Student of Voice Coach Who Was Killed in Chelsea Attack Recalls Her Beloved Mentor

It was last Friday, Sept. 29 and I trekked through the torrential rain to the Supreme Court in Lower Manhattan to attend the sentencing of the woman who killed my mentor, vocal coach, my friend Barbara Maier Gustern.

Court photographers sat in the jury box ready to capture the killer, 28 year-old Lauren Pazienza and her star attorney, Arthur Aidala. Behind closed doors the lawyer and his defendant were taking their time. The judge, the prosecutor, the court officers, everyone was waiting.

The night Barbara was killed, I waited for her at Joe’s Pub, a downtown music venue, where my mother was performing. She had cautioned Barbara not to come to the late 9 p.m. show. But Barbara wasn’t one to be scared. The 87-year-old vocal coach and singer from Indiana had lived in New York since the 1950s. She frequently went to the opera, the theater, to cabaret clubs. As I sat at the table, looking at my phone, wondering where she was, an ambulance was driving her to the emergency room.

Barbara left her apartment building on West 28th street roughly around 8:20 p.m. on March 10, 2022. On her way to catch a cab, according to court documents, Pazienza approached her from behind, and without any provocation, shoved Barbara to the ground. She hit her head on the pavement. The brain injury she suffered caused her death five days later.

The story shocked the city. Why would a young event planner from Long Island, who was celebrating an upcoming wedding with her fiancé and had been gallery hopping in Chelsea, push and kill an elderly woman she did not know?

I had attended every hearing since Pazienza’s arrest hoping to find some sort of explanation. From news reports and discussions in court, I learned that Pazienza had been intoxicated with wine and Xanax. A fit of rage prompted her to cross the street and push my friend. The mental evaluations were not disclosed. She was being held on Rikers Island without bail.

After 17 months Pazienza pleaded guilty to the first degree manslaughter charge. The judge and the attorneys agreed to an 8 year prison sentence followed by 5 years of supervised parole.

When Aidala and Pazienza finally walked into the courtroom on Friday, we heard about a new report. Pazienza had lied to a probation officer, saying she merely “ran” into Barbara. The prosecutor, Justin McNabney, asked to enhance the sentence to nine years.

“Not only did she make it seem like she simply bumped into Mrs. Gustern,” McNabney told the court, “she completely denied that she caused any injury to Mrs. Gustern whatsoever until police came looking for her and that is just blatantly false. We have video evidence,” he emphasized, “which shows her watching the ambulance from across the street minutes after she had shoved Mrs. Gustern to her death.”

Pazienza’s attorney jumped to her defense. The report was a summary of a conversation between an officer and his client. Aidala argued she was entitled to due process, no one knew if the probation officer took notes. “It’s eight sentences in a report,” he insisted, “eight sentences.”

I wondered if anyone noticed the silly pun: eight sentences in a written report threatened the eight year prison sentence Aidala had so fiercely negotiated. Barbara would have noticed it. She loved words. She gave the utmost attention to song lyrics. She mastered crossword puzzles, she played scrabble with her grandson, and she could get lost in alliterations.

She had asked my mother to seat us at the same table on that fateful night, because she wanted to talk about the book I was helping her with, a book she wished to publish, featuring her legendary Facebook posts.

During the pandemic, which Barbara endured alone in her Chelsea apartment on the 17th floor, she had written daily posts on Facebook. These short vignettes and ponderings comforted her 2,000 plus friends like daily readings from the Bible. She, who was living by herself since her husband had died, led her entire community through the devastating loneliness of the lockdown. She also walked up and down the 17 flights of stairs to stay in shape, she lifted weights every morning, and gave free voice lessons on Skype to anyone who signed up.

I thought about Barbara’s bottomless generosity as the attorneys haggled the punishment with their arguments. I had known her since I was a teenager. I celebrated Christmas at her house when my family was away and spent numerous birthdays with her. She was the person I strive to be. She had the ability to listen to other people’s problems without answering with her own. You could come to her with an aching heart after a breakup, cry over a job you lost, or share the worry over a family member who had fallen ill. She never belittled problems. Instead she taught you to rise above the pain, to let the voice float above the hurt, above injuries and injustices, to embrace the sound of music and share it with the world.

Justice Felicia Mennin had received and read letters from Barbara’s friends, detailing the significance she had made in their lives.

“She supported her students as a vocal coach, she supported various arts groups, and the Holy Apostle Soup Kitchen,” Justice Mennin read from a statement she had prepared. “To each of these groups she gave unselfishly of her time and her talents.”

“Ms. Pazienza, your selfish, deliberate, intentional push, ”Justice Mennin continued, “caused an incalculable loss to so many people.” After referencing the “significant mental health treatment” Pazienza will receive during her incarceration, the judge went on to explain that she did not take the deliberation of the sentence lightly. “Justice and punishment need to be tempered by mercy and cannot merely be a reflection of” –here she stumbled over her notes–“Justice and punishment cannot merely be a reflection of a need for punishment.”

The judge added an extra six months to the eight years. In a courageous and heart wrenching statement, Barbara’s grandson, AJ Gustern, addressed Pazienza, “You are exceedingly lucky to receive the sentence that you have for extinguishing this life. I hope your time in prison changes you and that you dedicate your life to the service of others.”

He described to the court how he witnessed his mother being wheeled out on a stretcher after she died, when he was only ten years old. Barbara had raised him. And generous like she was, he said to Pazienza that if she “had acted with any kind of humanity at any point in the last year and half,” he may have even been on her side. “But you have done everything you possibly can to avoid responsibility. You spent a small fortune on your lawyer. You’ve gone so far as to blame your race for the severity of your sentence. That goes to show how ignorant you are.” He remained composed, when he added, “For now I curse you, Lauren Pazienza, for the rest of your days, may you be miserable.”

Aidala explained that he had advised his client not to apologize to Barbara’s family until the end of the case. Then he took another moment with Pazienza. I watched his hands move rapidly as he spoke in a low voice. “I am deeply sorry,” she sobbed. “If it was my grandmother, I would be broken and my life would be shattered.” Her tears seemed insincere.

Pazienza’s parents rushed out of the courthouse to avoid the press. I had encountered her father in the hallway earlier. “I pray for her every day,” he whispered to me. According to police reports, Pazienza hid at her parent’s home on Long Island for almost two weeks after the attack. Street cameras had captured her face and police circulated the images. An employee at her luxury apartment building in Astoria identified her. Only after officers knocked on her parent’s door at the Port Jefferson, NY, home did she surrender.

When I got home, I opened the book of Facebook posts I had printed and bound for Barbara to where she wrote:

“It’s an old story but one that bears repeating. Show your love and kindness NOW. You never know when you may not have the chance. Most of the things that irritate us are trivial. When they are no longer there, we miss them. It would be great to see Katie’s (her daughter) messy room or Joe’s (her husband) pants draped on the chair. Try to cultivate an acceptance of the unimportant things that bug you. It will leave more space in your heart for love.”