In the Shadow of the Greats

Choreo Expo 86 was created to showcase student choreographers, older choreographers, newer choreographers, faculty, and anyone with the inspiration to produce a good piece. About a dozen participated in the inaugural event, which evolved into the Student Choreographers Showcase and later, into Tomorrow’s Choreographers.

I approached Mark Lewis with an idea. “Mark, I think we should do a break dance festival.” He looked at me quite puzzled and surprised and asked why I wanted to mingle with amateurs. But there are no amateurs--there are only the talented and the untalented. After winning him over, I approached the City of Pittsburgh, as we were working for the Department of Parks and Recreation.

Securing five thousand dollars in funding from the city was a snap. I convinced Lewis that if the college put up twenty-five hundred dollars, the payback in publicity for the college and for us would be invaluable. The major expense was renting Soldier and Sailors Memorial Hall, which could accommodate approximately four to five thousand people. I amassed a jury at a low fee. We offered three thousand dollars for first prize; two thousand dollars for second; five hundred dollars for third, and ten consolation prizes of one hundred dollars.

During the pre-selection process, we narrowed the field of one hundred applicants to thirty groups based on their three-minute demonstrations. Some of the performers looked like karate experts, others like Indians, and some just like ghetto kids. I approached many of them and passed around a piece of paper offering dance scholarships at Point Park College, including full scholarships. Their lack of response and interest was disappointing. They looked at me as if they just wanted to be paid before disappearing.

However, to our great surprise, the two-hour event filled the hall. We only charged a donation, but netted more than four thousand dollars. The bottom line was that it cost the college nothing and we still earned fifteen hundred dollars. This was more proof of my no risk, no gain philosophy. I was known for my kamikaze nature--I was willing to try anything at least once. The event was both a great success and a total failure. We received good press. Otherwise, it was a senseless waste of time.
In 1985, I went home. (Roberto drove me to the airport, tried to get me drunk--but I was sweating too much for the alcohol to take affect--and pushed me on the plane. His philosophy was that if you are afraid of something--just do it.) I had not been in Yugoslavia for thirty years. Tito had extended amnesty to those who had not served in the army. It was safe for me to return, but I remained apprehensive until I landed in the U.S.

My street had not changed since my departure, but Novi Sad had changed tremendously. It looked like a new city. Its center was now divided by a six-lane highway, which connected to a new railway station. There was a new bridge too, which crossed the Danube to Frushka Gora. It took awhile to adjust--everything seemed smaller and strange, even the things that were familiar.

Since that visit, I have returned once or twice a year and have spent summers there too. My Aunty Elizabeth, with whom I had stayed during my student days in Belgrade, had passed on; as had her brother, my Uncle Oscar. However, through my repeated visits, I grew closer to my cousins Oscar Jr. and Helena and their families.

My son, Alex, accompanied me on one of these trips. We went to visit relatives in Zagreb and Novi Sad, as my parents, who were both still alive, were anxious to see him. He spoke only English, but was very heroic. He loved the ice cream, which was inexpensive and plentiful.

I wanted to show Alex more of Yugoslavia and took him to the Dalmatian Coast by train. I thought that he would enjoy Dubrovnik, but we were unable to find lodgings there--all the hotels were booked. I could not even bribe someone to rent us a room. Next, we took a boat to Hvar, a resort, where my former teacher Margita Debeljak resided. I had not seen her in twenty-five years. She loaned us her small apartment for the night and went to stay with neighbors. Neither Alex nor I could sleep. We went outside to sit on the steps, when suddenly we were surrounded by bats. Alex said, “Daddy, I think it’s time we went home.” It was a long night--if we closed the windows, which overlooked the courtyard, there was no air and if we left them open, the bats would come in. The next day, we visited one of my former classmates from Novi Sad, who had become a wealthy businessman. In the thirty years since I had last seen him, he had filled out considerably from the skinny dance student I remembered. Here, with a big house, nice bedrooms, and a boat in the yard, Alex was very comfortable.
Shortly before graduating from high school, my friends and I vacationed at Lake Bled in Slovenia, where Yugoslavian President Josip Broz Tito had a sumptuous summer home. We visited a little church that stood on an island amid the lake. Following the local custom, I made a wish as I pulled the church’s bell. Thirty-two years later, my wish came true. I returned to Lake Bled--thanks to Milenko Banovitch.

He had been working as a guest teacher and choreographer at the State Opera of Ljubljana, in Slovenia where he had been asked to stage the full-length Merry Widow. The job was too complex for him and he suggested that his “friend” (me) would be interested in the project.

The Opera was familiar with Ruth Page’s version, which featured New York City Ballet star Peter Martins. The production was approximately fifty-five minutes long--too short by Yugoslav standards. It had to be extended into a full-length work.

Milenko asked if I could find or create a longer score. Initially, I was unsure if this was possible, but the project intrigued me. I liked Lehár’s music and operettas, which I had performed in Europe.

Ottavio De Rosa was too busy to accept the assignment. He recommended Jeff Cook, who was PBT’s assistant conductor. Jeff jumped at the offer and accepted--if he could conduct the Ljubljana Symphony. The Symphony agreed.

Apparently Ruth’s arranger failed to ask permission from the Lehár Foundation to use the music. As she did not have rights to the music, we could not use her score and the Lehár foundation prohibited taking it to Europe. Adapting the operetta into a ballet was an enormous project, which Jeff could not do unassisted. Sandy Ball stepped in to help and became addicted to cutting musical scores.

We built it scene by scene and I enhanced the libretto. For the overture, we created a scene with Sonya (the soon to be Merry Widow) and her husband. We set it in their bedroom, as Sonya was preparing for the nuptial night. The husband got so excited that he died of a heart attack. The scene was not dramatic, but rather funny.

In the next scene, we staged a meeting in the Marsovian Embassy, between Popov, the ambassador, and an official of Marsovia. Marsovia was on the brink of bankruptcy, illustrated with an unfurling scroll of debts. The plan was to persuade Prince Danilo to re-establish his relationship with the now widowed and very wealthy Sonya in order to tap her bank account. This scene was similar to one in The Green Table. The decision here was to invite Sonya to a huge reception at the Embassy.

In the ensuing ballroom scene, representatives from various embassies presented national dances. A tipsy Danilo arrived with an entourage of can-can girls. Sonya appeared amid the can-can number--much like the arrival of Cinderella at the ball and with the same impact. However, Danilo seemed disinterested until their eyes locked. The fire ignited and they started to dance. The following scene depicted a party at Sonya’s Montmatre villa. Here, I inserted native Marsovian dances and then segued into the traditional storyline of intrigue, romantic mix-up, and happy ending.

I arrived in Ljubljana at the end of the season, just after the dancers had finished working with Milko Sparemblek, who had expended their energy. They were ready for vacation and would not perform my ballet until September. We filmed it before I returned to Pittsburgh, but not before I revisited Lake Bled with Jeff Cook and his wife, who were awed by the superb scenery.

My duties at Point Park College prevented me from returning for the opening. Milenko substituted for me and brought back a tape of the performance. I was shocked by the changes in the cast. Several dancers whom I had worked with had not returned--including the leading dancer--so another couple assumed the starring roles.

The conductor decided that the ballet was too long after all and cut ten minutes of music, including all the cross-over scenes, which depicted the road between Sonya’s house and Maxim’s, plus a bunch of dances. This was justified, as there were too many Hungarian folk flavored dances.

The local designers adapted Henry Heymann’s costume designs, which were well constructed and the décor was adequate for a small theater. They tried their best, but by comparison to American Ballet Theatre’s lush production, Ljubljana’s was poor and simplistic. Critical response was good, though some critics were indifferent.

When the theater in Novi Sad learned that I had choreographed The Merry Widow in Ljubljana, they were eager for me to stage it there. However, the Bosnian war had just begun, which created complications. Instead, they engaged a Russian choreographer to stage it. I saw the video of this production and was disappointed with his concept and lack of rapport with the Austro-Hungarian spirit.

Following John Hopkins’ retirement, Matthew Simon, former chairman of the natural science and engineering departments was appointed as the college’s acting president. Simon, who asked Lewis to step down, disliked having two chairs within one department. Administrative duties were not my strong point. While in Ljubljana, I received a letter asking for my vote. I voted for Prescott, assuming that I would remain director of the dance division--which I briefly did.

By 1986, ADE was on its last legs and that became evident on tour. The Ohio Arts Council and the Goodyear Tire and Rubber Company sponsored our Nutcracker performances at the University of Akron’s E.J. Thomas Performing Arts Hall. Our stars were Milwaukee Ballet’s Michelle Lucci and Medhi Bahiri, a Varna Ballet Competition medallist, who was with Boston Ballet. Our other guests were Ricardo Moyano and Lisa Nagatomo from the Lynda Martha Dance Company, who danced “Waltz of the Flowers.”

The hall was huge. Our décor was too small for a stage of this size. Consequently, our sold-out performances failed to meet the sponsor’s expectations. Our production had been over-hyped by our impresario. The hall’s director Robert D’Angelo was not pleased. He expected a more “magical” performance than what we offered.

In every establishment there are friends and enemies, people who are jealous or people who do not care. Joseph McGoldrick, a college recruiter, was always in the dance program’s shadows. He was not a dancer, but became friends with many of them by fussing over them and by hosting parties. He was also a very close friend of Prescott’s. While I was abroad, he took charge of our Three Rivers Arts Festival performances, which netted twenty-five hundred dollars for us.

Following the Akron disaster, I realized that without serious support and funding, ADE had no future beyond serving as a performing outlet for our students. While McGoldrick and Prescott aimed to eliminate me, ADE’s bylaws prevented it, as I had ensured that the company could not exist without me.

ADE was put on ice. McGoldrick--via his Prescott connection--now controlled the college’s performances. He launched the Playhouse Dance Theater, which provided opportunities exclusively for top level students. He had a penchant for dress-up and confiscated some of the costumes for his personal wardrobe, as he liked to wear them on Halloween and to outfit his friends. He quickly disposed of the décor and props from ADE’s The Nutcracker and Romeo and Juliet productions.

The Pittsburgh Youth Ballet purchased the first scene, snow scene, and second act drops from The Nutcracker. Ironically, I staged a great part of PYBC’s production for Jean Gedeon, so it was as if I had been transported from one Nutcracker to another. I had worked for ADE for nothing; by contrast, Jean paid me well.

Without ADE, Ballet Petrov could not survive. I was forced to disband it.

Although Matthew Simon was politically well connected within the college community, he lacked savvy outside of academia and had no fund-raising skills, or ties to Pittsburgh’s financially elite families. Instead, he cut expenses to balance the budget--including salaries--and consequently, drove the college to near bankruptcy.

He maintained that Ballet Petrov was subsidized by the college, which was absolutely untrue--and he never bothered to investigate. I launched Ballet Petrov in order to obtain outside funding that would benefit the student troupe--the American Dance Ensemble. After ADE’s demise, the college created a budget for the Rehearsal and Performance course. It became a lab class and part of the regular teaching load.

Prescott, who was just a “yes-man,” was appointed as acting Academic Dean and Vice-President. In turn, he handed the acting chairmanship of the Fine, Applied, and Performing Arts department to Alan Forino. This reminded me of when Loti Falk assumed the directorship of PBT and awarded positions to people who lacked the expertise. I knew that this could not last long, but there was little that I could do about it. They made the decisions and just informed me about them.

Just before Prescott became dean, he summoned me to his office. He asked me to resign as the dance department’s director, but lacked the guts to tell me that this was his decision. Instead, he said the college preferred the collective leadership of the department, which actually happened later--without much success. This was an obvious contradiction of policy--as Simon had not wanted both Prescott and I to be chairs of our respective departments.

Prescott later discovered that the faculty collective was incapable of running the division. No one could agree on anything and everyone had demands. He then appointed Ron Tassone as the director of the dance department. Ron was quickly succeeded by Susan Abbey, a nice but gutless lady. The position proved to be too demanding and too nerve-wracking--she resigned. Ron was reinstated.

Forino was succeeded by Shirley Barasch, who had been with the education department in the seventies. She had also directed the college chorus and had been the performing arts program’s music director. She held a Ph.D., but had no talent. Her heart was set on improving the department and to her credit; she helped with the annual Starmakers Gala, which bolstered public relations for the school. She was a bully, who lacked communications skills and could be verbally abusive. She thought that offering gold necklaces and gifts to people (for example--to McGoldrick) would strengthen her position. Unfortunately, she had no artistic vision.

Matthew Simon was not qualified to lead the school. He based his decisions on his wife’s suggestions. John Hopkins’ absence was strongly felt and we could see that the school would quickly collapse under his weak management.

The college, again on the brink of closing its doors, considered merging with Duquesne University, which was eager to grab the Fine, Applied, and Performing Arts division. However, the academic departments were uncertain of what a merger would bode and fiercely opposed the plan. Instead, the college’s Board moved to appoint a new president--Katherine Henderson.

Henderson applied her fund-raising savvy and public relations skills to the job as she worked diligently to reestablish respect for the college. Much like Loti Falk, she innately knew how to interest the funding community in the school’s activities. She chose administrators with strong management skills to work for the college and push it towards university standing.

In the meantime, Mark Lewis and James Prescott died. With Mark’s passing, I had lost a great friend who had believed in me. Without his influence, my history would have unfolded differently. He liked the theater; lived for the Playhouse, and when it was taken away from him by Matthew Simon, he died. Although I was never close to him, we had a common respect for each other that lasted for more than twenty-five years.

I was saddened by Prescott’s death, as he was still a young man.

Since 1986, I have worked as a guest choreographer for private schools while producing works for the college’s dance department. Moonlighting was lucrative. I made an extra salary that compensated for the half salary I earned at Point Park College and was under less pressure to succeed. As a guest, I only did what I was asked to do and had no other responsibilities.

In 1988, I staged an evening of dance for the Mount Lebanon High School Center of Arts, which was then headed by Judy (Troan) Nawe, one of my former students. She created a school for the Civic Light Opera mini-stars, as at that time, CLO lacked its own school. Mary and I instilled professional lines. The children were talented, but most were busy with school activities and not committed to professional dance training. Several of the students were very good and did embark on dance careers.

The following year, I staged the full-length Saint-Saëns/Delibes Coppélia for Ballet Baroque, headed by Elva Scapes, who was a pioneer member of PBT. She had a fairly good school in the North Hills where I was often invited to guest teach. Besides staging the ballet, I played the role of Dr. Coppelius.

At the college, I set a series of Scott Joplin pieces, which I called Elite Syncopation and for the next two years worked with both Judy and Elva.
Frank Marinaro, who owned a gymnastics school in Buckhannon, West Virginia, contacted me about a summer teaching job. I accepted his offer, which evolved into an ongoing gig. The assignment was easy, as the students were all beginners, but he only had one class. To make the trip worth my while, he arranged for me to also teach in Parkersburg--where he took classes--at the Mid-Ohio Valley Ballet, directed by Norma Gunter and her daughter, who was a professional dancer.

Dance opportunities in West Virginia were sparse. I knew that Duncan Noble was involved with a company in Charleston, as well as with Velma Schrader’s youth ballet school. Oddly, West Virginians traveled as much as an hour and half from one city to the next just to take class. My residency followed the same pattern, as I taught in several cities during the span of one weekend. I went with the flow and adapted to the local conditions. Frank, who had obtained a grant, arranged a teaching circuit for me--Elkins, Fairmont, Clarksburg, Parkersburg, and others--all little schools, all amateur, but they loved what they did. I taught from Friday evening to Sunday evening. The drive time between cities ranged from twenty minutes to two hours. After class, I jumped in my car, drove to the next gig, and taught again. I often stayed in Clarksburg, as it was the most centrally located.

During my travels through West Virginia, I bought a sweet, fruity, locally produced wine called Mellow Mel that bore a Hungarian shield. I sought out the winemaker in Buckhannon--an eighty-year-old Hungarian, who was born near my neighborhood. His wine, mixed with honey instead of preservatives, was similar to Hungarian Tokei. For years, I continued to buy it, until I lost contact with him. I also discovered that West Virginia was the capital of prime rib, but restaurants served soft rolls with it--which I hate. I prefer French bread, but it was not available there. I took along baguettes bought at Giant Eagle. When restaurant patrons asked about it, I whispered, “You have to go to Giant Eagle.”

Working in West Virginia was interesting and I enjoyed the novelty. The classes were simple--tendu battement, sautés, glissade, temps lie--it was my four, four, four period. And they appreciated me--I was a celebrity and that pleased my ego. While I had brought PBT to Morgantown and Wheeling years before, I was surprised by how well known I was there. I hoped to raise dance awareness in West Virginia and maybe develop a company.

Frank and I became friends--he had a charming wife and three exceptionally handsome children, whom he wanted me to teach and inspire. Monique, his oldest daughter was the most advanced; Ashley was much less interested in ballet; and the little boy was only a couple of years old. He arranged a teaching residency for me at Davis and Elkins College in Elkins. This eased my travel a bit, especially in the winter when trekking between cities was difficult, owing to too few salt trucks--cars just floated into ditches around me. This residency also compensated for the time that I had been giving to Point Park College for free. Here, I was paid well.