It is nice to be able to make the claim that I have never dropped a dance partner. That being said, here is this week’s story…
Many years ago, shortly after my mother opened her dance studio in Utah, she got gutsy and wanted to put on the traditional Christmas ballet performance of The Nutcracker. Yeah, it was a big deal. At first, there were many concerns about how it was going to be done. What facilities would be able to house the show? Where would the money come from for costumes and such? These and many more questions were all legitimate logistical concerns. However, the local community was still getting used to my mother. If she said it could be done, it could be done.
This attitude from our small community was a little strange to comprehend considering how she had put together a massive celebration (involving 4,000 performers) for the local Manti temple only a year or so before. Still, she eventually rallied support and the project went underway. All the proper events needed to be managed and my mother gathered a committee to help with all the working parts. The volunteers were amazing. So many talented individuals working long hours to get sets built, props constructed, costumes sewn, and so much more. All of which would be meaningless if roles were not filled. Which could only be fairly done with proper tryouts.
Yes, tryouts. If you wanted to be seen on stage, you had to try out. Every member of the little dance company had to show up for tryouts. Many—to ensure they had a part somewhere—went to multiple. Being one of the few males with the ballet school, I really only wanted one part: A Toy Soldier.
I was young, small for my age, and figured that I would not be good enough for any lead. Despite what some of you may be thinking, my mother never showed any nepotism. Ever. In fact, she did so well at separating mother/parent roles, there were many people (for years) that didn’t know she was the mother of three of her own students. No favoritism. If me or my sisters wanted a part, we had to try out and go before the committee. Fair is fair.
So, the Saturday came when I showed up for Toy Soldier tryouts. This was the only real part that didn’t involve being a girl or a principal dancer (neither of which I was. although, eventually, I became a principal dancer). The tryout went well—I thought—and I went home to await my acceptance (and part), or rejection, in the mail—just like everyone else.
See, the only other guys in the ballet school were older high school students. They were all great fellas. They were also larger than me, due to age and genetics. I still hadn’t hit my growth spurt. They all got the big roles, just like I knew they would. And, they deserved them. I never felt bad about that. They were terrific friends. Then, the day came, I received my letter. My role: The Nephew/Nutcracker Prince.
“No way…”
I was shocked. Stunned. Very much surprised. I had a lead. A minor role (sort of), but it was still a lead. Now, some of you may be thinking, “How is the Nutcracker Prince a minor role? The ballet is entitled The Nutcracker.” Well, let me tell you why: He doesn’t do much. The Nutcracker appears first, as a toy (not a person). Then, gets broken (again, still a toy). Then, when Clara ‘shrinks’ or the room ‘grows’ (depending upon the interpretation), the Nutcracker is played by a real person. He then fights a giant mouse. Dies. Is transformed into the prince. Takes Clara to The Land of Sweets. Where he sits and watches candies dance. The end. Visible, but not really active.
Sure, because The Nutcracker ballet has been around for so long, some versions have the Nutcracker Prince dance in the second act. Some. Not all. Ours did not.
Author’s note: On a quick tangent, I would like to make it known, that over the years that my mother’s ballet school performed The Nutcracker, there came a point where I performed three different Cavalier roles (partnered with a female lead)—one of which had two female soloists, had my own solo, all in the same performance. For two performances a day. For six days. In other words, I got pretty good. And now, back to the point, which I have yet to really address…
There I am, about thirteen years old. I had barely begun to weight lift to develop my upper body strength in a realistic and meaningful way. Now, with this role, I would have to lift the Clara up into the air. Sure, the girl they had for the part was small, about my age, and so it should have been pretty easy to do. At first, it was not. While I understood the physics and principles of how to properly lift a dance partner high up, into the air. I did not have the strength to accomplish said feat. Sadly.
Over the next few years, as I grew and exercised, I got much better at the lift. It was a simple one. Put my hands on the Clara’s hips, she would jeté and leap, I would lift her up and walk to the side whilst we repeated the jeté and leap/lift scenario. In description, it’s easy. In practice, well, I struggled. Big time.
There were two things that worked against me: The first was my size. I had little muscle mass. Meaning that I had small muscles and I had not much mass. That is just two interpretations of a singular issue. The second struggle was the costume.
For all the soldiers (and the Nutcracker), uniforms were donated. Old band uniforms—still in excellent condition—which typically have a military-esque look about them, provided the perfect appearance with a basic overall blue with a golden yellow down the front. Unfortunately, these kinds of uniforms are sewn stiffly with the sleeves aimed straight down. That angle and form made the forward and upward movements next to impossible.
All this is important because: She fell.
Yes, that’s right. She fell.
After a few years, the overall choreography became pretty solid. Few things changed much. One of the constants was the transformation of the wounded Nutcracker into the prince and his dance with the Clara. In this character introduction dance sequence, there was a moment when the prince stands straight, at attention, and Clara raises up to pointe (tiptoe for you nonballet peoples), then moves around the prince in a clockwise direction to end where she started. It is at this point where Clara gracefully arches herself backward, her arms in a high 5th (curved and above her head), then falls, backward, into the prince’s arms. He dips her, returns her upright, then proceeds to do that thing I previously mentioned about her jeté and leap as he lifts her from stage left to stage right. That’s what was supposed to happen.
Erica had been Clara from year one. Erica and I ended up being dance partners for many years. We worked well together. We fit each other’s height and balance well. She was a beautiful dancer. It was a wonder to work with her. That one night, however…
To this day I have no idea what happened. I knew the routine. I knew the musical cues. I knew my partner’s movements. But, that night. I blanked. Something out in the audience caught my attention. Or maybe I got too into the role of military bearing. I don’t know. Whatever the case, I was alone, then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Erica raise up, move around me, arms to the 5th, lean back, then *thud*. Yup. There was an audible ‘thud’ as she hit the stage.
Suddenly, and understandably, I was back in the present. In the here and now. I turned and there she was, splayed out on the Marley floor, feet still in a tight sous-sus, arms in the 5th. What did I do? What else could I do? I leaned over, scooped her right up, my hands to her hips, and then proceeded to send her higher into the air than I ever had. Straight up. Arms to a full, overhead extension. That night Erica soared high across that stage.
It would later be reported to me that Erica never looked more beautiful, than that night. That I had never done so well with that move, than that night. And, as expected, from all my close ballet friends, that I had never messed up so bad, than that night. For hours at the cast party, I had to repeatedly endure, “I can’t believe you dropped her.” To which I responded, “I didn’t drop her. She fell.” To which they responded, “Really, let’s just watch the video…” Then they would play and replay and replay that ‘thud’ moment. It hurt so bad for so many reasons.
The one kindness in all of it was that Erica agreed with me. She fell. In order for me to drop her, I would have had to have had a hold on her. I did not. My hands were at my side. I didn’t touch her. She fell. When I asked why she didn’t stop when she realized I wasn’t there, Erica said, “You always caught me. Every time. Every time I fall backward, you always catch me halfway down. By the time I realized you weren’t there, it was too late.” Admittedly, that hurt worse than anything else. I wanted to cry. Then she added, “I had complete trust in you. I still do. You’ve never let me down.” Her mother even encouraged me by saying that I more than made up for it with the lifts afterward. Regardless, an event like that never happened again.
I danced for many years after that. Even professionally, for a very short time. And, in all that time, I can honestly say that I have never dropped a dance partner.
Almost Heroes 