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Pat took two lessons a day with Herman for ten days, then went home to Spokane to ponder what she was getting into. Three months later, her mind made up, she moved to New York with her mother.
Teacher Herman had seen that Patrice had the makings of a coloratura—the aerial acrobat among singers.* Her voice was a little heavier than the usual coloratura's but it was clear and agile, with a strong F at the top. Moreover, she was the right physical type: energetic and quick-moving, and her voice "trilled and bounced, zinged and bubbled even when she talked." Herman's program for her, six days a week: a voice lesson from 10:30 to noon; operatic coaching, 1 to 3; Italian lesson, 3 to 4; French lesson, 4 to 5; another voice lesson, 5 to 6. He also gave her a list of reading in history and literature, and arranged for her to take fencing ("Nothing like it for stance and poise"). Three years and thousands of lessons later, she was ready to try out for the Met Auditions of the Air.
Champagne in the Daytime. The day her chance came, Patrice was dressed in saddle shoes, ankle socks, sweater and skirt, and heavy glasses (she is very nearsighted), and her long black hair was a tangled mass. There was no time to change; she crammed on a cloche hat and went as she was.
While Met Conductor Wilfred Pelletier watched her from the control booth, she sang the Mad Scene from Lucia di Lammermoor. When she finished, he asked her to take off her hat and glasses so he could get a better look at her. After two more arias, Patrice was voted straight into the auditions. Before the winners were officially announced a month later, Patrice and her mother were invited to Conductor Pelletier's apartment. Says Pat: "He served champagne, and when I drank champagne in the daytime, I knew something had happened."
Are You Ready? Patrice's debut on Dec. 4, 1943 was an event that neither General Manager Edward Johnson nor Patrice herself will soon forget. She was cast as the bravura coloratura Philene in Mignon, with Risë Stevens as Mignon and James Melton as Wilhelm Meister; Sir Thomas Beecham was in the pit. The Times's Olin Downes stormed next day: "She was cruelly miscast in . . . one of the most exacting roles in the coloratura soprano's repertory. Her performance was not at Metropolitan standards ; . . She is comely and has charm. She has flexibility and range. But the voice will have to be treated very carefully, and [she] will find it advisable to go slow before imposing upon it burdens which . . . can bring her disaster instead of ultimate success."
Who was responsible for putting an unripe 18-year-old on the Met stage—one of the youngest singers ever to make a Met debut?* Teacher Herman admits that "it all got a bit out of hand." But "it's like studying medicine and then hanging out your shingle. Are you ready? There is so much still to learn, but if you don't start that day, you never start. I've decided that you are ready for any occupation when people are ready to pay you for it."
Says Patrice herself: "The critics didn't tell me to go home, and I was thankful for that."