Male dancers were scarce when Arnold joined the Winnipeg Ballet Company, a small dedicated outfit created by the legendary Gweneth Lloyd, and the intrepid Betty Farrally. In the center of Canada, in the heart of the Prairie Provinces they bravely established a ballet teaching studio, and pioneered a ballet company which would eventually grow to became world famous. The first ballet company in Britain, and the British Commonwealth, to attain the title, “Royal”.Arnold, tall, slim, good looking, a strong athlete, and excellent classical pianist, had a way of holding himself that spoke '”stage potential”. Though 22 years old when he came under the spell of the ballet, he decided that a career in the world of dance was what he wanted most in life. He was a great find for the new school, and was eagerly groomed by Gweneth, and Betty. His height was perfect for partnering the budding ballerinas of the fledgling company. The company had other good young men, technically much better than Arnold – they had the advantage of beginning their training at a much younger age - some of whom became famous dancers, and choreographers of note: David Adams, and Paddy Stone to name a couple. But Arnold brought to the company qualities that put him above so many others. He was unique, his talents broad.
I was performing with TUTS – Theatre under the Stars – when Arnold, now dance master in the ballet company came out to the West Coast on a search for new dancers to fill the ranks of the expanding company. It was the summer of 1951. He approached me, after watching a few rehearsals, with the offer of a joining the company. He had permission to engage dancers in whom he saw potential, and though he was sure of the three he had chosen Betty herself had the last word on who they would be, and she was tough.
I was certainly pleased when Arnold said that he believed I could have a good career in the company. With worried smiles from my mother, and confused hugs from my father (he was forever confounded by his non-athletic son’s strange conversion), I set off for Canada’s windy city.
Had I known a telegram message had been sent to Arnold telling him to cancel any arrangement he had made with me about my joining the company, I would have been devastated. But I was spared the pain of such a blow. It was not until my second year in the company that I was told the story. It seems that Betty and Gweneth had decided they could not afford another dancer at that time, although they certainly needed more male dancers, and so had telegraphed Arnold telling him to cancel whatever arrangement he had made with me. Arnold maintains he did not receive the telegram until after I was already on my way, and phoned Betty to let her know it had arrived too late, and that there was nothing he could do as I was already on the bus, and traveling east. I have often wondered if Arnold had told a little white lie. It would have been like him to do so, he hated unkindness however administrated, and was always careful not to cause emotional hurt to anyone.
Betty was very good about it – I was later told she was pleasantly surprised at my abilities – and soon changed her mind about sending me back. I shudder to think how near I came to returning to Vancouver, my tail between my legs. Instead, I carried blithely on, totally unaware of how close I had come to missing out on a truly wonderful, and fruitful experience. Just think, my salary of one hundred dollars a month - such a seemingly small sum - could have made the outcome of this story, and my life much different.
Many anecdotes recalling Arnold’s many sides come to mind as I speak of him, but the one thing I shall mention is something that I have truly never forgotten, for it has inspired every moment of every rehearsal, and of every performance all my years in the theater, extending over into my daily life, and into my long career as a potter, and teacher of both dance, and pottery.
When he was choreographing a new ballet, or working on a revival of another, or simply being the “ballet master”, and putting us through our paces in daily classes, he would constantly drum this most important lesson into each, and everyone of us, a lesson that found a forever home in me.
This was his mantra – a mantra that became mine – that a hand raised to finalize a pose, or used in a ballet to give voice to silent words should never give the appearance of simply a hand or an arm raised, a physical movement telling nothing, showing only that it had been done. No! Arnold would intone ad infinitum, a gesture, or the extended line should be a never ending movement, and that the eyes should carry that movement on, flowing from the physical gesture, and reaching out into infinity. He would insist that there should always be the sense of it going on forever. The gesture should begin in the very center of the performer, the artist, and from there carried out to the heavens. In other words every movement should tell something, every movement should have a story, and every story should be clear and present to the perceptive viewer. Make your audience believe in you, and they will go with you wherever you many lead.
The simple, or majestically wondrous outcome of this we call “Stage Presence’!
It is when we cannot say other than that she or he “filled the stage”. It is when we see an inspired ballet performance, brilliant actor or singer, a stunning painting, or are moved to tears of joy by wondrous music, whatever reaches down inside and stirs the soul, absorbing us completely, that we know we are in the presence of greatness, and we joyfully travel with it to the furthest of heavens.
My thanks, and gratitude Arnold for those few years I worked with you, and the treasure you gave me, which I never forgot. And for that special private piano performance, when I asked if you would play for me Franz Lizt’s, beautiful “Un Sospiro”. Adieu.
1923 – 2010
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