OPERA RECORDS: A COLLECTOR'S VALHALLA
THIS is not a pretty story. It begins one Christmas morning, when I was 6 years old and my paternal grandmother's boyfriend, "Uncle" Leo, sat on and broke my hours-old shellac recording of "Tubby the Tuba." It was my first record, and I had played it only once. I cried all day and vowed then and there to collect as many records as I could and guard them with my life. Never again would my peace of mind and ease of soul be forfeit to another human being. Collecting the records was only a matter of money. As a child, I was fully conversant with the concept of the layaway plan. I took after-school jobs at the public library shelving books and at the Robin Hood Cafeteria carrying trays to ransom my copies of "The Little Engine That Could" and "Hansel and Gretel" from the local record shop. Dickens would have wept.
