who the hell is ...