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Hello, Rachel, Erik, Josh, and Karl, all the grandchildren. Please accept my tribute to Henri.
Sharon and I have had the wonderful pleasure to sit down recently for a meal with Ben and Rachel. A few months ago, I enjoyed talking with Sophie when she was making her fine documentary of Henri. I am honored and touched to be invited to be in the same company with his family and close friends and colleagues. I promise to limit my thoughts to only 7 h. Oops, I mean 7 min.
These are memories, not necessarily in any order.
Where do I begin? I Henri Parens was my non-blood brother.
I am guessing I first met Henri when I was 5 or 6 years old in Pittsburgh. During the last few decades, whenever I talked about Henri—and I have, to a lot of people—I called him my foster brother and then, increasingly, my brother. He called me his little brother and I called him my older brother. I knew him first as Henri Pruszinowski. Parens came later. My father, Donald, was very important to Henri. He always spoke about how grateful he was to Donald and the family, but mostly it was Donald who took him under his wing. The Wagners were the formal foster family when he arrived in Pittsburgh, and then he was with the Steinfirst family, as he got older. It should be noted that Mr. Wagner was not Jewish and a drove a bread truck. His family needs to be acknowledged, too.
There is not time to share all with you. Here are a few:
There are many stories to tell about Henri, some about our relationship and some about his relationship with our family and particularly with my father. Most of it is true but I will not be surprised if some of it is mythical.
1: My father, Donald. How they connected was, I was told, was he heard of a boy who wanted to be a classical singer, an opera singer. My father was the music critic of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette… and a prominent Jewish leader. During the last year at Carnegie Tech, now Carnegie-Mellon, where Henri studied voice, they had heart-to-heart talks. I remember Henri