Living in Two Epicenters

Two Countries - Two Professions

New York City, USA and Lombardy, Italy -

Mime Artist and Retired Member of the NYPD

Transcription:

My name is Tony Lopresti. I am living in two epicenters of the coronavirus pandemic – New York City and Lombardy in Italy. I am living the pandemic through two different professions – wordless theatre and law enforcement.

I perform, choreograph, teach and direct wordless theatre – otherwise known as “mime”. But these days in the U.S. mime isn’t well understood as a comprehensive theatrical art form. Instead it conjures images of silly street performers getting stuck behind imaginary walls, following people around... That’s why, for the last decade plus, most of my work has been overseas.

A word of warning – it is really dangerous to give a mime an opportunity to speak. With that, here we go…

I live in New York City but work every summer at a music festival on the shores of Lake Como in the heart of Lombardy. Music fills every moment I’m there – chamber music, orchestral classics, jazz, improv. World class musicians from across the globe – fun-loving, crazy people who live and speak through their instruments, practicing hours every day, seeking always a humanly unachievable perfection. My instrument is my body. I speak through silence. And I work daily to be available to express physically the depths of human emotion. The musicians and I – we complement each other. Silent movement is musical. Without silence there is no music. Whether the sounds and movements are drawn from long ago, or are made up on the spot, they link the soul to the yearnings of the ages.

A month or so ago, Lombardy exploded with COVID-19. New York is three weeks or so behind their experience. My friends and colleagues there – the musicians, composers, conductors and music teachers, the university and civic leaders, the restaurant owners, vintners, shop keepers and workers – all have seen their seasons curtailed, tours cancelled, schools and businesses closed, vine tending imperiled, jobs gone. Every passing day muddles the images of what the future might look like. 

Close friends who are doctors in Milan, working in one of the world’s best national health care systems, simply put, have been overrun. But the music … the music is still there. The artists are still creating, practicing, performing – now, on social media from the confines of their homes. Still stirring the soul with the profound beauty that connects us to our common humanity. I long to collaborate with them again.

During a long period when performing opportunities were scarce for me, I had what many would call a day job that turned into a career. I was the Director of Video Production for the New York City Police Department. 

How I got there is a long story of happenstance, but that’s for another day. The position, which covered the entire Department, and my rank – the civilian equivalent of a chief – gave me a front row seat to the inner workings of the police department and an up-close-and-personal view of many on-the-ground operations, which my Video Production Unit would document for training, motivational and information videos, for both internal and external audiences. Besides a Super Bowl, national political conventions, U-N gatherings of world leaders, presidential and papal visits, the Thanksgiving Day Parade, New Year’s Eve in Times Square, Fourth of July Fireworks, dozens of cultural and religious festivals – you know, run-of-the-mill happenings that can turn a city of 8 and a half million on its head – besides all that, the Department was faced with many major events that tested the resolve of the City and the women and men sworn to protect it. 9/11. Anthrax. Ebola. SARS. Plane crashes. Line-of-duty deaths. And now COVID-19. 

My team of police officers and detectives – all assigned to the Video Production Unit for their experience as professional video producers – and I, responded to gather footage but also to produce videos to bring up-to-date, accurate information to the officers on the front lines. Good information, even if it’s bad news, is vital for the cops on the street. They see through “happy talk” in a heartbeat. As often as possible, I had street cops and supervisors present the information – people who had solid reputations among their peers as good cops who genuinely cared for their colleagues, cops you would want to partner with or to be your backup. They often appeared in videos with the Police Commissioner, other department leaders, and the Department’s top medical officer, the Supervising Chief Surgeon.

I experienced what most civilians would never even think about, or would never want to think about. 9/11 in particular touched the Video Production Unit. One of our members, an amazingly talented videographer with a great eye for the shot that defined a moment – the money shot – Police Officer Glen Pettit – was killed in the collapse of the South Tower. His body was found in mid-December. He was posthumously promoted to Detective. My heart breaks endlessly for his family, his friends, his colleagues, for my Unit, for the Department … for myself and for the effect his death had on my own family. Many other friends died that day, and I’ve lost many more friends among the hundreds who have died since then of 9/11-related diseases.

I remain profoundly impressed. When all others run from, the cops run toward. They are the tip of the spear for all first responders. They respond and act, they secure a scene and maintain order.

Today’s pandemic is a new kind of challenge for the NYPD. The virus is a pervasive danger, but it can’t be seen. There is no perimeter to be established, no Ground Zero to be cordoned off, no hot zone to contain. It’s everywhere – even among its own ranks. Thousands have been infected and sickened. And death has again sought out heroes for their final tours. 

For so many of us, life has come to a standstill. No work. Confined to homes. But for the police, for all first responders, the work continues to grow. By the hour. Exponetially. And as the workload grows, so does the tension and, yes, the fear. And the effects of that last a lifetime. 

Yet the cops continue their duties – protecting neighborhoods and infrastructure, getting guns off the street, delivering babies, securing sensitive facilities. When they get sick, others in administrative and specialized assignments - a member of the Video Production Unit among them – ditch their civilian clothes and get in uniform –  “in the bag” – to take their places. Not happily maybe – who would be? – but dutifully for sure.

And behind every single one of them is a family. Parents, siblings, spouses, children. People who care for them, love them, put up with them – who are nervous, worried and sometimes terrified. 

This isn’t a romantic movie with a happy ending every day. This is a daily struggle. Families sacrifice every day – late for dinner, missed birthdays, stood up anniversary dates, not seeing each other sometimes for weeks at a time. Some relationships crack under the weight of it, some crumble. 

But it is a constant story about ordinary people doing extraordinary things, people who go to work every day with an opportunity to make the world a better place. Some don’t measure up, some don’t belong there – known among the ranks as the knuckleheads. The ones who do measure up, the ones who do belong there, the every day women and men of law enforcement, they make a difference in our lives every day.  Trying to imagine a world without them is more frightening than the virus.

I do have to admit, part of me misses being in and around the action. There’s no doubt about it – the adrenaline rush is a high. It takes away momentarily the recognition of danger. When it subsides, your knees shake and your stomach spins. And you are left with a binding and sublime camaraderie. And then the next day the cops go out and do it again.

In the last few years I’ve developed with the Italian violinist, Francesco Senese, a visual interpretation of Belá Bartók’s Sonata for Solo Violin. It’s called Bartók / Apocalypse Man. I always knew it was a piece for our era, but I never imagined it would be prescient, that it was an encapsulation of our current worldwide condition. The music struggles to find hope. The fully integrated mime piece presents a man – alone – trying to stay sane – remembering a more beautiful time – looking to see if there are others – finally discovering a small sign of hope. My work with the NYPD infuses the man. His actions, his searching, his desolation, his hope reflect my experiences next to the women and men in blue, and all the people whose work supports them, as they face the uncertainty that lies underneath every seemingly routine event.

Today, our front line workers – cops, firefighters, doctors, nurses, ambulance drivers, delivery people, grocery workers, sanitation workers, postal workers – they are our signs of hope, the heroes of our day. And so are the artists who’ve dedicated their lives to communicating beauty, humanity and hope, who seek truth in dire circumstances, who soothe and lift up all of us and point the way to our better selves. The first responders and the artists – they complement each other. 

Don’t ever take any of them for granted. 

Originally published by The Prismatist, an online magazine.