In the Shadow of the Greats

The Pittsburgh critics were astonished by the quality of the choreography. They proclaimed that I was the future of dance in Pittsburgh. And Karp was so impressed with Mary--(with whom he shared compatriotism)--that she was obligated to perform in subsequent opera productions.

I was encouraged by the positive press and was unaware of the problems associated with founding a dance company--ongoing fund-raising, management skills, and hiring support staff. I fearlessly pursued my dream.

Judging from a professional standpoint, no professional dance existed in Pittsburgh. Local schools ranged from basement businesses to large commercial studios, where tap dance seemed to be the prevalent technique. We referred to these schools as “toe-tap on the drum” and “twirling batons.” There were a few ballet teachers in the area: Madame Soriano, Charlotte Mady (who worked for jazz teacher Mario Melodia), Audrey Troynovsky, Andrea of Andrea’s School of Dance, and Madame Barth.

As the Opera’s casting for Aida and Lakmé required larger ensembles, I approached these schools hoping to supplement my corps, but could barely collect enough dancers with sufficient technique and placement to meet the need. (The group I amassed, along with my dancers became my first The Nutcracker cast.)

When Frano Jelincic, who had recruited me, departed for Pennsylvania Ballet, Duncan Noble replaced him. Noble stayed only a few years. He was replaced by Jayne Hillyer, a Cleveland native, who had studied with Edward Caton, Alexandra Danilova, Anatole Vilzak, and Maria Swoboda, whose harshness she assimilated and imitated. Although she had performed in New York, she relinquished her career when she moved to Pittsburgh with her husband. My delayed arrival along with Hillyer’s maternity leave had left the school without a teacher and enrollment was in decline. Since my arrival, the Playhouse Ballet School had turned a corner and was experiencing a successful semester.

Enrollment grew as word spread that I was teaching at the Playhouse. The summer session was even more successful. By September, Mary and I were teaching a range of classical ballet, pointe, and variations classes, while Lester Evans and his sister Marietta offered tap and jazz classes. To handle the overflow, Mary stepped in to teach jazz classes and I served as her stand-in drummer. Among pre-school children, adults, and evening classes, we had an enrollment of 650 students.

The future looked very bright. Encouraged by my continued success with the opera, I moved a step closer to forming a legitimate company.

At the time, my “company” was an ensemble of talented amateurs, plus folk dancers from Duquesne University and the Folk Festival, capable of singing as well as dancing. Eugene Richards, whom we called Geno, directed the Folk Festival’s Italian performance group and presented Italian dancing in the community. He took my classes and became a collaborator and longtime supporter, providing me with insights into Italian dance, which I used in some ballets. Also on board were mime artist Jewell Walker; tapper Lester Evans; Akiba Blazia, an African dancer; and character dancer Leonard Weitershausen, who became a regular in my Nutcracker. We had two fire dancers--Laura Green and Jan Rincones. Jayne Hillyer, a former Metropolitan Opera Ballet soloist and member of the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo; John Occhipinti, a former member of the National Ballet of Canada; and Judy Troan, the daughter of a newspaper editor, led the classical roster, plus Mary and I, when needed. We were at the end of our stage careers, but Mary had to step in to dance with the students, as capable dancers were in short supply, especially for specific pieces. If Alicia Markova, a mature ballerina could perform, then so could Mary, who was relatively younger and could still dance very well.
Our first performance of the 1967-68 season--called Noir et Blanc--was a three-act mosaic of small numbers, such as Les Sylphides, bound in a thematic framework. The premise, farfetched as it was, focused on a fictional dance academy where students of various disciplines had enrolled, yet did not know what types of dance they would study.

The first section whimsically spoofed what non-dancers might imagine would be included in a ballet school curriculum. Indian Dance featured Mary Petrov, Lynn George, and Mary Cosgrove. Debbie Lynn Geffner (who later appeared on Broadway and in the film, All That Jazz) and Judy Troan performed I Don’t Know What to Do. The section also included Massage with Charlene May and Dan Graham.

In Part Two, we staged a serious ballet class--complete with barre exercises, pointe work, classical variations, and adagio--and a Luigi jazz technique class, illustrating how phrases are fashioned into a dance. The classroom demonstrations were augmented by several works: Sounds of the Jungle, that showcased combinations with a definite rhythm and mood, the dynamics of which were heightened by silhouette projections; Fire Dance, performed by Laura Green and Jan Rincones; Shadows, danced by an ensemble; and African Dance, which Blazia choreographed and performed. A non-dance interlude featured psychedelic slide projections. The act concluded with Geno's staging of the Tarantella.

Lastly, we presented dances that demonstrated contrasts of rhythm and style. I staged Igor Moiseyev’s Bulba, a potato harvesting dance from the Russian province of Byelorussia. We also offered “The Russian Sailor Dance” from The Red Poppy, which displayed a combination of brute strength and graceful muscular control. Lester Evans and students from his studio performed original tap choreography, while Jewell Walker contributed a nice mime number. And The Jerk capitalized on sixties “hip-ness.”

Young Jordeen Ivanov performed Michel Fokine’s famous ballet solo, The Dying Swan to Saint-Saëns' The Swan. She had been one of Jelincic’s students and had studied with other local teachers, including Charlotte Mady. She was about fourteen when I inherited her from Hillyer. She quickly developed a crush on me and would have jumped through fire, if I had asked her to. I allowed her to perform The Dying Swan because she possessed something that reminded me of Anna Pavlova, whose performance I had seen on film. This solo, with its difficult artistic demands, is generally danced by an accomplished ballerina and rarely attempted by a student. Jordeen was not ready to improvise, as the role demanded, but I provided her with a framework to build upon.

This program initiated professional ballet in Pittsburgh and introduced the founding members of the Pittsburgh Ballet Theatre who were Charon Battles, Susan Bock, Amy Chomas, Debbie Lynn Geffner, Jayne Hillyer, Jordeen Ivanov, JoAnn McCarthy, John Occhipinti, and Leonard Weitershausen.

In one piece, I performed with Leonard Weitershausen, a Russian character dancer. As we were executing Russian squats, he was suddenly down and immobile. “What on earth is he doing?” I wondered.

He looked up at me and said, “Nicolas, I ripped my cartilage. I can’t get up.” Thinking quickly, I danced behind him, picked him up under his armpits, and carried him off stage. He was still kicking with his good leg to give the impression that this was staged. The public thought this was a part of the act and warmly applauded. Unfortunately, Leo could not return for his bow, and could not dance for awhile, a tragic yet funny experience.

Despite the mishap, the dance performance was a success. Loti Falk extended her thanks and offered to help me, in the future. The development of Pittsburgh Ballet Theatre pivoted on that promise, though at that time, she did not suspect that I would hold her to her word and request the promised payback. In return, everything she learned about dance, she learned from me.

Ironically, as the ballet division was thriving, the Playhouse, the only professional theater in Pittsburgh, was collapsing from lack of funds. Its board members could not raise sufficient money to cover each season’s mounting deficit. Despite fierce attempts to keep the Playhouse alive, it was doomed. By the beginning of 1968, the final curtain fell on artistic director Ronald Satlov’s administration. As I see it now, the facility’s seating capacity and consequent box office draw were insufficient to cover a professional theater company’s high budget.

Barely a year after my arrival, I learned that my contract would not be renewed. The Playhouse was bankrupt. Mark Lewis, my sponsor, really tried his best to keep us alive, but as for me, I was out of a job.

I was aware of the Playhouse’s ongoing financial woes, still, I was devastated. My time in America had been too short. I was uncomfortable about returning to Europe so soon and of admitting to failure. I would have been the laughing stock of the Parisian dance community. My contract had been for three years, but I had only fulfilled half.

I headed for New York. Carnegie Hall would be the most suitable place to start a ballet school. I hoped to work for Madame Inglutine, who directed a studio on the sixth floor. Other Russian teachers like Vladimir Dokoudovsky taught at the same school. He was the only one that I knew personally. I contemplated working under his wing, as he was a former Massine dancer, who like me, had also studied with Olga Preobrajenska. Besides the shared common background, we were friends.

I had been residing in New York for about a week when Mark Lewis phoned from Pittsburgh. He pleaded with me to return. Arthur Blum, Point Park College’s president, had offered me a teaching opportunity in the college. The college’s drama program had absorbed the Playhouse’s drama students. Lewis convinced Blum that it was also feasible to accept the dancers. Lewis invited me to teach summer classes and allocated studio space in the college’s first floor ballroom, free of charge. The students’ tuitions would cover my salary. I had only to pay the pianist out of pocket. I returned to Pittsburgh. Thanks to newspaper coverage the program drew 250 students. Mary and I handled this quite easily.

The tuition was identical to the Playhouse’s for a six-week term. I earned thirty-five hundred dollars. My expenses for the pianist totaled five hundred dollars. This was exactly three times the salary that I had earned at the Playhouse.

I was very happy. The college officials, including Arthur Blum, concluded that I could be an asset to Point Park College. Subsequently, they offered me a one-year contract for twelve thousand dollars as a dance instructor, which paid the same salary that I received from the Playhouse, plus fringe benefits.

A college professorship suited me just fine, though I never loved academics. At least, I now had an opportunity to experience the American lifestyle. I took a relaxing Ocean City, New Jersey vacation with the George family before the start of my regular classes in September 1968. Mary was also teaching ballet, while Lester and Marietta Evans taught tap and jazz, respectively. I was unprepared for how rapidly the work would pile up.

The Playhouse’s contents were transported to the college, which had purchased the facility. Mark Lewis was promoted from Director of the Pittsburgh Playhouse School to general manager of the Playhouse Theatre and Director of Theatre/Dance at the college. Naturally, Lewis was counting on my cooperation. He hoped to build a strong theater program and wanted a comparable dance department.

I speculated that The Nutcracker would be a viable attraction for the children’s theater series, which was directed by William Leech. The idea caught. Leech scheduled performances every weekend for two months at ninety-nine cents per ticket. At that time, a gallon of gas was twenty-nine cents, while a pack of cigarettes cost a quarter. The price was right. The two-month run was completely sold out, including the standing room space. Students were bussed in from various schools. The Nutcracker became one of the Playhouse’s most popular children’s shows. While I was impressed with how Bill Leech handled the public relations and ticket sales, dance was not his priority. I always wished for more emphasis on it, as my mind was set on building a ballet company.

Whenever I visited New York, I attended performances by the New York City Ballet. A chance meeting with Violette Verdy, who was an old friend from Paris and NYCB’s leading prima ballerina, proved to be auspicious. After we exchanged hugs, I told her about my job and goals. Violette wondered why I had not invited her to dance in my Nutcracker. I was thrilled by her interest, as she was a ballerina of international fame. I was also embarrassed. I vigorously explained that my ensemble was amateur.

“Sometimes destiny decides your actions,” she replied. “Darling, chéri, you don’t know America, don’t worry about that, I will explain it to you later on, just invite me.”

Her offer decided my future.

We agreed that when I returned to Pittsburgh, we would set the date of her appearance. I excitedly approached Mark Lewis with my idea, and we in turn presented it to Arthur Blum. Permission was granted.

In performance, Violette was partnered by NYCB’s Earl Sieveling. Alternating in the roles of the Sugar Plum Fairy and Cavalier were Anna Aragno with the Royal Winnipeg Ballet’s Bill Martin-Viscount and my local dancers, Jayne Hillyer with John Occhipinti. The event was a tremendous success. The public realized that the troupe must be worthwhile, as a NYCB ballerina was willing to dance with it.

This was the beginning of the Pittsburgh Ballet Theatre.

Boudreau had independently contracted several dance artists to appear with the Wind Symphony and I in turn extended invitations to them to work with us. Babatunde Olatunji and his troupe of singers, dancers, and drummers specialized in African culture. We enjoyed his Katherine Dunham-style dance classes, which fused African and modern dance. The power of the drums and the rhythmical magic of that beat forced the body to respond to the rhythm patterns. I was introduced to the form by jazz teacher Gene Robinson in Paris and was quite comfortable with it. Olatunji was impressed with my technical facility.

We also worked with an emerging modern troupe, directed by Louis Falco, whose reputation as a choreographer was on the upswing. During the week-long residency, the company performed with the Wind Symphony and provided master classes for our dancers. Falco was later presented by the Pittsburgh Dance Council, but this engagement predated its efforts to import modern dance.

I remember that shortly after our arrival in Pittsburgh, José Limón’s company performed at Allegheny Center, a shopping and office complex. I had seen his The Moor’s Pavane on film in Yugoslavia. (It was among the first American modern dance works that I had seen.) As I was now the major dance figure in Pittsburgh, people were eager to introduce us--his initial look seemed to say, “Who the hell is Mr. Petrov?” But we became acquainted, were photographed together and I got to meet the person whose work had influenced me. Subsequently, several of his dancers performed with PBT.

When I heard that Massine would be in New York staging his Parade for the Joffrey Ballet, I immediately phoned his daughter Tatiana for his address. It would be a major coup to have him on the faculty as a visiting artist. My ulterior motive was to tap his expertise as an artistic advisor for my fledgling ballet company.

I had previously invited Frederic Franklin to stage Les Sylphides for a corps of forty-six, and now had to prove the feasibility of importing Massine. I convinced Blum that Massine’s presence was newsworthy and his engagement would elevate the faculty’s status. Massine taught from July 7 to August 3, 1969. We had not seen each other in four years and at our reunion, he was cordial, business-like, and unemotional; I was happy to see my role model, mentor, and teacher. It was the beginning of a fruitful collaboration that created a solid base for PBT’s future.

Franklin, an old friend, was then director of the Washington National Ballet. He was again on my roster, as was my former schoolmate and closest friend Stevan Grebel, then a Washington Ballet principal, with whom Franklin was infatuated. I invited Freddie, who never said “no,” to restage Les Sylphides for a Three Rivers Arts Festival performance. (He had initially set it for our Noir et Blanc debut.) He was a rare ballet master who remembered the ballets that he danced and could revive them in a very short time. He was an indispensable asset to an emerging company. Instead of his usual thirty-five hundred dollar fee, he asked for just $150, plus room and board. Essentially, he did it for free--for a good drink and a good laugh.

We also had a guest artist for the Three Rivers Arts Festival show--Alicia Pastorova, a prima ballerina from Bratislava, Czechoslovakia who performed the Mazurka. Pastorova, a small, personable woman and an outstanding artist, was the sister of our future board member Michael Flack. He had invited her to Pittsburgh and brought her to our rehearsal of Les Sylphides. When we asked her what she thought, she replied, “It was very good, but…” and offered corrections and suggestions.

Mary nudged me and said, “Hey, this woman knows what she’s talking about.”

The Arts Festival performance was coming up and I thought, “Well, we have to have guests.” And I asked her to step in and dance. For us, it was an opportunity to share the stage with a prominent artist and for her it was a chance to perform in the U.S. I was taking a big risk. She did not have a work permit. But Pittsburgh was too naïve in dance for this to cause a problem. And, she did a wonderful job.

The Arts Festival bill also included a modern work, created by guest collaborators Ethel Winter and Lucy Reynolds, both Martha Graham dancers. As I was very curious about the Martha Graham School, Mary and I went there to take classes. I was eager to meet Graham, but encountered her sister first. In conversation, I mentioned that I was based in Pittsburgh, was forming a ballet troupe, and wanted to engage guest principal dancers--Winter was atop my list. She warned me not to mention “Pittsburgh” to Martha, who despised the place. While this raised my curiosity, I never learned Martha’s reason. Winter, a former Graham principal and Sears-Roebuck affiliated artist, came highly recommended by Graham and I hoped that she would someday head the college’s modern dance division. Point Park College offered her an eight-week residency in 1969-70 that included teaching, lecturing on modern dance, and creating choreography.

Robert Boudreau, who imported impressive guests for his Symphony, including Dizzy Gillespie, and Dutch composer, Henk Badings, one of the best known outside his country, graciously permitted me to choreograph his Pittsburgh Concerto, for an Arts Festival performance. Thom Thomas, a Pittsburgh Playhouse associate, provided the libretto for this futuristic ballet, that depicted an age where computers control life and human emotion is illegal.
Initially, I aimed to create events that generated publicity and raised interest in dance. Through my affiliation with the Pittsburgh Opera (1967-1992) as its resident choreographer and my association with Richard Karp, I moved closer to my goals. Karp encouraged me and admired Mary’s dancing. I genuinely believed that he liked what I was doing. As my company evolved, I followed his principles--the opera had both good and poor singers, while the stars were imported from New York’s Metropolitan Opera. I created a local corps de ballet, augmented with celebrity guest artists, including Violette Verdy, Edward Villella, Peter Schaufuss, and Natalia Makarova--as Karp had done with the Pittsburgh Opera.

The push towards establishing a company was necessitated by financial considerations. As an adjunct to Robert Boudreau’s Wind Symphony, I was allotted five thousand dollars, a fair sum, yet it was insufficient to launch a company, pay professional dancers, and cover the costs of commissioned ballets. Boudreau frankly stated that he would not split the budget with me. The time had come for me to seek out support and create my own company. I was disappointed. I felt lost, but was determined to succeed.

Pittsburgh Ballet Theatre was incorporated in 1969, a legality that established it as a non-profit organization and provided accreditation for fund-raising. The arrangement between the company and the college provided donors to the college with a tax shelter. Although we had backing from some well meaning parents, they had few resources. My next step was to assemble a board and target donors for the company. Board driven art was unique to me and difficult to comprehend, as in Europe both opera and private companies were subsidized by the government. The mayor or the country’s minister of art was influential in allocating funding. In Eastern Europe, funding was handled by the political party and permission was part of their governing power.

The American way has a good side--generally, board members are art lovers and their involvement is self-propelled and charitably disposed. However, the artists must prove their worth and hope their efforts are appreciated. Ideally, a board should be composed of philanthropists, heads of foundations, and the socially prominent, who are interested in the arts, can create excitement about the art form that they support, and can incite others to follow them. What is most uncomfortable here is that the artists are dependent on the opinions of the board members. Unfortunately, every art lover does not have enough knowledge and expertise to always make valid decisions.