In the Shadow of the Greats

I was out of town for a few days when the bomb fell--I had gone to visit Stevan Grebel, in Birmingham, Alabama. Stevan had settled there and had become the dance department chairman of the University of Alabama at Birmingham. He was presenting a performance at the newly built Birmingham Civic Theatre. Mary phoned in the middle of the night. She told me that Point Park College had closed its doors. We had to immediately remove the contents of our office and retrieve our costumes. If the doors were padlocked, we would be unable to enter.

I rushed home. However, while I was in transit, Loti Falk called Vic Heller, the college’s maintenance department director and arranged to have our belongings carried across the street to the Pittsburgh Ballet Theatre Building. Although we had already begun holding classes in the building, renovations to the facility were still in progress. The crash had happened to fast. My “new” office was on the first floor.

In the meantime, Falk had negotiated an agreement with Chancellor Posvar at the University of Pittsburgh. He promised that if Point Park College folded, Pitt would pick-up the dance department--including all the faculty and students who wished to transfer.

It felt like the sinking of the Titanic. Many students departed. The faculty had the option of leaving--Caton went back to New York; Ismet--with my help--established the dance program at Mercyhurst College in Erie; Morawski--an unsettled soul, like Frano, found another job. Those who remained, along with the staff, went on the street to solicit money to save the college.

Very appropriate to the American way, somebody had to be blamed for this disaster. It happened to be Arthur Blum, who was slandered. I was one of his few friends who did not talk against him. I do not know if people do these things because of jealousy or because they think they could do it better. Blaming somebody is always very easy, but it really does not change the facts.

Retrospectively, I see how Point Park College treated Blum unjustly. He really had the college’s best intentions at heart. He was after all, part of the Finkelhor family, which founded the college. His goal was to develop its arts programs via the acquisition of the Pittsburgh Playhouse and through his affiliations with PBT and the American Wind Symphony. His goals were reasonable. The Starmakers Gala is living proof that his goals were achieved.

I am saddened that people in education can be so self-centered and idea-less in planning for the future. I know that not everyone can be a visionary, but being limited does not create an inspiring environment for an educational establishment. I am also saddened that donors to the college are greeted with fanfares and utmost respect while people like Arthur Blum and Mark Lewis are forgotten and no one ever mentions their names with reverence and respect.

My mentor Léonide Massine told me a story about respecting others. Respecting others generates self-respect. Serge Diaghilev insisted on speaking well of everyone--even of his enemies, because it could breakdown resistance and lead to friendship.

Dean John Hopkins was appointed as the college’s acting president. He approached his job intelligently, tried to earn the respect of those who remained on the faculty, and attempted to keep the budget balanced--which was the most important job of all, as his goal was for the college to survive.

I had met Hopkins during the Blum administration. A calm and distinguished gentleman, he was pleasant and levelheaded. What I liked best about him was his outlook--he never rushed a judgment and allowed all the sides to be presented. He treated everyone fairly. Whenever I introduced an idea, he always listened carefully, neither immediately negating its validity nor approving it. He never made promises that he could not keep. I really liked him as a person because I knew where I stood with him.

Yes, he saved the college and kept our salaries afloat. Instead of collecting unemployment when the college closed, we were paid the same sum as unemployment compensation. Three months later, the college was on firmer ground.

With PBT located across the street from the college, I had offices in both buildings. My workload at the college remained unchanged as I carried out my duties at PBT. Loti Falk said that since the two organizations were now divided, PBT would pay half of my salary, while the college continued to pay the other half. If either organization was to fail, I would be assured of the remaining half of my salary from the survivor. My college contract for the 1973-74 year was lowered to $10,500.

She also insisted on announcing the separation in Dance Magazine. Enrollment plunged. Applications fell from 250 the previous year to 128. Making matters worse, we had also lost the ability to recruit dancers on tour for the college and the company. Those auditioning for the college were given faint hope of joining PBT.

President Hopkins consolidated the dance, drama, film, and music divisions into the Department of Fine, Applied, and Performing Arts. Mark Lewis was appointed as Chairman. As the dance department’s director, I retained autonomy. I was more comfortable as “director” than as “chairman.”

Fund-raising was challenging. As America relies heavily on advisors, Loti Falk suggested that we invite authorities to evaluate our progress and offer suggestions for fund-raising. We invited American dance pioneer William Christensen founder of Ballet West and the San Francisco Ballets to visit.

Christensen offered many useful suggestions and recommended dancers Charles and Phillip Fuller, identical twin brothers who had graduated from the University of Michigan. They had danced with Ballet West and had also participated in the Festival Champs-Elysées with Joseph Lazzini’s Théâtre Français de la Danse. They joined PBT in 1974 along with Thierry Dorado, a product of the Paris Opéra School, who had also worked with John Cranko and Roland Petit. Dorado had been working with Bill who felt that the young Frenchman would fit in well at PBT because of my European background.

I visited Christensen in Salt Lake City, where he very graciously showed me Ballet West, the school, and operations, which were all very well organized. I was impressed. I was also fascinated with the greenish-blue salt-saturated lake. I could lie down in the water and float like a cork.

Essentially, I ensured that the performances went well and that the dancers did a good job, but I seldom had a say in the bookings--except for one Texas tour which resulted from visiting Skibine. Ismet knew him well from the Marquis de Cuevas ballet, where Skibine had been a leading dancer. I knew Skibine from Mme. Preobrajenska’s classes in Paris, but actually was better acquainted with his father, who often visited Studio Wacker. Neither of us had seen George in awhile. George and Marjorie received us with open arms. They were intrigued by my activities in Pittsburgh. George was avidly interested in importing my Romeo and Juliet. When I returned to Pittsburgh, I told Loti Falk of Skibine’s interest. As her husband had many contacts in Texas, an extensive tour would be feasible. And the wheels for the Texas tour were set in motion.

Some friends of Mr. Falk’s also negotiated a tour of Puerto Rico, but as I was still averse to flying, I let PBT go without me--obviously I could not drive there. It was an important engagement and my place should have been with them, but they had to devise a “cock and balls” story about a sickness to explain my absence.
Careful planning always went into the season opener. For the 1973-74 season, I programmed my production of Cinderella. I wanted my ballet to steer away from Soviet interpretations, especially Rostislav Zakharov’s version, which was the first to use Prokofiev’s score. My production was intended for children, but with contemporary theatricality--fast-moving scenes, a rich variety of costumes, and classical dancing--it offered sufficient diversions to maintain anyone’s interest.

I started by synchronizing the music with the storyline. I made cuts in the music, reducing the score from two and half hours to one hour and thirty-five minutes. I deleted most of the repeats, but kept the scenes and dances essential to the libretto.

Peter Schaufuss, with his tremendous technique was my inspiration. He was a born prince--perfect for searching the world for his love. We projected a spinning globe on a screen to suggest the Prince’s worldwide search, while Peter swung across the stage from one wing to the other on a thick rope. The effect was a hit with Pittsburgh Press critic Ruth Heimbuecher, who wrote on October 13, 1973:
A whirling globe in steamy clouds in the background told the story better than more elaborate (and more expensive) changes of scenery could have.
Even offstage, the role suited Peter’s personality. In his variation, he “flew” in this throne. It was also time to create a ballet for Dagmar, who was frequently partnered by Schaufuss. She too, seemed to personify Cinderella and was quite gifted and technically capable. Together, they danced brilliantly. For my comic trio--the step-sisters and their mother--I chose Kenneth Johnson and Orrin Kayan with Patricia Klekovic. Vostrikov was an excellent jester, while Dana Nugent led the Three Oranges. In this production, it was evident that the ensemble was finally acquiring a uniform look and dancing better together.

Henry Heymann, who did the set design, décor, and costumes, used photos of the Marquis de Cuevas company’s production as a guideline. As usual, our costumes were sumptuous and beautiful--made from silk and brocade purchased at an Altoona textile factory. However, on opening night, still unfinished, they were pinned onto the dancers.

I was particularly proud of my stage invention which used big, shiny, cutouts of the numerals one through twelve. These represented the hours chimed by the clock and were held by children dressed as dwarfs (à la Snow White) with fake beards, mustaches, and red noses. I filmed the whole dance so that in the story, when the clock stuck midnight twinkling numbers were projected all over the stage. The effect made the tremendous music even more fantastic and impressive.

Cinderella was our fourth big ballet and the envy of everyone who was producing small scale works with simple costuming. I was not following the Balanchine mold. He believed that the choreography should be the focal point and that elaborate costumes and décor were detractors. Pittsburgh was (and is) a market that preferred theater based works over the abstract. Even today, audiences tire of one-act ballets and smaller works but still enjoy spectaculars. I chose not to foist my personal preferences on the audience. Instead, I believed in providing the audience with opportunities to develop its own tastes. By starting with the classics, I felt that the audience would grow with the progressive expansion of the repertoire.
I opted for a mixed bill in November 1973 featuring Ruth Page’s--Carmina Catulli and Bolero, plus two of my works. The premise of Carmina Catulli was to combine her choreography with Carl Orff’s music and Andre Delfau’s design. As usual, Ruth spared no expense for costuming and did not take PBT’s meager budget into account. We could not afford what she wanted. Since she had planned this work for a longtime, she footed the bill and we produced beautiful costumes.

Augmenting Catulli’s cast were singers from the Cameron Choir of Carnegie-Mellon University, with soloists Donald Wilkins, Amy Griffis, and John Meyer. It was an interesting work and made a great showpiece for Patricia Klekovic. Kenneth Johnson assumed the role of Catullus on opening night, as Villella had a back injury. The ensemble, which did a good job of visualizing Ruth’s ideas, was progressively improving--precision was more accurate and the work was more convincing.

Page’s version of Bolero was a parody of the serious and sensual ballet produced and performed by Ida Rubinstein in 1928. In PBT’s production, Dana Nugent danced the lead role of the dazzling, seductive sex symbol to Orrin Kayan’s pimp. Their interaction was humorous, entertaining, and well received by the public.

In my Scenes de Ballet, Sasha Filipov subbed for Villella as Dagmar Kessler’s partner. My other contribution to the program was the slapstick Soirees Musicale, to the music of Benjamin Britten. Based on a Rossini theme it poked fun at ballet--exaggerating its affectations and posturing. In Canzonetta Kessler, Dinko Bogdanic, and Verdran Drutter danced a Coppélia-style pas de trois that emphasized their virtuosity. The Bolero adagio, danced with Spanish flair as a parody of its counterpart from Don Quixote, paired Jordeen Ivanov--who really knew how to make the public laugh--with Nicholas Polajenko or with Johnson. Jordeen was progressing very well. She was an accomplished dancer, one who could learn a role by watching. She had technique, musicality, and the potential to become PBT’s prima ballerina.

I had developed a production for the Playhouse Junior in the style of British interpretations after Arthur Saint-Léon. It had condensed the three-act ballet into a single act with three scenes. Scene One corresponded with Act I and was based on the interplay between Franz and Swanilda as she discovered his interest in Coppélia. Here, I also introduced Dr. Coppelius. (Leonard Weitershausen played the role.) My second scene was set in the Doctor’s attic, where the village girls played with his puppets. In the third scene, I staged a wedding for Swanilda and Franz.

I thought that Dagmar would be excellent as Swanilda (and she proved herself to be a born for the role). I knew that Sasha Filipov would be wonderful as Franz. For me, it was an opportunity to play the role of Coppelius, which I had always wanted to do. I vividly remembered Dimitri Parlic’s performance as the eccentric toy maker. I wanted to adapt it to my character, yet respect the traditional choreography. It is extremely difficult to simultaneously develop a role and choreograph a ballet. I decided it might be better if Jelincic staged it. He was a ballet master, who never did anything unfamiliar--I never saw any of “his” choreography. He and Dagmar could draw from their knowledge of the London Festival Ballet’s production and from Frano’s familiarity with the Zagreb version. We needed new décor and costumes. I turned to Frank Childs, who had done an excellent job with Soirees Musicales. He was the perfect designer for this production. The results were colorful and attractive.
PBT had become well-known for its full-length ballets and big productions. Pennsylvania Ballet, which was rich in the Balanchine repertoire, now regarded us as an outdated Ballet Russe with a standard Eastern European opera company repertoire. To the surprise of the so-called ballet experts, the Pittsburgh audience reacted to full-length ballets, which continued to sell better than mixed bills.

We continued to rely on guest artists, but our regulars were the pride of PBT and my students Jordeen Ivanov and JoAnn McCarthy were becoming more captivating. The ensemble was now strong, but less refined in an academic sense, though I was more discriminating about choosing and keeping dancers. The public liked us--and that was important. The local critics were of mixed opinions, but those outside of Pittsburgh were responding favorably. However, we still lacked an aggressive agent to present us. PBT was coming of age.

I created most of the choreography and with my jobs at PBT and the college, plus so many other activities demanding my attention, I was spreading myself too thin. It was evident that I needed a co-director to support the artistic end of things. The Washington National Ballet folded; Frederic Franklin was available to join PBT as co-director for the 1974-75 season, which seemed to be a positive move. He was already well-established in the U.S. and his name was a plus on our advertising material. I was too confident in myself and depended too much on Franklin to remain my ally and good friend. Much later, I suspected that he may have been influenced by my detractors at PBT. Freddie liked to hit the bottom of the bottle, which kept him in a special mood--he felt his best in those moments. He would become talkative. I understood his thoughts most clearly at those times when he was drowning some sorrow or bittersweet memory.
I needed a romantic ballet. I remembered that Freddie had Giselle in his repertoire and I suggested that he stage it. Franklin flew to Pittsburgh for rehearsals. He staged Giselle efficiently. Personally, I preferred Lavrovsky’s version, but those minor differences in details were recognizable only to the New York and Paris publics, as audiences here were less steeped in the classical traditions.

Dagmar Kessler and Thierry Dorado were impressive in the starring roles. I do recall that Jordeen had trouble with her role as Myrta. We previewed it in Crafton. It went well, as did the official run at Heinz Hall. It raised everyone’s respect for Franklin, who became a beloved newcomer.

Freddie, as co-director, insisted that he knew the ballet perfectly. We decided to go with Léonide’s staging, but after his departure, Freddie could correct some of the scenes that he remembered well. Actually, Léonide was also annoyed by Freddie and said that he was “mechanical” and “lacked artistry.” I kept silent and just accepted his statements. After all, he was the choreographer and had the right to adapt and change his work as he wished.

Léonide and I had a disagreement too, as I wished to videotape our performance. He forbade it. I was hurt that he lacked confidence and trust in me and that he suspected that I would not contact him or his family for subsequent re-staging.

I am not defending Freddie or attacking Léonide, but this incident created a rift in my relationship with Léonide. This was the last time that he worked for me. We remained friends. At the time, he was living in Germany with his new German wife and I was still not keen on flying. I only saw him once more in New York and that was the last time I saw him alive.

Massine was a great guy, a memorable person, and a stellar dancer. He had principles. His outlook on life clashed with his children’s--Léonide Jr. and Tatiana. As I remember, they always had some disagreement with him, but he always wished the best for them. I never met his other two children, who were born in Germany. Their mother contacted me, as they were planning to visit America and me at the college. However, they never arrived and I lost touch with them. I maintained long-distance friendships with both Tatiana, who was married and lived in New York and with her mother. I saw less of Léonide Jr., as he resided in Italy.
Paired on the program with Gaîte was John Taras’ Dohnanyi Suite, which was a symphonic ballet to Ernst Van Dohnanyi's music. It was a great showpiece for Dagmar and Sasha, Jordeen and Dinko, and JoAnn and Thierry. I liked the ballet very much. It was rather spectacular, well-dressed, and well-choreographed.

Taras was then associated with NYCB, but we had met in Europe when he was the ballet master for the Marquis de Cuevas company--and I had even auditioned for him. No, he did not select me, but it was an American company which gave priority to American dancers. John told me to keep in touch with him in the future. He was an excellent ballet master and choreographer. In 1960, he became Balanchine’s right-hand man and restaged Balanchine’s works all over the world.

Rounding out the program was Pas de Quatre, which Freddie set. This too was an interesting situation. I had to request permission from Anton Dolin to stage it and remember receiving a very sweet letter from him expressing how glad he was to grant the rights for a revival. He had no objections to allowing Freddie to restage it. I think this letter influenced my later decision to hire Dolin’s boyfriend John Gilpin.

Freddie did an effective job with the restaging. The four ballerinas were Jeanne Loomis, Jordeen Ivanov, JoAnn McCarthy, and Andrea Vodehnal.

The program was a very nice mixed bill, though predictably less attended than our full-length story ballet programs.
In December 1974, guest artist Edward Villella joined us on a lengthy Florida tour that included Daytona Beach, Sarasota, and Jacksonville--among many stops.

In St. Petersburg, we stayed in a retirement home. I had just quit smoking. My room resonated with the plumbing noises and whenever anyone on another floor used the bathroom, it sounded like Niagara Falls in my room. At 3:00 a.m. I needed a cigarette badly. I began smoking again.