Driven to Dance

“Dad, is there any way we can see you dance?”

My kids have asked me that many times. Sadly, my short-lived but meteoric career in dance occurred in the era before even VHS camcorders were around. I have no visual records. But here is the written version of the tale.

In September of 1971, I enrolled in my first dance class as a sophomore at Reed College. The instructor was Judy Massee, who had studied with the best in New York City for many years. Reedie Steve Jobs was another of her students.

A history major, I had never intended to dance. And at 20 years old, I was ancient by dance standards.

But Judy changed my life when she brought Charles Weidman and his Theatre Dance Company to campus.

He was one of founders of American modern dance, along with Doris Humphrey and Martha Graham. The three had danced in the Denishawn Company, performing all over the world. But as Charles said, “We danced Persian and Japanese and Spanish dances, but we had no form of dance to call our own.” So, they set out to create a uniquely American form of expressive dance.

I found the Weidman technique emotionally compelling. He choreographed a dance to the Brahms’ Op. 64 waltzes, performed by Gina Bachauer, that moved me deeply.

First and last

Dance did not come easy to me. Most dancers start in their pre-teen years, so their bones and muscles grow in accordance with the steps they are being asked to learn.

I was a jumper, not a turner, and I was not a natural. My feet did not point gracefully — more like wooden planks attached to my ankles. However, my teachers respected my drive. I was usually the first one in the studio in the morning and the last one out at night.

Also on the plus side, I was a trained pianist, and it turned out I had a talent for creating improvisational music for modern dance.

In a very short time, modern dance had captured my soul. I decided my one mission in life was to dance in the Weidman Company. 

Audacious? Not when you are a driven 22-year-old.

In my senior year and still on a full scholarship at Reed, I dropped out. I had saved enough to buy a one-way ticket to New York City. In my wallet were $700 in traveler’s checks. I found a studio apartment where the rent was just $95 per month. I recall it was so small that my refrigerator also served as my headboard.

Within two weeks, I was dancing for Charles Weidman. Soon after, I became one of Martha Graham’s accompanists.

Dreams come true

Those were glorious times. Charles taught all the classes, so every day I was in the presence of a master. Sadly, he passed away in 1975 at the age of 73.

I was then invited to audition for the Juilliard School. I was honored — and even more honored when I was accepted. There were just 60 students in the four-year program.

During my evaluation, it was noted that I was “technically rough but full of energy.” However, they felt they could train me to their high standards.

My instructors included such dance luminaries as Héctor Zaraspe, Daniel Lewis and Kazuko Hirabayashi. And we shared studios with the New York City Ballet, so most nights we were given tickets to see their performances. It was not uncommon to brush shoulders with the likes of George Balanchine or Jerome Robbins, Suzanne Farrell or Eddie Villella.

At this point it had just been four years since I had taken my first dance class. Yet here I was, surrounded by the best performing artists and teachers in the world. It was a dream come true.

As my technique improved, I started getting more roles. I danced “The Dreamer” in Anna Sokolow’s landmark “Rooms” and performed Doris Humphrey’s “Night Spell” with the Juilliard Dance Ensemble.

I had just been cast in José Limón’s masterpiece, “There is a Time,” when my dancing career came to a sudden end.

An injury and a new chapter

I awoke one day with shooting pains down my sciatic nerve that made it impossible for me to walk. I could barely shuffle around. Juilliard had no medical coverage and though I used what little money I had to get a few Novocain shots, they didn’t help.

Within two weeks, I had withdrawn from school and returned to my grandmother’s home in San Francisco to rest and see if that helped. But it didn’t and I was finished.

Like any athlete whose career is prematurely ended by an injury, I was crushed. I had been accepted to Juilliard for my potential, and now I would never realize it.

If I was careful in my movements, there was no pain. But the wrong twist or turn would put me in agony.

This continued for decades, until doctors discovered a cyst on my spine that was impacting my sciatic nerve. A short operation was all that was needed, but it came decades too late to save my dancing career.

Although I could no longer perform, I was still enthralled by dance. I created Ballet Oregon, the first dance company in the state to have dancers on salary. We staged our regular season in the 3,000-seat Portland Civic Auditorium, and toured Japan, the Southwest and more.

The successor to that company, Oregon Ballet Theater, just celebrated its 34th season. I have served two terms on its board.

When I left the world of ballet, Ferrari dealer Ron Tonkin came to me and said, “You’ve cost me so much in fund-raising for your ballet company that I think you should run my Ferrari store and make me a little of it back.”

And so, another chapter began.