AP Photo/Wilfredo Lee
I never met the Cuban trumpet player Pedro Knight. I just purchased, through intermediaries, the co-op apartment that he shared for a short time with his professional and life’s partner, the salsa diva Celia Cruz. They moved here when she was ill and needed a place without stairs. She died here in 2003. When we first looked at the apartment, it still contained their furniture, including a white grand piano, as well as a photo of them smiling together.
I was saddened when I heard he was very ill, because all the goodwill that he and his wife had generated while they were here became very palpable to me as I got to know people in my building, who seemed to treat us more warmly because we inhabited the apartment of these special people. Some of their aura rubbed off on us for a while. Workers were in awe of being in the same rooms that they had inhabited, and appreciated the fact that we appreciated their musical accomplishments.
I keep displayed in my office one of Celia’s wigs that got left behind, below which I’ve propped up one of her CDs, “Celia Cruz & Friends,” showing her performing in what appears to be a very similar, if not the same, wig. She was famous for her extensive wardrobe of headgear, and left a whole drawer full, before her belongings were removed to make way for our less colorful garb.
By all accounts, she and husband Pedro were inseparable and deeply in love. He was the firm foundation that made possible her high-flying life. He died Saturday in California, at 85.