In the Shadow of the Greats

I was at a loss for words. First of all, it was not her invention. The Romans performed in arenas. During my career, I had danced on tour in a great many European arenas with the audience placed three-quarters around us. And we hated it.

For years, avant-garde and contemporary choreographers have experimented with dance in the round. It is a total distortion of academic classicism and unsuitable for ballet as it distorts both épaulement and the classical directions, plus eradicates the concept and focus of “front” and “back.” During the flow of the performance, the movements cannot be repeated to the vantage point of each spectator and cannot be seen from all sides.

I understood from the Chicago dancers that they were uncomfortable with this non-academic concept. I was unimpressed with her innovation and said so. Geraldine Freund was absolutely shocked. I did not want to be impolite, as she had treated me well. Today, I probably would have laughed, but then, I could not to lie to her face.

“How could they hate it? It’s a wonderful new idea!” she insisted.

She turned cold and disinterested. I was already “fired.” After the meeting, my secretary sent a letter to Geraldine, informing her of the San Diego offer and requesting specifics of the Chicago contract. She never replied.
I was looking for new choreography to program. Béjart was nixed because of poor reviews in New York. Negotiations with Roland Petit collapsed, as our schedule at PBT and his schedule to stage Jeune Homme et la Mort for Mikhail Baryshnikov in New York, were incompatible. Instead, I chose John Butler.

I knew John from Europe. He was easy to contact and agreed to stage his version of Othello for us. His interpretation assumed that the audience was familiar with Shakespeare’s story. It concentrated on Iago’s lies and the resulting death. The piece was choreographed to George Crumb’s Ancient Voices of Children and had sets by NYCB’s Rouben Ter-Arutunian. I felt it would be good for PBT’s development and I really liked it. The principals were Sasha as Othello, JoAnn as Desdemona, Thierry as Iago, and Nancy Dickson as Emilia.

My casting created a tremendous rivalry between Dagmar and the other female leads. Frano explosively yelled that the prima ballerina “has nothing to dance.” Freddie volunteered to stage his ballet Tribute--a symphonic variation by César Franck--to fix the problem. Tribute, which dated from the fifties, was in honor of the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo, as a special “tribute” to this renowned company. Here, the tribute was to Kessler, who was partnered by Thierry Dorado. Frano was appeased and in gratitude, paid tribute to Freddie, cementing their association.

I staged “Armen’s Variation,” a small Khatchaturian piece from Gayané, for Sasha Filipov, Gregory Glodowski, and Douglas Bentz, but, my Maria Sabina was the evening’s major event.

I wanted to work with Balada again, as I liked his music. He proposed the libretto for Sabina based on Camilo Jose Cela’s poem about Maria, a Mexican woman of Indian heritage, who was her village’s healer/witch doctor. She simply meant to help and to make lives more comfortable. Her secret potion utilized the hallucinogenic psilocybin mushroom, which she applied to different ailments.

Many celebrities and hippies heard of the mushroom and sought out Sabina for her spiritual guidance. But her people turned against her, and she was permanently exiled for divulging the ancient Indian secret. This caused a sensation in the fifties and sixties, which inspired Cela’s poem. In it Sabina is hanged and her corpse eaten by birds. I used the poem as a monologue that related her thoughts from beyond the grave. The ballet was unusual--both musically and choreographically. Some of the scenes were ambiguous and the psychedelic elements may not have been clear to those who did not read the program notes. The work was less well-received than some of my other pieces.

For the lead, I needed a mature ballerina, who still possessed the energy to move. I chose Kaleria Fedicheva, a former Kirov Ballet star who had been Rudolph Nureyev’s partner. After retirement, she was permitted to leave the Soviet Union. She married, had a child, and was living in the U.S. As I was known to employ Soviet dancers, she contacted me, requesting a teaching gig. (Unfortunately, the students disliked her as a person and as a teacher. From sixty students on Day One, attendance dwindled to six by Day Three.) Her photo reminded me of a newspaper clipping of Maria Sabina. I thought she might be perfect for the role.

I cast Susan Stone, one of the earliest members of PBT, as the alternate. Kaleria did a nice job, but in the long run, Susan did a better one, though artistically they were unequal and shared only the costume. I was very proud of Susan. But at the outset of the project, I had no idea that she would exceed my expectations. The choreography derived from the modern/neoclassical style, which was less comfortable for Kaleria’s classicism. Susan was more adaptable to the vocabulary that I used. It is very difficult to stop mid-way in the creative process and fire someone with impeccable credentials because a student is doing a much better job. Such misjudgments can happen and this was the perfect opportunity for Frano to sink his teeth into me and rip me apart.

Frano resented that I had imported a foreigner, when one of our own could do a better job. As a product of the Vaganova system, I valued the capabilities of Soviet artists. I was not devaluating Dagmar. She lacked the plastique and acting skills for this role. Consequently, I was accused of harboring Soviets and transforming Pittsburgh Ballet Theatre into “Ballet Russe de Pittsburgh.”

During rehearsals for Sabina, Frano, who could not stand Kaleria, became hysterical and called me all kinds of names. He accused me of disrespecting Dagmar, but was actually using her as a shield to attack me.

The company was divided by complicated alliances forged of professional jealousy and forced by personal relationships. Sasha, Nancy, Roberto, and Thierry were at odds with Frano, and were among my supporters (which also included Susan Stone, Barbara Guterl, and Jordeen, who had already left). He attacked them too--but, I was the head of the dragon, which he intended to spear first. I was tremendously frustrated.

The tension over this ballet and with Frano generated friction with Loti Falk. He and I had a shouting match over the phone. I lost my temper. We swore at each other in Yugoslav. I told him to shut up or I would chop him up.

Less than thirty minutes later, I was summoned to Bruce Bowden’s office, as Loti was “up in arms” that I had threatened her ballet master’s life. I was pretty pissed about the situation, but it was difficult to explain to the Pittsburgh locals the way Yugoslavs settle disputes. I had no intention of physically harming Frano; it was just a rhetorical attack. However, Loti was not easily appeased, as she was already perturbed about another incident--and that one had nothing to do with Frano.
We were on the road in Texas. After one particularly exhausting performance, we crawled aboard the bus for an early morning departure. And then, I noticed the pillows. I was surprised and asked the dancers where they had acquired them. Some smirked. Some laughed out loud. No one answered. An urgent call from Loti was waiting for me at the next stop. She demanded to know why I had allowed the dancers to steal the pillows from the Ramada Inn. The hotel management and the Falk family were friends and this caused a great scandal. The finger of blame was pointed squarely at me, as the artistic director I should have prevented the theft. The pillows were restituted and returned. But dirt was heaped on me.

Loti was caving in to negative criticism which raised doubts about the quality and future of PBT. That--coupled with Frano’s undermining and incriminations--had shaken her confidence in me. She panicked because we were not achieving what other people thought we should. She blamed me for the lack of artistic growth.

I wanted a union company--and Loti was fiercely opposed to it. I wanted strong dancers of our own to alleviate the need to import stars. I wanted our repertoire to offer recent and avant-garde works.

Loti understood the value of a work signed “Picasso” compared to one signed “Petrov.” Her favorite phrase was “Where are we going? (I translated that into Latin--Quvadis.) Her knowledge of ballet was no more advanced than that of the average Pittsburgher. Yet, she regarded herself as an expert. She watched a ballet and either liked it or did not. She failed to grasp that a series of necessary steps paved the road to development. At one point, Loti consulted with NYCB’s Lincoln Kirstein. He withheld any serious comment.

For this program, my last with PBT, Petrushka was staged by Nicolas Beriozoff, whom I had known since my days in Paris, where he recruited freelance dancers for his ballets and re-stagings. When we met, I impressed him by complimenting his beloved daughter, whom I had seen perform in Belgrade as a guest artist. To make him feel good, I told him that I even preferred her to Margot Fonteyn. And that he really liked. Technically, she had the edge, but lacked the same mesmerizing personality.

He had a tiny apartment with a mini-kitchen, but preferred to hang out at one of the local studios, as he liked young girls and liked to watch them. And sometimes, he caught one. During those Paris years, he and I crossed paths from time to time and he would ask me to participate in his gigs. I would say that his work was much more classical than mine, as I was leaning towards contemporary dance with my work in television and films. He was knowledgeable, but I perceived him as outdated.

Through Marina Svetlova, I learned that he was teaching in Bloomington, Indiana and following PBT’s Texas tour, I drove there to see him. I caught a production of Romeo and Juliet, which I remarked was “different.” And it was--different from mine. He asked to stage something from the Fokine repertoire for PBT. We agreed on Polovtsian Dances, which he set in three days. It looked pretty good, but it was never performed. He also asked to retool Sylphide, which he felt Freddie had not done correctly. But I felt that we had over performed that ballet and I wanted something else. He knew that we had the sets for Petrushka and claimed to have performed many of the roles. I hired him to revive it. The Joffrey’s Christian Holder danced as the Moor.

Nicolas tried to sell me his Don Q production. The London Festival Ballet costumes that he had were ugly. And I said, “forget it.” One of my successors, Patricia Wilde, during a lapse of judgment, bought the production. He also tried to sell me his Paris apartment, but I dallied too long and he died before I made a decision.
The tension with Loti was unbearable. She was inexplicably under Frano’s influence and had violently turned against me. She criticized my every step, which regardless of my decision, was wrong. I did not know how to deal with the problem.

I was tempted by offers to go elsewhere. But my ties to Pittsburgh were strong, as I had heavily invested in real estate, my son Alexander was young, Mary had a job at the college, and so did I. The college was rebounding from its financial crisis. I doubted that I could find two jobs in another market.

The first part of 1977 was very turbulent. I made several errors that changed my future. First, during a conversation with Loti, I demanded the termination of Frano’s contract. She promised not to renew it, but would keep Dagmar on the roster.

Loti claimed that she was constantly defending and protecting me, but my stubbornness and sympathy for Soviet artists was against PBT’s American spirit. She wanted American dancers to represent PBT.

I would have agreed with her, but dancers akin to Villella were only available to us as guests and would never accept long-term contracts with PBT. Here was proof of her ignorance. I chose the best dancers that we could afford.

I doubted my self-worth. Apparently, defending me against the world was a great favor. I understood that Frano and his cohorts--dancers like Jeanne Loomis, Susan Degnan and her husband, who scrutinized me and reported to him--were against me, but she intimated that it was more than that. I excitedly stated, “Loti, don’t defend me. If I am not worth anything, you cannot mother me all my life. I have to survive on my own.”

She replied, “Okay, I will stop defending you.” Our bond was severed.

My “gang” (Sasha, Roberto, Nancy, and Thierry) and I met with Board VP Bruce Bowden and issued an ultimatum--either Frano stayed with the company or we did--but we could no longer co-exist.

Three days later, in new Board Chairman Robert Buckley’s office, with Bruce Bowden and Bill Schenck present, I was fired. They offered two options--I could continue receiving my monthly salary or they could buy out my contract. PBT would perform my ballets until the end of my contract without extra pay, and afterwards, I would receive royalties.

Shockingly, PBT was willing to lose five people to keep one. Clearly, the bond between Frano and Loti was unbreakable. Ironically, I was relieved to exit this mess. The pressure was too taxing and would later take a toll on my health, resulting in heart bypass surgery.

I opted to take my money and leave. I walked into company rehearsal and thanked everybody for their collaboration. I announced that I was no longer part of the organization. The air was thick enough to slice.

After I left the studio, Loti said that she was “very sorry that the board had made that decision.” I also saw the smirk on Kay Cushing’s face.

Cushing, who was hostile and bitchy, was the company’s general manager and a carbon copy of Loti. She echoed Loti’s every word to maintain favor and keep the job.

I looked Loti Falk straight in the eyes and said, “Well, we only receive what we deserve and everyone’s fate will gain upon them. Nobody can get away from their destiny,” with those parting words, I exited the building.

The company released a statement from the Board President announcing that I had reduced my activities with PBT and was planning to relocate in the near future. This was to avoid a scandal in the press. Gilpin, the incoming co-artistic director, was now in charge, but he was incapable of meeting the stress and demands of the job.

When I ruminate over how PBT’s administration dealt with me, I ask myself if their money made them so powerful and disrespectful or if they only wanted my knowledge and expertise to enable them to enter the entertainment industry. I wonder if they were without souls, humanity, and dignity. Retrospectively, I am disappointed with Loti, whom I respected and admired. I never understood her motives or attempts to destroy me and my career. Even a criminal has the right to appeal court decisions. I was guilty without proof.

Yes, I was guilty of creating a dance environment in Pittsburgh, guilty of nurturing a first-class ballet company, and guilty of educating both common and prominent people about dance. I was also guilty of encouraging parents, students, and the public to attend dance performances. Yes, I was guilty of developing educational opportunities from elementary school through college levels. Yes, I was guilty of loving dance and for building a solid base for it in the city.

Others reaped the benefits of my hard work in PBT’s birthing and building process. I would have been proud to share my knowledge, but it was painful to have others scavenge my handiwork and creations, while trying to incriminate me for lack of knowledge--the very knowledge that I gave to them.

Chapter Fifteen: Squarely at Square One
The Point Park College students greeted me with great respect. Faculty member Petrus van Muyden, who idolized me, instructed the students to boycott PBT performances. Joe Doaks, then a senior, who worked for Pittsburgh Ballet Theatre as an administrator, was also among my staunchest supporters. He organized a reception to celebrate my “homecoming,” as with no duties at PBT, I could focus exclusively on college activities.

In the spring of 1977, I staged Stravinsky’s Firebird for the Point Park College Dance Company. Initially I had planned to develop the choreography on the students and later set it on PBT. Stravinsky’s music captivated me. The Russian folk tale of Ivan and the Firebird was a great vehicle for the students and was accessible to audiences. I cast Justin Glodowski as Ivan and his brother, Gregory, as the spirit of the mountain, who transformed beautiful Russian princesses into monsters. As in Swan Lake, the bewitched young girls reverted to princesses only after midnight. While hunting, Ivan traps the magical glowing bird, who grants him three wishes in exchange for her freedom. He keeps one brilliant red feather to light his way through the dark forest.

We had neither sophisticated costumes to facilitate the transformations of the princesses into monsters nor theatrical tricks for special effects. As the director of PBT, I was accustomed to spending thousands of dollars on superb costumes for my full-length story ballets. The contrast between PBT’s lush Cinderella and PPC’s impoverished Firebird was unbelievable.

I was dissatisfied with the ballet--but was pleased with the dancing. Freddie Franklin saw it and regarded it as the best Firebird in recent memory.

A born builder, I tried to quickly forget PBT and launch a new company at the college, which needed a performing outlet for the students. I aimed for a touring troupe augmented with a few professional dancers. I wanted it to reach audiences beyond the Rehearsal and Performance course’s informal presentations. Douglas Bentz, a college jazz instructor, steered me towards a multi-form format that--unlike PBT’s opera ballet style--embraced ballet, jazz, and modern dance.

President Hopkins admitted that it was a good idea, but did not immediately approve it. He avoided financial commitments, especially those related to dance, as it was blamed for breaking the college’s back in 1973--and maybe there was some truth to it. I insisted that in exchange for access to rehearsal space, the Playhouse, costume shop, and mailing facilities; the company would cost the college nothing.

Dean Charles Quillan headed our Board. Doug, who was enthusiastic, physically impressive, and a fairly good partner, stepped in as my new “John Occhipinti.” I also invited my former dancers including Jordeen Ivanov and JoAnn McCarthy to join us whenever possible. Peter Degnan later returned and remained with us for many years. The other faculty worked gratis, to develop the “American Dance Ensemble.” I insisted on “American” in the title because “A” leads the alphabet. I suspected that the “A’s” got the icing on the funding cake and we desperately needed that edge. We realized that earned income from the Playhouse could never support us. Touring was essential to our survival. Eventually we earned seventy to eighty thousand dollars a year, which covered our costuming, touring expenses, guest choreographers, and guest artists, including several who defected from PBT. At the outset, however, we lacked money, professional dancers, and costumes--just as when I had arrived in Pittsburgh. However, during PBT’s early years, I found an arts angel in Loti Falk, but ADE failed to attract a committed benefactor. The only thing we had was a love for dance.
The Nutcracker was an obvious choice for the repertoire. Doug and I discussed the options. PBT could not perform everywhere and was likely to bypass colleges, high schools, and small budgeted venues. If there had been a budget for props, costumes, and scenery changes, I would have created a futuristic version--similar to the Star Wars movie--with robots. I had also mulled over a Pittsburgh setting. Instead, we decided to build a portable and practical traditional production that could tour easily with professional soloists and a student corps.

This would be my third Nutcracker production. We needed a designer with a fresh approach. Rouben Ter-Arutunian, who had designed the costumes for PBT’s Dohnanyi Suite, introduced and popularized costuming that utilized spandex, then a new product on the market. I could not afford to hire him, but asked him if we could use spandex costumes without infringing on his trademark. Pat Mincin, who designed Fantasia for me at PBT, was delighted with The Nutcracker assignment. We acquired a few sewing machines that could stitch spandex and Rouben provided instructions on how to work with the fabric. Our minimalist costumes for the battle and snow scenes, plus for Act II certainly looked different--the mice, in particular, looked cartoonish, like Jerry from Tom and Jerry--and could easily be packed into two big boxes.

We had swords for the fight scene, a clock, an enormous piece of cheese, a stretcher for the “wounded”, an expandable tree (which included a huge box on wheels that served as the tree’s pedestal in the party scene), and a rolling bed. Boyd Ostroff designed the drops--the Mayor’s house, a beautiful snow scene, and “Land of Sweets.” The borders and legs were added to subsequent productions.

We assembled a relatively small cast of college students--thirty-five to thirty-eight dancers (who fit perfectly on a bus). As we had no children, the student who was cast as Clara, also danced the Sugar Plum Fairy.

Doug made a nice Nutcracker Prince/Cavalier and was happy to dance leading roles that were not available to him at PBT. Jordeen put in a guest appearance, alternating with student Carolyn Paddock as Clara/Sugar Plum Fairy. Folk dance teacher David Vinski and I alternated as Drosselmeyer.

Initially The Nutcracker was very successful, filling the Playhouse to ninety-five percent capacity. Our fans preferred our version to PBT’s. Of course, others criticized our barebones productions. The ballet became an annual ritual that concluded each fall semester. Via triple casting, it provided opportunities for most of the students to dance. We ran the show for two weeks at the Playhouse and toured. I enjoyed those tours, as they reminded me of Theatre d’Art du Ballet’s tours of Italy. We performed in various high schools, such as Kane Area High School, at universities, including Indiana University of Pennsylvania, where ADE member Claudia Morris’ mother served on the committee that invited us, and in community auditoriums, some better equipped than others, as some lacked good hanging abilities. This was an excellent lesson for our dancers. They discovered that every theater has its own spirit and every performance, its own personality. The same held for the public, as some audiences were more enthusiastic than others.