Grab the Hook

….continued from previous post....my second recollection of a ballet performance.

Dear Boo and Bubble,

For as long as I can remember, the leading publication covering the world of dance was one appropriately named Dance Magazine. Still published today, its articles inform readers on all aspects of the art, and its critiques can make or break the careers of individual dancers or the reputation of an entire company. I subscribed to Dance Magazine during my years with the Greenville Civic Ballet and, once every three months, looked forward to its arrival in the mail. The earlier editions contained reviews of such dancers as Maria Tallchief and Margot Fonteyn – then, as they came on the scene, international stars like Rudolph Nureyev. I read each issue from cover to cover.

Dance Magazine also offered reviews of civic companies written mostly by a woman named Doris Herring. At their fall meeting before my final year with Greenville Civic Ballet, the board of directors voted to extend an invitation to Ms. Herring to attend our annual spring performance. Previously, the only assessment of our talent had come from a local newspaper reporter who probably drew the short end of a straw in getting the assignment. The opportunity to be reviewed by a knowledgeable critic was both exhilarating and petrifying to the dancers. We waited with bated breath to learn whether or not she would accept.

Sometime before Christmas we received word that Ms. Herring would, in fact, attend. Mrs. McClellan called a special meeting right after the New Year to announce the program and ancillary events surrounding the occasion. Since the company wasn't large enough to present a full-length ballet, she decided to choreograph excerpts from some of the most well known scores. There were only five soloists. Mrs. McClellan picked music from the ballet Carmen for us.

We worked very hard over the next few months perfecting the steps and the Spanish stylization which required flicking fans open and shut at precisely the right moment. The music for the opening piece began with an orchestral flurry and Mrs. McClellan had all five of us entering the stage from the same side with commensurate fanfare. We made a large circle, left arms akimbo and right hands frantically working the fans until the music built to a crescendo, followed by an exaggerated pause. At that point, we came to the center and took a pose – one dancer straight up with arms overhead, two others on either side facing her in croise derriere, and the remaining two on one knee in front, mirror image. I was one of those on one knee.

Once the music started again, the five of us danced in unison until the piece ended. After that, each one of us had a solo until we all came back together for the grand finale.

Mrs. McClellan designed our costumes with red v-waisted bodices and wired red tulle tutus, all covered in black lace. The highly classical look was completed with a red flower pinned to the nape of the neck and a black ribbon around the neck. We were all very excited about costuming this sophisticated. None of us had ever worn a wired tutu before.

Rehearsals went well as the Saturday performance date approached in early May. On the Thursday and Friday nights before, we found ourselves once again in the Greenville High School auditorium for the final staging. Mrs. McClellan paid particular attention to the Carmen excerpts as they were the featured portion of the program. She was pleased with both our execution of the choreography and the effect of the costumes.

Met by a cadre of board members, Doris Herring arrived from New York at the new Greenville/Spartanburg airport on Saturday morning. They ferried her to the historic Poinsett Hotel on Main Street where she was to stay and where, at 1:00 PM, we all congregated for a luncheon in her honor.

There are few characters in my life that have sparked fear in me. Doris Herring was certainly one. In the retrospect of maturity, I'm sure it must have been the situation, but her severely erect body covered in an austere black suit draped in a canopy of scarf clutched to her bosom with a huge diamond brioche really broadcast intimidation. When she spoke at the luncheon, her words were probably gracious and benign. For me, and the other soloists, however, it came out a little differently. She represented our chief judge and artistic executioner.

That night, as we gathered in our classroom at the high school to dress, our emotions quivered between nerves and excitement. We fussed about with our makeup, hair and costumes. It seemed forever before Mrs. McClellan finally called us to the stage for a warm up. When we finished, she gave us a little pep talk.....how she knew we would do well....how beautiful we looked....how we would represent the company ….. not to worry about Doris Herring.

We took our places in the wing – all five of us in a space so small that we squeezed together like sardines, forcing the wires of our tutus to flex straight up and down rather than around our hips. I was at the very back pressed against the pole of a stage light. The house lights dimmed as the stage director cued everyone. Shades of red filled the stage from the gelled lights, including the one behind me. He signaled for the music to start. The now familiar opening notes brought up the curtain. We took in a collective breath and the first soloist enthusiastically clicked open her fan and lead the way from the wing....followed by the second....by the third....by the fourth.....and then....me.

I lurched forward toward the stage. Maybe my hand with the fan made it, but the rest of me snapped back like a rubber band. Unbeknownst to me, while the five of us had stacked up like vertical pancakes in the wing, the wire on my tutu caught on a hook extending from the pole of the stage light. Once I realized what was wrong, I frantically tried to free myself, but the hook had a death grip on my tutu in the back. Every time I twisted to reach it, the light just moved with me sending its beam bouncing around the wing like a strobe.

Meanwhile, out on the stage, the other four dancers performed the choreographed circle, waving their fans and frenetically looking at me each time they came by the wing. The moment came when they had to strike the pose, which they did – looking like the “missing man” formation. They continued the piece until its end, without me....I was still hung up, as they say.

Fortunately, a stage hand came to my rescue and released me before my solo...and fortunately Doris Herring had never seen this choreography before. She didn't know I was supposed to be there. I'll never know if she wondered from whence I came later on in the program......she didn't mention it her review.

…....to be continued.