28 minute read
MUSIC & ARTS
FASHIONS FIT FOR A QUEEN
Designer Kenny Bonavitacola reflects on his custom couture for Aretha Franklin
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by John Nacchio
Kenny Bonavitalcola, the South Philly born and New York based fashion designer, and a PRH Blue Sapphire Award winner, recently celebrated the release of the new Aretha Franklin biopic Respect by talking to me about his time designing outfits for the Queen of Soul herself. The movie, starring Jennifer Hudson as Aretha, concentrates on the singer’s early years, prior to Kenny becoming an exclusive designer for all her concert attire. Respect is available to rent now on Amazon Prime Video.
Q: Many people do not get the opportunity to meet or work with famous people. How did you meet Aretha and become her designer?
a: In January 2001, I received a call from my friend and former business partner, Ira Rosenfeld. He had become friends and a business associate of Aretha Franklin. The Queen of Soul was going to be honored by VH1 with a live television special, VH1 Divas Live: The One and Only Aretha Franklin. It was to take place at Radio City Music Hall on April 10, 2001. As such, Ms. Franklin would need an extensive wardrobe that included pieces for her performance plus the receptions before and after the show. She was very clear that this would require made-toorder pieces on a couture level and that she wanted to collaborate with a designer. She asked Ira if he could introduce her to a designer and act as a liaison. Ira immediately thought of me, knowing that I had the expertise required for this project. What he did not realize was that I had the qualifications, but not the time. I had just started a very time-consuming position and had to decline taking on the project. My friend asked me to reconsider. I requested 24 hours of reflection.
It happens to be that I’ve always had an affinity for dressing very curvy women. To anyone who knows my South Philadelphia roots, they are aware of my father’s sister, Aunt Marion. She was my most avid fan and supported my dream to become a fashion designer. Aunt Marion was (as they would describe her back then) “big
boned.” In my teens, I would design many of her special occasion gowns. My maternal grandmother, an accomplished dressmaker, Elizabeth Scopi, would make them from my sketches. Aunt Marion passed away in July 2000. I was heartbroken. But I knew how proud she was of me. I needed to muster up the tenacity to continue moving forward toward the path of realizing her dreams for me. On the way home that evening, I stopped in a bookstore. Low and behold I happened upon the Aretha Franklin autobiography, From These Roots. The opening page read, ‘Aretha Louise Franklin was born on March 25, 1942, in Memphis TennesMUSIC see.’ March 25th was my Aunt Marion’s birthday. I had to take on the project!
Q: Can you share a personal interaction moment revealing a bit of what Aretha was like?
a: I’ve many memorable moments with Aretha Franklin. Many took place during the fitting process. There are times when a couture fitting could take hours on end, and they require patience and stamina
from the client. It always astonished me that no matter how tired she may have been, there was never a time where she was not focused and willing to respect the process by giving her undivided attention to details. Although she was demanding, she knew what she was talking about. During the fitting process, while my technical team was busy making adjustments, I would find myself chatting with Aretha about our mutual love of classic films and the costumes in them, on Turner Classic Movies, as well as her favorite singers. She was a big Bette Davis fan. So am I. Along with Aretha Franklin, my two favorite singers are Barbra Streisand and Judy Garland. I was a bit surprised when she told me they were her favorites, too. ‘I’ve never heard either one of them sing a false note!” she told me.
On a personal note, the story that always brings tears to my eyes is from 2006. Aretha was appearing at Caesars in Atlantic City. Since my parents have a home close by in Longport, I asked her management to see if it was possible for me to attend one of the concerts with my mother and father. Aretha told her people to give me as many tickets as I wanted and that she would like to meet my parents after the show. I was also told that she gave explicit instructions that no one was allowed backstage that night except my guests and me! Needless to say, my parents were ecstatic. We, along with my sister and brother-in-law, were escorted backstage to meet The Queen. My mother extended an invitation for Aretha to come back to our house for White House Subs cheesesteaks and hoagies. She declined, saying, ‘Oh, thank you! I love me a good Philly cheesesteak, but I’m watching my waistline!’ And then - this is the part that always gets me choked up - as she got up to walk to her limousine, she looked straight in my parents’ eyes and said, ‘You did good.’ My father has since passed but knowing that Aretha Franklin said those words about me to him will live on in my heart forever.
Q: What were her favorite pieces that you designed for her? Where are the dresses now?
a: The answer here is what is better known as a ‘no brainer.” Over the 15+ years that I was Aretha’s exclusive designer for all her concert gowns plus a few cocktail dresses I created – the white silk satin faced organza ruffled jacket and matching mermaid gown that I designed (and stitched myself) for her triumphant return to Los Angeles’ Greek Theatre in 2004 was her personal favorite. I know this because upon putting on the pieces in our final fitting, she exclaimed, ‘Kenny, I doubt that you’ll ever top this! I responded with, ‘Maybe. But that won’t stop me from trying!’ And for all the years that followed, it became a running ‘joke’ between us. I would ask her, “So, how about this one? Does it top the white ruffled number?” ‘Close. But no cigar!’ she replied.
As to where the approximately 30+ pieces that I designed for Aretha Franklin are presently – the person that they were bequeathed to recently informed me – in storage. It has not been decided yet what is to be done with them. I have heard that there are auction houses, along with museums, that are interested in them. I hope that someday in the near future, I will be asked to view them in an effort to assess whether or not some of them need any restoration.
Q: What did Aretha think of Jennifer Hudson?
a: Jennifer Hudson’s American Idol audition song was a cover of Aretha’s “Share Your Love With Me.” During the 2014 season, when Jennifer Hudson was a contestant on American Idol, Aretha and I would discuss Jennifer’s abilities. She had nothing but praise for her. She’d say, ‘It doesn’t matter if she wins or not. That girl’s got it!’
Jennifer Hudson was voted off in seventh place. A few days following that night, I was on my way to a fitting with Aretha Franklin in NYC. Jennifer was in town doing the talk show circuit. As I turned a corner, holding the garment bag with Aretha’s gown in it, there stood Jennifer Hudson. I would normally never approach a celebrity on the streets of NYC, but this was one occasion where I simply could not resist. I apologized if I was invading her privacy, then explained that I was Aretha’s designer and that the gown in the bag was for Aretha. She responded, ‘Oh! It is not. You are not!’ I said, ‘I know. Sometimes I can’t believe it myself. But I am!’ I added, “Someday in the future, I would love to design something for you!’ ‘Well. ALL RIGHT!’ she exclaimed. Then we were both on our separate ways.
On August 11, 2021, 17 years after that chance meeting, the film’s incomparable costume designer, Clint Ramos, invited me to the NYC premier. Upon entering the after party, standing alone in front of me was Jennifer Hudson. Realizing that within seconds she’d undoubtedly be surrounded by a gaggle of fans, I wasted not a moment. I walked right up to her. She grabbed my hand as if we had known each other forever! To call her gracious and welcoming would be a gross understatement. I introduced myself then recalled, never expecting her to remember, the first time we met in 2004. I reminded her of my desire to design something for her. Although it was quite noisy, I could swear she said the same thing as the first time I expressed my wish to design for her… ‘Well. ALL RIGHT!’ Whether or not this will come to fruition – I’ve no idea. But the intention is out there in the Universe now.
Q: What’s next in your career?
a: First and foremost, on my agenda for 2022 is a retrospective of my work from 1977 through the present day. The title of the installation is Kenny Bonavitacola REFLECTING FORWARD. I’m in the process of amassing as many of my vintage pieces as possible. The exhibition will launch at a venue in New York City with the goal to move it in the Fall of 2022 to a venue in Philadelphia. As well, I’m creating Haute Couture pieces that reflect the influences that my past designs have on these new designs.
Also, I am developing an original musical play entitled, “WOW!” inspired by the lives of a group of friends who moved from Philadelphia to New York City in the mid 1970s to pursue their dreams of ‘making it’ in the worlds of fashion, beauty, art and theatre. The sets, costumes, lighting and multi-media effects will create a visually compelling theatrical experience. The arc of the libretto spans over 50 years, from 1960 to present day NYC. PRH
PRH WRITERS BLOCKThe Curse of Byberry Asylum
by DAVID W. CAVA
Fear has a way of taking hold as it washes over you. Shallow breathing, rapid heart rate combined with a splash of adrenalin is your body’s way of preparing you to run. Nervous energy, along with a heightened awareness of our surroundings, amplified the sounds of the night as we ventured onward, crunching over dried leaves towards our macabre destination. I grew up a few miles from the Philadelphia State Hospital at Byberry. Byberry was a psychiatric hospital in Northeast Philly that opened its doors back in 1907 with the best of intentions to assist the mentally and criminally insane. Lack of funding, scathing reports of mistreatment and deplorable living conditions, among other things, led to its shutdown in the late eighties. With more than 50 buildings, most of which connected via underground passageways, it seemed like a perfect place to go exploring at the time. At the time - no one warned us of the Curse of Byberry Asylum. Nor did anyone warn us that nightmares were real.
Mischief night was as good a time as any to explore our deepest fears. Tortured screams followed by childish laughter joined the choir of muffled voices echoing incoherently inside and outside our heads. As we ventured through the darkness, we suspected we were being followed. Autumn’s crisp evening air crept through my dungaree jacket finding an uncomfortable resting place directly on my spine. In the shadowy glow of a harvest moon, whispers thick as cigarette smoke regaled the troops with stories of neglect, torture and Satanic worship inside the asylum. Trying my best to shake the chill of October from my body, I questioned which of the vacant buildings we would enter first.
Those fortunate enough to grow up in the ’80s are the product of what I’ll gratefully describe as out of sight, out of mind free-range parenting. Don’t ask, don’t tell was a common theme from my generation. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for parents to be somewhat unaware of what their children were doing once they left the house. In fact, everything was fine and dandy. Even when their kids were off confronting their inner darkness inside a house of horrors. All was well as long as they were home by curfew and didn’t track mud across the carpet.
We shivered and shook our way from room to room inside the asylum. We swore never to speak about what we witnessed. In the distance, we heard a door slam and the shattering of glass and then we were gone. Back home, sleep eluded me as I laid in my comfortable bed, wide-eyed under several layers of warm sheets. In the proceeding weeks, my imagination created
some scary scenarios of what might have happened in those rooms. I often wonder how much worse it really was. I have little doubt that Byberry was haunted by hundreds of restless souls that were mistreated, tortured, and experimented on over the years. Stranger things and unexplainable happenings were well-documented by hospital staff and Philly Police over its 70 years in operation. WRITERSBLOCK I realized some years later that what followed me and my friends on that evening and throughout our childhood wasn’t the Curse of Byberry Asylum, but the freedom to explore our creativity. Whether we were building tree forts, racing go-carts, making movies, or holding our annual spook house, my friends and family always provided the spark needed to ignite creativity’s fiery blaze. At times, I try to keep it at bay, but it digs and scratches at me until I let it out to feed. Happy Halloween. PRH
Celebrating Thanksgiving Italian the way
by Josephine B. Pasquarello JosephineBPasquarello@gmail.com
The “City of Brotherly Love” is known for the Liberty Bell, the Mummer’s Parade, and is home for many Italians that sailed across the ocean in search of a better life. Proud of their new home and even more proud of their history, they combine traditions to show their Italian American heritage.
Today is Thursday, November 26, 1959. Thanksgiving Day! The entire family is busy WRITERSBLOCK in the kitchen. Glancing in the oven, my mother and sisters are laughing at how big the turkey is, but once the smell of the sage and poultry seasonings begins to escape, we all breathe in at once. During that small silence, my stomach begins to growl, and everyone looks at me and begins to laugh.
I head back to the table to finish my breakfast with some of my brothers and sisters. Next to our table is the working table where my oldest four sisters are making the dough and the filling for the raviolis. We younger kids are being told by our bossy sister, Trudy, to hurry and eat because they need our table for the homemade food. George and John go over to the pot on the stove for another meatball before Trudy and Christine throw them out of the kitchen.
Growing up in a 2nd genera-
tion Italian home was all about love, respect, loyalty, and most importantly, food! We are always eating. My mother makes everything from scratch with love. It is just as much fun making homemade Italian food as it is to eat it.
Grace is calling out to us kids from the living room, “The Gimbels Parade is on the television.” To prove her point, she turns the volume up on the television, once we run in to watch it. She says, “This parade has been around since 1920.” We stop paying attention to her as we see the beautiful costumes with all the bright colors.
My favorite part of the parade is the end when I get to see Santa. We all sing, “Santa Clause is Coming to Town,” as we watch him climb the ladder and go into Gimbels store to enter Toyland. He is busy till Christmas making all the toys with his elves. I always think to myself, I better be good or Santa won’t like me. But with 12 kids and my father dying four years ago, my mom can’t buy us toys. That’s okay with me, I have my family. However, when I get old enough to work, I am going to buy everything I want.
You can smell the meatballs and braciole cooking in the pot of gravy. Today is going to be a feast in our Italian American house. I run into the kitchen, grab a piece of crusty Italian bread, and let it soak up the gravy and pop it into my mouth. That’s the best! Trudy sees me and yells, “Get out of the kitchen unless you want to help!” I couldn’t get out of there any quicker than I did!
My brothers are yelling at Carmella, Antoinette, and Anna. “When the football game comes on the television, it belongs to us! So, enjoy your parade while you can.” Our brothers love to torment us four younger sisters. Our older sisters would knock them out if they gave them any lip.
When my sisters start to argue with them, John says, “We have to watch the football game, it’s a tradition!” He puts his hand up to silence us and says, “The first Thanksgiving football game took place here in Philly in 1869!” My other brothers nod their heads at us to bring home John’s point. Carmella stamps her foot and says, “Who cares!” But Carmella doesn’t get far with them. John and George tell her to shut up and now she’s crying. She always cries when she argues with them. I just watch and laugh because she doesn’t know when to be quiet.
Mom is calling, “Carmella, Josephine, Antoinette and Anna! Your sisters need your help.” We all run in the kitchen like soldiers! We all have a spot to stand at by the table, just like a pasta factory. I get to put the ricotta on the pasta. I love this job because at the end, I get to eat some of the ricotta. And oh my, it is so tasty with the parmesan cheese in it.
The boys are all yelling because their team is losing. Ralph’s cursing at the television. I quietly go over to John on the couch and sit next to him. He looks down at me and I give him an innocent smile and call him a “sissy boy!” I see his eyes widen when he realizes what I said to him, and I jump up to run upstairs. I feel a shoe fly by my head and start to laugh because I know he purposely missed me. My brothers would never hurt one of us girls.
Mom comes out into the living room and says the words we have all been waiting for, “It’s time to eat.” The three tables are set. First, our Italian food is put out on the tables. I am in the dining room sitting next to John. He is always fun to sit next to because he always has a joke to tell. He just makes me laugh even when he isn’t talking. I eat ravioli, meatballs, salad, and bread. Next comes the turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, and most importantly, the roll with melted butter! It wasn’t Thanksgiving without these rolls.
Mom comes out with roasted chestnuts and red wine. For dessert, pizzelles with anise seeds, and pumpkin pie. I have the pumpkin pie because I am American now.
As I sit and watch everyone enjoying themselves, I am filled with happiness.
Every time I think of this memory, I feel so happy and thank God for everything he has given us. Especially my Mother.
Happy Thanksgiving! PRH
Teri Lombardo
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BARBERSHOP TALK
B A R B E R S H O P TA L K H F D . O R G
Salute to Good Neighbors
To be a good neighbor, respect for the highest form of life, a human being, is essential. Unlike material things in this world, the loss of a human life is irreplaceable.
At Woodard’s Barbershop, on the corner of Bryn Mawr and Lebanon Avenues, we have “Barbershop Talk,” where we work on the head and in the head. We experience the miracle of many gifts by bringing wisdom and knowledge WRITERSBLOCK together to witness the creation of an explosion of our universe called understanding. In all our getting in this life, we should all seek the gift of more understanding. Thinking outside the box allows us to see where we really are in the present. We live on earth, yet earth lives in space. Hence, the question becomes, “So where do we really live?”
We are all one big family in the vastness of a wonderful place called space. With that thought in mind, ask yourself, “How do you view race? Is it singular or plural to you?” This
by Robert L. Woodard The Wynnefield Barber
question makes you pause to think. Yet, in your heart and soul, you already know the answer is singular, not plural. The reason for your hesitation to answer the question is because we all have been taught to believe that there is more than one race. This divisive way of thinking has divided us as human beings. The future of our children depends on how we teach them in the present.
The fighting we see around the world and on the streets of this nation is happening because we are not taught to regard the value of what it really means to be a human being. All forms of life on earth deserve esteem, but we first must start with ourselves. We must learn to respect ourselves as “One Race.” Then, we as “One Family” can start to teach all children of our future how to save life and not take life. Seeing our race as singular not plural opens a new door of thought with our seniors and our youth, to love your neighbors, around the world and in every community, as you love yourself. Hence, if you change your thoughts, you can truly change the whole world.
I respect and salute all good neighbors of every color, shape, and size, in every neighborhood, because each one reflects what we can be. Loving our neighbors, as we love ourselves, puts the ultimate value on human life. By educating our youth equally and properly, we can help our society remove systemic educational discrimination in our public schools. Each child deserves an opportunity for a fair and just quality education. Good neighbors can change the world for the better. I salute them because they are the glue that holds communities tightly together and they help to bring our communities out of darkness into light. Remember, the truth is light, and the truth will set an entire community free of violence.
We recently observed the 20th year remembrance of 911, where I lost one of my best neighbors, Mr. Kevin Bowser, who worked at the World Trade Center. Kevin will forever be an example of what a good neighbor should and can be.
Take the “RACE Test” today for a better way at www.BarbershopTalkHFD.org. PRH
life Puzzlement is a
by Jim Gildea
Not everybody thinks the way you think, knows the things you know, believes the things you believe, or acts the way you would act. Remember this and you will go a long way in getting along with people. -Arthur Forman
In June of 2014, I said goodbye and thank you to my 43rd – and final – group of English classes, as well as Room 113, at Neumann-Goretti High School. I then positioned myself the following September two doors down the hallway for several hours a day during the next four years in our Guidance Office, as a way of dipping my toes slowly into the waters of full retirement.
During my final year that was spent overseeing the progress of transfer and first year students, I had cemented the decision to downsize from two residences to one in order to spend my retirement in Longport, New Jersey, when 2018’s academic year came to an end. I am now poised to tackle my fourth winter at the shore. Swinging on the pendulum between the soothing peacefulness and biting isolation that living at the beach conjures up during the off-season months, I have come to adjust both my expectations and my routine. One of my morning distractions involves online crossword puzzles. I have managed to boost my vocabulary while the wintry winds whip around my house, as well as strive to erase a significant imperfection in my character. Many crossword clues have more than one sense, part of the craftiness of the skilled folks who piece together these pastimes. I might
interpret a prompt one way, such as assuming that “bridge term” refers to a card game, to discover that it’s not the intention of Merl Reagle or Barb Olson, realizing as I tackle their other puns and word plays that I am to view bridge as something cleaned by Polident. If I want to enjoy the satisfaction of completing a puzzle, it’s really not about WRITERSBLOCK how I interpret the clues, is it? A good friend of mine cautioned me that my biggest problem is expecting people to think and act the way I think they should think and act. I see that such a mindset stands in the way of tackling any crossword puzzle. More so, I work to continue reminding myself that I must approach the words and actions of my friends and family in precisely the same way. PRH
The Ultimate Sneaker
by Charlie Sacchetti
It is safe to say that there were very few, if any, people in my Southwest Philly neighborhood that could be called “bluebloods.” Very few dukes and earls worked in the factories of Westinghouse and General Electric, the two largest employers in our area. What my neighborhood could boast, however, were hundreds of hardworking, honest, and moral men who carried their lunch buckets each day and gave 100% to the jobs that allowed them to provide for their families. In the ’50s, when I was a kid, things were different. Mothers rarely worked outside the home. They
were too busy caring for their kids and handling the endless business of managing the home. These capable women generally did a wonderful job and I’m proud to say that my mother was one of them. Like most factory workers, my dad never made a lot of money. At the Westinghouse plant in Lester, PA, he was a member of the Electrical Union and wages depended on the current terms of the contract. Back in those days, like now, salaries were never quite enough to put one on “easy street.” Therefore, it was incumbent upon Mom to make every dollar stretch.
Boy, she sure could do that.
I distinctly remember Mom buying Welch’s grape juice. She realized that drinks like lemonade and grapeade were part juice, part water, so she cut out the middleman by mixing one part water with four parts Welch’s. The result was 25% more volume of a tastier drink as compared to the others. However, I must confess: On the QT, I would pour a few ounces of the high test into a cup and enjoy the juice as nature intended it.
Mom always knew which stores had the best prices for the assorted items
she needed. Vic’s Cold Cuts, at 64th Street and Buist Avenue, was the place to go for lunchmeat. Vic’s wife ran the store and was a true believer in her products. The rolls of Genoa salami, ham and provolone were no match for the slicer and her agile hands. The best part of the slicing process was when she would help herself to a fresh piece of salami and give you one, too. No doubt this practice was done only in the interest of quality control! WRITERSBLOCK The Acme, on the corner of 65th Street and Elmwood, was the best supermarket, while Al’s was the butcher shop of choice at 64th Street and Dicks Avenue. Now, I must note here that Mom didn’t drive, so while we were at school, she had to walk to all these places and carry the bags. She and the other neighborhood mothers were happy to make that sacrifice to guarantee the best values for their families. So, knowing the frugality of
dear Mom, it was with some trepidation that, at the age of 12, I approached her with an idea.
I was a kid who was always outside playing sports. Day in, day out, if given a chance, outside I would be. Like most kids my age, I was very tough on footwear, especially sneakers. Mom would buy me a pair of PF Flyers or the like, and they would only last me three weeks or so before my big toe saw daylight! About this time, I became aware of the sneaker of all sneakers: Converse Chuck Taylor All Stars.
Aside from looking great, they were reputed to wear like iron and help you perform to your athletic pinnacle. Every NBA basketball player wore Chuck Taylors, as did just about every college player. Simply put, they were the best, but I knew I would have to overcome one big hurdle if I hoped to successfully persuade Mom to buy me a pair. PF Flyers cost about $3. Converse sneakers cost almost $9.
After being extra sweet for a whole week and getting into no trouble, whatsoever, I decided to open my proposal by giving Mom a big hug and telling her how much I loved her. At that point, she knew something was up, but her little Sicilian smile told me I had a shot. I promised her that the Converse high-tops would last me at least six months because of their superior workmanship. I vowed to take extra-good care of them. No running through puddles, tree climbing, etc. Then I delivered the clincher.
Our neighbor was the manager of the South Philadelphia Boys Club at Broad Street and Oregon Avenue. He had a contact at a large sporting goods store on Spring Garden Street in Center City and could arrange for us to get a discount on the sneakers. Mom would pay $7.25 instead of $9. To my relief, all my points were well-received, and she said, “Yes.”
I have shared the next part of the story with my kids as one of the best examples of how a parent can teach her child a valuable lesson while demonstrating sacrifice and love.
On a very hot August day, Mom and I hopped on the number 36 trolley car to City Hall and walked eight blocks to the sporting goods store. The total trolley fare for both of us was 88 cents. I got my sneakers. Including the trolley fare, we saved about 90 cents on the transaction. What did I learn that day as a 12-year-old? I learned that if you can present your case in a way that makes sense, you have a good chance of prevailing. I learned that even limited funds might be spent if the cost can be justified. Lastly, I learned that seeing the smile on my face was worth far more to Mom than that 90 cents.
Charles Sacchetti is the author of two books, It’s All Good: Times and Events I’d Never Want to Change and Knowing He’s There: True Stories of God’s Subtle Yet Unmistakable Touch. Both are available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble and other online outlets. Contact him at Worthwhilewords21@gmail.com. PRH
SAINTS NEUMANN GORETTI
C e l e b r a t i n g 8 6 Y e a r s o f C a t h o l i c S e c o n d a r y E d u c a t i o n i n S o u t h P h i l a d e l p h i a N o w a c c e p t i n g a p p l i c a t i o n s f o r t h e 2 0 2 1 - 2 0 2 2 S c h o o l Y e a r ! N e u m a n n G o r e t t i H S . o r g / A p p l y
