Opera in the Saloon

The lined, grave-faced old Italians come to roll bocce balls for 30-c- a game in the indoor courts behind the bar, or to drink a poncino (coffee laced with brandy) and play long, silent games of pinochle. But now and then the pinochle stops in mid-meld, and the bocce bowlers push through the swinging door into the bar to stand watching the small stage. Occasionally, as a mark of highest respect, the old men take off their hats.

What attracts them is the same lure that brings steady crowds of tourists and local fans to the De Luxe Bocce Ball Court, a none-too-plush bar in San Francisco's Italian district: operatic arias and duets, spiritedly and sometimes expertly sung. Most performers are part-time professionals--old opera hands in semiretirement or music students who work and take lessons during the day, sing several nights a week at the bar. There is no honky-tonk hanky-pank at the Bocce; the men, in white shirts and black string ties, and the women, in flowered skirts and modest blouses, sit stiffly on the tiny stage, waiting their turns to line out La donna e mobile or Un bel di. The audiences come to hear music, and they listen with attention, shush fiercely at loud-crowing pub crawlers.

Individualistic Crew. Owner Mario Peironi provides accordion accompaniments, tends bar occasionally, takes time out to frisk departing bocce bowlers (who sometimes go west with the expensive balls). He also superintends his singers, who are an individualistic crew. Most independent of the lot: Tenor Armido Lembi, a 35-year-old worker in a chocolate factory, who draws bravos when he sings but refuses to show up more than once a week. Says exasperated Impresario Peironi: "God gave him a great gift, and he won't use it. I even offered him a job as bartender, just so he'd be in the place. He said, 'Mario, there is wickedness in your eye. If I'm here, you'll make me sing.'" Explains Lembi: "I like to let loose on Friday nights. Other nights, no."

Typical of Peironi's girl singers is pretty, promising Soprano Dawn Nielson, 23, who sings three nights a week--all her music teacher will allow. This winter she got as far as the finals of the local Metropolitan Auditions. Pet of the Bocce is onetime La Scala Basso Antonio Meloni, who rooms across the street from the bar, has played pinochle there nearly every day since it opened in 1939. Basso Meloni, 81. arrives each morning at 10, stays all day, takes a short nap after dinner, brushes his shoulder-length white hair and returns for the evening. He sings at the drop of a bocce ball, joins Peironi's troupe at least once a night.

Glorious Moment. Stars from the San Francisco or Metropolitan Opera appear from time to time in the audience, occasionally join in an aria or two. So far, none has provided the hoped-for Hollywood fadeout to the Bocce story by discovering a great new singer. But the Bocce has had at least one glorious moment: five years ago, with 3,300 tickets sold for a Pacific Opera performance of Pagliacci, Tenor Ernest Lawrence phoned to say he was too sick to sing Canio. Two hours before curtain time, Director Arturo Casiglia reached Bocce Tenor Arthur Peters, zipped him into the costume of Leoncavallo's tragic clown, gave him a pointer or two on acting and propelled him onstage. He did fine, got warm critical notices.

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