As the tributes continue to pour out for Luciano Pavarotti, I hesitate to add mine, but I want to share a few of my thoughts about the great tenor.

I only heard him in person once, and that was sadly well past his prime, and I was in the very back of the American Airlines Center in Dallas, where I could barely see him. I did, however, see him live on television countless times. The first time was the first televised opera from the Met, "La Boheme" in 1977. I had no idea what I was witnessing at the time. I later heard that more people saw that broadcast than all the people who had ever seen La Boheme in person put together.

By the time I saw his live recital at the Met, I had begun to take voice lessons and had decided to pursue opera as my field. I still have a very bad cassette recording of that performance. I remember being spellbound. Not only was it such a great voice, but the ease with which he carried himself was amazing. He was completely committed to every phrase. When he held his arms open wide to receive the thundering ovation, it was as if he were embracing the audience.

The televised performance of Un Ballo in Maschera in 1980 was very special to me for a personal reason, as it led to my first significant romantic relationship in college. Oh, yeah, he was great in that, too. I listened to his recordings of the Verdi Requiem, Il Trovatore, Rigoletto, and countless aria albums again and again and again. I remember one aria album that had Nessun Dorma on it. I remember thinking, "That is the best tenor aria EVER." Then followed "Di Quella Pira" and I thought, "Except maybe for THIS."

What made him so special? He was not the greatest actor. I am the proud owner of his one "Hollywood" Film, "Yes, Giorgio." Deliciously bad, really, but fun nonetheless. His French was terrible. His style for anything other than 19th-century Italian opera was suspect. He sang with anybody and everybody, from Bocelli, to Sting, to Loretta Lynn and the Spice Girls. (It actually reminds me of that period in Muhammed Ali's career when he seemed to be on TV every week fighting some random person or other.)

Yet, he was a great ambassador for opera. He made it real, and fun. Not the stuffy "highbrow" form it had been for so long. He was instantly recognizable. He was lovable. Women I know who met him said his sex appeal was almost irresistable. When he walked onstage, the energy was palpable.

He will be missed, and I can't imagine we will see another like him in our lifetime.