In the Shadow of the Greats

The theater school that I attended had a music, ballet (Vaganova methodology), and an acting division that taught Konstantin Stanislavsky’s system. Dancers were required to learn music, make-up, and acting.

The Stanislavsky system was vast, too psychological, and too philosophic for me. The textbooks were thick--read, read, read. And I thought, “I don’t want to be an actor, why the hell do I need this?” As dance put great demands and competitive pressure on me, I totally focused on my art and was disinterested in learning the Stanislavsky system, though I was surrounded by Stanislavsky actors, including the fierce Yuri Rakitin.

However, something did rub off and left an unconscious remnant which I used when I acted and reacted in ballets. I was reputed to be an excellent dancer/actor and was more comfortable with mime and movement than dialogue. Later, I drew on my experiences and applied them as a choreographer and artistic director. I successfully built three dance companies and an educational program that is now part of a university, which embraces most dance techniques, acting, musical theater, and film.

As a student, I took my schooling for granted, assuming that every actor was Stanislavsky trained. When Gerard Philippe of la Comédie-Française performed in Belgrade (and later when I lived in France), I realized that there were other acting methodologies.

In Paris I became re-acquainted with stage director Jovan Putnik, who offered private acting lessons while working on his dissertation. He explained the essentials of the Stanislavsky system and taught me how to concentrate, which included hypnosis exercises. I confided in him. In response, he applied the Stanislavsky methodology to my problems--If you do not make a big deal out of certain things, then a big problem is really just a small problem and can be handled easily. The process brought me back to my academic roots.

At Point Park College, I realized that Stanislavsky’s logic applied to my teaching and I adapted certain things to my classes. However, I was unable to vividly illustrate verbally and realized that the material needed to be in print. I developed a course called Analytic Approach to Dance, to fulfill the college’s request that I teach academic classes. I drew essential material from Stanislavsky’s dense chapters and progressively interpreted and tailored it to dancers.

A student mentioned Valentina Litvinoff’s 1969 treatise Litvinoff on Stanislavsky. Litvinoff, a well-known teacher, was influenced by a Stanislavsky course that she took in New York and by actor Vladimir Prokofiev’s writings. Her book applied the Stanislavsky system to dance. I was encouraged by her research, by her book, and by televisions programs that I had seen about the “actor’s studio,” which produced a number of popular American actors (including Marlon Brando and Eli Wallach). Her work convinced me that the system was valid for dancers as it taught them what they needed or did not need; how to learn faster; and how to relax.

A theoretical background is essential for dance and dancers. This is especially true for college age students, with insufficient or inadequate previous training. These students need every trick of the trade to survive and succeed in the college environment and in the field. The brain must first understand and accept any action that the body executes. I believed--that even if the dancers resisted or were uninterested in learning the Stanislavsky principles, as translated and applied to dance--someday they would draw on the material, as I had done. It would be their friend and helper.
Chapter Seventeen: Heyday
Doug concentrated on jazz choreography, while I worked on ballet. Together we brought the students to the highest technical level that was possible, though we had divisions of ability--A, B, C, and D groups. When we programmed full-length story ballets, we used two or three casts to provide performance opportunities for all. For the mixed bills, we auditioned the students per piece.

Peter Degnan joined ADE during its third season. I was glad that he was interested in working with me again. The reappearance of so many of my former PBT dancers proved that I was not a “tyrant.” I paired Peter with one of our outstanding students--Kristen Schleich, an excellent Clara in our Nutcracker. Doug continued to dance with Carolyn Paddock. Peter and Doug, who alternated in classical roles, were dissimilar, but each excelled and had his own specific qualities.

This season, I invited several guests to share the bill with Doug and me--my former Paris colleague, Valerie Camille, who was a Jack Cole-trained jazz dancer and an exponent of Matt Mattox’s technique and my friend Milenko Banovitch.

Valerie, who then lived in New York, set a Spanish influenced piece for us and was supposed to dance in it too, but her performance was cancelled by an injury. Milenko choreographed Cabriole, a ballet tribute to Elizabeth Arden. He wanted to create a very feminine ballet--like her fragrances.

Additionally, I imported Vassili Sulich’s Mantodeo, a bug adagio based on the mating process of the female praying mantis, which strangles her mates. Vassili, whom I had known in Europe before he founded Nevada Dance Theatre, was impressed with ADE’s strength and agreed to swap works with me. In exchange, I sent him my Soiree Musicale, but our arrangement was cut short by his new manager, who felt that to preserve the uniqueness of NDT, he should not give away his best ballets. We were not going to Vegas and they were not coming to Pittsburgh, so concern was rather misplaced.

I invited the Baltimore Ballet’s Mark Mejia and his partner Linda Kintz to perform Mantodeo and the pas de deux from Sylvia. They had previously danced Mantodeo, which made the rehearsal process easy. Sulich’s adagio remained in our repertoire and was performed by other partnerships.

While this performance was very versatile and exciting, it was too long and some members of the audience departed before it concluded.

My contribution to the previous program had been minimal so, for the February 1980 program, An Evening with Stravinsky and Bernstein, I revived my Symphony in C, contributed a smaller work, Scherzo a la Russe, and dared to choreograph Apollon Musagète, the same score Balanchine used for his Apollo. I had to carefully insure that my ballet did not resemble his. Doug was in his prime, looked the part of a young god, and was physically impressive. For the goddesses, I placed dancers on the shoulders of other dancers and costumed each pair in very long skirts, from which emerged the newborn. Following their exit, Apollo matured and danced with the muses. I considered retooling this ballet, but did not keep it in the repertory.

I never liked reviving my ballets and always had someone assist--usually Kenneth. This time, Roberto Munoz and Peter Degnan helped me to restage Symphony, a demanding ballet that required top caliber soloists. Roman Hlutkowsky and Jaraslaw Petruscak--dancers from Poltava, a Ukrainian dance ensemble--were brilliant in Scherzo. (Through my friendship with them, I met Lev Kertsburg, who was instrumental in strengthening the college’s folk dance program.)

Doug and guest choreographer Jonette Lancos Wentzel upheld the Bernstein portion of the program with Doug’s West Side Story suite, featuring Jets, Sharks, and a duet with Maureen Iseman, while Wentzel’s modern ballet, dedicated to the memory of her late sister, was an excellent vehicle for the students.

This time, there were no early departures.
During the planning stages for Rod McKuen in the Dance, Part II, Rod, who was a versatile poet, singer, and composer, decided to hold a benefit performance--Rod McKuen Live--for ADE at the Carnegie Music Hall on Sunday, April 13, 1980, which corresponded with our April program at the Playhouse. It was an extremely generous gesture that gave us good press and filled the hall with his fans.

Ukrainian Lev Kertsburg, a former member of Pavel Virski’s National Folk Ensemble of Ukraine, who had joined our faculty, premiered a new work on our second Rod McKuen program, along with Doug, and me. Kertsburg’s folk themed The Birch Tree was a breathtaking dance for eight costumed couples to a score composed in Russia that used balalaikas. It was the jewel of the performance.

My new ballet, The Volga Song, to music Rod composed while guesting in the Soviet Union, included an adagio for a woman and two men. Throughout this section, the trio maintained physical contact with each other--the men carried the woman, who barely touched ground. The choreography’s intertwining, rolling, and rotating recalled the gentle flow of a current. Carolyn Paddock, Randy Molina, and Roberto danced it beautifully. The second movement featured four women en pointe, who bourréed throughout the section--again signifying the river. Elsewhere, I created rocking-boat imagery by placing those four women on the men’s shoulders, as I recall their partners were Roberto, Randy, Steven Kijek and Rick Fehlandt. There was also a short, difficult adagio for Carolyn and Roberto. Rod was very pleased with my ballet.

I took an excerpt from Rod’s musical, The Black Eagle and I illustrated the text with a suite of modern ballet solos, duets, and ensemble dances. I hoped that we would later do the entire production. Unfortunately, that never happened.

Doug choreographed The Minotaur for himself. Massine’s backdrop of Minotaur, which had been painted by Salvador Dali, would have been perfect. I had used it for Fantasia. However, Leon Falk donated it to the Carnegie Library and we were forced to create a new one. For effect, Doug, clad in a Walpurgis Nacht tunic, entered on a heavy rope that simulated his descent into hell, a concept enhanced by red lighting. Musically, it was very vivid, powerful, and had a jazzy undertone. I liked it; Doug, on the other hand, was unhappy. Rod was unusually reserved and unenthusiastic. He later admitted that he had envisioned it differently.

After the show, our post-performance party--choreographers, designers, and cast--migrated to Brandy’s in the Strip District, one of the few restaurants with late night hours. We expected to celebrate with a light dinner, but instead had an unpleasant clash between Doug and Rod. Doug arrived at the party in an altered state. When Rod tried to explain his concept of The Minotaur, Doug retorted that McKuen’s music was lousy. This was a shocker to everyone and especially to me. Rod McKuen was so nice to us. I felt the insult as deeply as Rod did. I have never forgiven Doug. I tried to smooth things over, but the incident put a damper on our evening. Rod was extremely hurt.

The next day, I visited Rod at his hotel. We discussed Doug’s behavior. He understood that I needed Doug, but refused to work with him again. Rod also decided to depart earlier than planned, because of this incident. I explain that Doug did not mean what he said and was sometimes very unpleasant because of substance abuse. Despite our discussion, Rod left quickly. I thought our affiliation had ended, but Rod was bigger than that. We arranged a third collaboration.
Mary and I had celebrated the 1980 Russian Orthodox New Year with the Kertsburg family, who resided in Mt. Lebanon. Awaiting us in their apartment was an eight-foot table filled with Russian specialties--piroshki, borscht, cotelettes pojarski, blinchiki, red caviar, smoked salmon, bitochki, shashlik, Russian salad--and more, including kvass and plenty of vodka. I was impressed. Many of these dishes, I had not eaten since I left my mother’s home. It brought back my youth and after a few drinks, I was completely melted. Opening a restaurant seemed to be a wonderful idea--and I said so. That remark consequently cost me lots of money and lots of time.

I am a fairly good cook and had always wished to open a restaurant. Perhaps it is a ballet thing--I remember a conversation with George Balanchine, which took place on a New Year’s Eve. George, who was also a good cook, explained how choreography was similar to cooking. He taught me how to make Georgian cabbage and told me that a good cook is a good choreographer and vise versa. When he disliked someone’s work, he would say, “This one is not a good cook.”

By February, we had purchased an old South Side building, adjacent to The Market building, on Twelfth Street, just around the corner from East Carson Street. At the time, interest loans were high--about eighteen percent. But the bank, which was eager for us to succeed, gave us a break. The City of Pittsburgh mended the sidewalk. South Side residents were very friendly, especially the very personable Mr. Shamahaw, who was instrumental in helping us to refurbish and rebuild the building, which took about two months.

As I recall, the Masonic Hall in Carnegie auctioned off furnishings and equipment. One of the last pieces on the block was a beautiful, new commercial stove. Bidding opened at two hundred dollars. No one stirred. The auctioneer dropped the bid to one hundred dollars. No one bid. At twenty dollars, I lifted my hand. The auctioneer called out “Forty dollars.” I lifted my hand again, but David Vinski grabbed me. “Are you crazy? You’re raising your own bid!” he hissed. The auctioneer burst out laughing and we bought a one thousand dollar stove for twenty dollars, but it cost an additional fifty dollars to transport it to restaurant.

Guests arrived in Rolls-Royces, limousines, and expensive cars. Unfortunately, we lacked parking facilities. Many patrons hunted for me, “Where is that Petrov? We want to see how he cooks.” My place was usually behind the scenes, but I stepped in if we had a shortage of servers or helpers. Actually, running up and down the stairs with two plates was very taxing on my knees.

Sometimes, I recruited my dancers (among them Roberto Munoz and Catherine Groetzinger) to work for me, “Come on, let’s go to the restaurant to help. You will get a free dinner, plus tips.” We were flying high for almost a year. People suggested that we open another “Old Europe” elsewhere. While it was a great idea, Madame Vozovaya (the chief cook and prima donna) refused to share her secrets.

And then, the Russians shot down a Korean airplane. There was general distrust and uneasiness directed towards Russia, which affected our “Russian” kitchen as well. Simultaneously, my prima donna chef--along with the Kertsburg family--decided that our prices were too low, as some of her friends had filled her head with that notion. Unfortunately, greed begets disaster.

Without my approval, they doubled the price of each plate, instead of applying a typical fifteen percent increase. It shocked the public. The increase was too steep, too fast. Patronage declined. The three covers per table dropped to two. I alerted them to the downturn, but they responded that we worked less and got the same pay--so what was wrong with that? We disputed with one another and after several confrontations; I resigned from my post as President of the Old Europe Corporation and was happy to regain my liberty. If I was unneeded, why should I break my back? We were working for nothing and, yet I considered opening another restaurant. I maintained both a cool head and a sense of distance, as I regarded the restaurant as a side job.

I had enjoyed the process of acquiring the building; consulting with engineer Steve George, whom I met during my first days in Pittsburgh, to redesign the space; doing the carpentry work to bring the building up to code; and buying equipment. Certainly, I wished for success, but was not devastated by failure.

Eventually, they could neither pay the mortgage nor afford the food. Consequently, Vinski channeled money earmarked for taxes to purchase food. The restaurant was in pitiful shape when they called me. I felt sorry for everyone. I returned to work. We had weak patronage on weeknights and barely filled the first level on Friday or Saturday. Disaster was written on the wall. I suggested going into Chapter 11, just to keep afloat for awhile. It was a bad idea. The restaurant went deeper and deeper into debt (and in the end, it cost me five thousand dollars). We were forced to close or lose everything that we had worked two and a half years to build.

In the meantime Lev, who had bought a house in Squirrel Hill, decided to go into the cleaning business, but he never grasped the American way. When the restaurant collapsed, he sold the house. The Kertsburg’s also sold their share of the business to me. They disappeared and I never heard from them again.

I rented the space to Biki Bikram, who opened Simply French II. He later changed it to a fish restaurant, before selling the business to Café Allegro Corporation. I rented the building to Café Allegro, which had the option to purchase it. They became successful, bought the neighboring building, and expanded the restaurant to include a party hall. It has been there for twenty years and is one of Pittsburgh’s elite restaurants. The “Old Europe” name survives however. One of our waiters picked up the name and opened a Bulgarian restaurant--just around the corner on East Carson Street.

My son Alex and Lev Kertsburg’s son Alexei often played together at the restaurant. However, Alex resented the restaurant and felt that we should have spent our time with him. Now, when I look back, my son was right. When he was born in 1972, I was not ready to be a father, as my time was focused on building PBT and the dance program at Point Park College. For recreation, I bought and rebuilt real estate--I think that breaking down walls and pounding in nails helped to rid me of tension and frustration. But my focus was not on little Alex. As he grew, I was willing to give him anything that he requested. But the one thing that he wanted the most was my presence, which he got very sparingly. At the time, I did not realize that he was upset with my absences. I am very sorry that I was not initially the ideal father. For many years afterwards, I tried to correct that and to be there for him anytime he needed me.

1980-81 American Dance Ensemble Season

The Luigi studio in New York recommended Ricardo Salinas for the teaching post, but he was less versatile than Doug and a mediocre choreographer. His first contribution to our 1980-81 season, Same as Yesterday was a fair number, but nobody was really enthused by it. It lacked the guts and tension characteristic in Doug’s choreography. I realized that I missed Doug.

Lev was at the peak of his choreographic ability and we compensated for the loss of Doug by featuring his works--among them The Old Lecher, which he danced with Luba Hlutkowsky (Roman’s mother); the exciting Gorlitsa; an excellent Moldavian Suite, and a gypsy dance for four.

With the help of Peter Degnan and Michael Smith, I choreographed Les Comedies Olympienne, a version of Les Patineurs to the music of Meyerbeer and Offenbach. It focused on three sports teams, engaged in a variety of athletics--swimming, gymnastics, skating, wrestling, fencing, tennis, karate, and cheerleading. The partnered gymnastic number for Sue Hunter and Jon Walas was excellent. Walas stood on his hands and did a scale (peacock in Yoga). They looked like guests from Pilobolus. However, the funniest vignette was “wrestling” performed by my favorite Ukrainians (Jaraslaw Petruscak and Roman Hlutkowsky). The ballet was very successful.

I still had not recovered from my flight phobia. Consequently, I opted to stay in Pittsburgh to “run the department” (ha ha ha). Kenneth and Ricardo went in my place, as did Lev, but an irresolvable visa issue detained him in Miami. He vacationed for a few days, before returning to Pittsburgh. Retrospectively, I regret that I did not participate in this tour, which was very successful and provided subsequent professional opportunities for Gennadi and for Carolyn Paddock. The company was wined and dined by the U.S. Embassy, the Office of Foreign Affairs of Venezuela, and by rich Venezuelans.

The Government of the State of Suleano gave the company a plaque:
The Institute of Culture of Suleano is addressing the recognition to the ballet American Dance Ensemble and its director Nicolas Petrov, for their exciting visit to our country and their great contribution to our artistic activities and cultural development of the region of Suleano.

My ongoing search for guest teachers led me to Bolshoi-trained Sulamith Messerer, who was teaching in New York. She declined my invitation and instead, highly recommended her son, Mikhail. His gig was to teach classes and to perform in The Nutcracker, as our Cavalier. He had nice line and his Bolshoi training was obvious, but as I discovered, he was quite the prima donna. (Perhaps his mother covered up for him and his Uncle Asaf Messerer protected him at the Bolshoi.)

Mikhail’s classes were adequate, but not of the same caliber as his Uncle Asaf’s. He looked down on the college population, whom he regarded as amateurs. I explained to him that these were not professional dancers, but he had difficultly understanding what I meant. Our discussion encompassed teaching approach and the American way, but he ignored my suggestions and was unwilling to adapt to the circumstances. (I had similar problems with faculty member Mansur Kamaletdinov and wondered if all Bolshoi dancers suffered from a “complex of grandeur.”)

Messerer was a bombastic performer. I feared that he would injure an inexperienced partner; I recruited Jordeen, who knew the part, was extremely adaptable, and was a veteran performer. I am sure that she has an indelible memory of his caprices. After the performance, which appeared to go well, she complained that he was impolite and had put his derriere up to her nose as he had stepped in front of her to bow.