The World of Dance

                                                       Or how it all began

      I was prompted in the most flattering manner to tell. Then smilingly, nay sweetly urged to tell. Then not so subtly led to believe I would be strong armed if I did not tell. But when she said I was to be ‘put through the wringer’ if I did not tell, my imagination went into overdrive, and I gave in. So I was told, “ Start from the beginning, the very beginning or else, and leave nothing out!”

     I found it a strange request, but I carried on regardless. I began my story, leaving nothing out. Which didn’t seem to matter much, as I don’t use nothing very often. I could have substituted naught, but that’s a bit esoteric, and could possibly frighten some readers. Finally I threw caution to the winds, and decided that I was my own man, and if I wished to put nothing in, I would put nothing in, and may the devil take the hind-most. I vowed I would be brave whatever the outcome. So I put nothing back, and here it is, and here it will remain. For I did find, if nothing’s lost, then nothing’s gained.

    I Begin at the Beginning 
  

      Unlike Judy Garland, (a.k.a Francis Gump), I was not born in a trunk in the Princess Theater in Pocatello, Idaho, nope, I hollered my way into the world from a hospital bed in the town of Medicine Hat, Alberta, and before I had reached the tender age of one I and  an older brother - he was almost three -  railroaded out to the West Coast. Vancouver, B.C., to be exact. Oh, yes, almost forgot, my mother came with us. 
         The years fly, and  now I’m seventeen, and a year out of High School. No, no, not me! I mean not me as I am now, not me at eighty, me then! (Now? I wish). I’m walking down Richard Street in Vancouver, chatting away about this that and the next thing with my best chum, Calvin Lutz. We had met outside the principals office the first day of High School four years ago. He was there to request a course change  - why I don’t remember - and so was I. I had been informed earlier that day that my long held desire to be a student of philosophy was sadly, an impossible dream. I was informed by a snarling Gorgon, brought from the depths of hell to rule (teach) a class of my peers, that the lofty goal I had cherished was not for me. Searing my nostrils with her fetid breath she announced to the class that I was so hopelessly math deficient that all I could hope for was - even this she felt was doubtful - secretarial work, it being less demanding for such an ill equipped idiot as myself. She gleefully explained to me that as long as I could add and subtract, and maybe divide or multiply eventually, I could possibly hold my own in an office. She continued to counsel me by stating categorically (her word) that she personally held out no hope whatsoever that there  would be anything worth while ahead for me in my sure to be sad life. This last utterance  seemed to bring tears to her eyes. Ergo, you now know why I was also changing courses, being as it were I was deemed unfit for the hallowed halls of higher learning.  
    Back to Calvin and day one of  our new lives. We exchanged hellos, names, our reasons for being there, found we seemed to have the same odd - you might say crazy - way of looking at things, and decided to take the easy way out. Two outcasts, we shrugged resignedly, and enrolled - hopefully - in the Secretarial Course. We were granted that, and therein we did stay, for four years. And that is another story, and for another time.
    Right now we’re on, as stated earlier, Richard Street, looking through an open doorway leading into  the  reception area of the “Vancouver School of Dancing” - Principal - Kay Armstrong”. Through another doorway we could make out  a section of what appeared to be the studio proper. A few girls were going through their paces, getting their feet and legs into all kinds of odd positions, and a young fellow was seen leaping and bounding all over the place, and at times spinning around on one leg, which looked very difficult, but lots of fun. He didn’t fall down once.
    I know we were gawking, but we truly were fascinated. Neither of us were surprised or taken aback in any way by the activity in the studio both having been in many musical shows at high school. Calvin usually playing the leading man, with me hiding  in the chorus. He had a very nice singing voice. I was afraid to have my voice heard in case I was asked to leave. But I helped add volume to the cast if hunters, or soldiers or priests or whatever were needed to fill the stage. I would happily belt away in the crowd scenes as long as it was the melody, I could hold a tune, just. Also the two of us had many a time sneaked into a performance of one the operettas held each year at the Malkin Bowl, in Stanley Park. The half-bowl shaped theater consisted of a large open air stage fronting an uncovered auditorium holding  rows and rows of canvas chair. There was also a series of raised wooden benches along the back wall. Five or six musical comedies or operettas, sometimes with well know opera singers or New York musical stars were put on each summer. Theatre Under The Stars, was it’s title, TUTS was the acronym it was known by. At the time the soon to be famous venture had been offering it’s fare for about three years. Occasionally it would be possible to slip unnoticed into a vacant seat, but many times Calvin and I would climb up a nearby tree, find a comfortable limb, and watch the performance from there. Like being in the balcony, or better still, the dress circle. Climbing down was usually a bit more difficult, sore bums and all that.
    Anyway, we were not clueless neophytes viewing our first dancer in a leotard and tights, but what happened next put me in the front row of neophytes, and changed my life forever. And that’s not just a cliché.
    It still surprises me, when I go over my life, that though I was an introverted, retiring fellow, preferring to be a 'fill in the background' type of person, I could be motivated by a dare. Hmm! A thought has just come to me - at this late stage in my life - that I might not have been a dedicated shy guy, and that a dare was the ‘open sesame’ for my Genie self, the real me. Rub my lamp and poof the other me appeared. (Move over, Superman!). Well, Calvin took the opportunity, timed it perfectly he did, and rubbed my lamp with a new dare. An unexpected outcome dare. A dare that changed his life as collaterally as it did mine, and nothing was the same again. What, you ask, was this cataclysmic dare? Simply this: that I walk into the "Vancouver School of Dancing", and enroll myself as a student. So I did!  Therefore remember, be careful what you dare, or are dared, it could change your life.