Honoring Pop and His Palace of Latin Soul in the Bronx (continued) |
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One man who took the song to heart was Wallace I. Edgecombe, the director of the Hostos arts center, who helped organize the celebration with Mario A. Torres Productions. Mr. Edgecombe said the idea was born not of bad news - Mr. Amadeo is in good health and has no plans to retire - but of a feeling that the time was right to salute a record store owner, composer, guitarist, Latin music scholar, husband, father and Bronx resident for a life lived sweetly, gently, like the romantic ballads for which he is known. "It's time," Mr. Edgecombe said. "This guy has just contributed too much." |
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Jessica Dimmock for The New York Times
Miguel Amadeo, left, with Charlie Gonzalez, an employee, in the back of Casa Amadeo in the South Bronx. |
The proprietor of Casa Amadeo, distinguished-looking in bifocals and salt-and-pepper hair and mustache, has made the place live up to its name. It feels more like his home than his business. A large black-and-white photo of his father, Alberto Amadeo, a Puerto Rican composer known as Titi, adorns a wall leading to the back storage room, where a group of loyal customers often sit, sip rum from little plastic cups and listen to Mr. Amadeo strum a bolero, a soulful kind of ballad that is his specialty. Latin artists still call the store, asking him for boleros that they can record."He doesn't pat himself on the back," said Al Quinones, 49, a customer who runs a South Bronx community group called 52 People for Progress. "We do it for him."Mr. Quinones and other regulars have become friends to Mr. Amadeo, and they look upon him as a father figure, calling him Pop. Sometimes they answer the phone or help other customers. One young man stopped by a few weeks ago on his way to a job interview so Mr. Amadeo could help him get his tie just right. Randy Rivera, a security officer at Rockefeller Center who has been coming to the store about 10 years, painted Mr. Amadeo's portrait and gave it to him, unsolicited."I've seen people who come in that door, and once they start coming in they don't stop," said Mr. Rivera, 37. "And it's not the CD's he sells. It's the man."
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