Do you ever reflect back on your life and ask yourself, "What was the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to me?"   I know my own answer to that question.  It happened in June 1978. 

The single most embarrassing moment of my life took place at a long lost Disco here in Houston known as The Ritz .  I have never been so humiliated in all my life as I was that night.

Let us return to those glorious days of yesteryear in the heyday of the Disco Era.  Saturday Night Fever had debuted in November 1977.   In just a few short months, Disco Fever had exploded like a supernova.  Disco was Hot Hot Hot!   Houston was no exception.  Disco Fever was burning hot throughout the city. 

The Pistachio Club, my favorite hangout, had been Houston's most popular Disco in the early months of 1978.  However, pretty soon they would be getting some competition.  Entrepreneurs had taken note of the Disco frenzy and decided the time was right to open more dance clubs.  Several more clubs opened throughout 1978, the heyday of Dance Fever.

The hottest Disco of all was the brand new Ritz.  Located on Westheimer in Highland Village a mile east of the Galleria, The Ritz featured the finest lighting technology seen to date in Houston. Someone had spent a small fortune to create the largest dance floor, the best sound system, and the most elaborate lighting system Houston had ever seen.

The Ritz was now the place to be.  Many of Houston's best dancers had deserted my beloved Pistachio Club to become regulars at the fabulous Ritz.   Of course I had visited the Ritz to check it out.  I didn't like it at all.  The place was almost as large as a warehouse.  It was so vast and dark that I felt lost in there. 

After I finally relaxed, Dorothy was surprised to notice that I seemed to pick the steps up a lot quicker than most guys.  She complimented me.  Responding to her kind words, I mentioned the footwork was familiar to me since I taught a Disco line dance class somewhere else.  Dorothy raised an eyebrow. 

It turned out my teacher was also the owner.  By chance, Mr. Stevens needed a disco teacher because his instructor had quit.  Mr. Stevens hated Disco music and Dorothy knew that.  She mentioned what I had told her to Mr. Stevens.  He came over to check me out.  I had been teaching line dances elsewhere for four months.  It was really just a hobby. I had been taking Disco line dance classes steadily for the past four years.  I knew every dance in the book.  Bus Stop, LA Freeway, Electric Slide, the Freeze, Jungle Boogaloo, Four Corners, you name it. 

Mr. Stevens didn't seem very impressed by me, but he was more than happy to find someone who would teach the class for him.  Disco was no big deal in his book.  Dorothy was right; he hated the music and he didn't want to be bothered.

Although I wasn't the most talented dancer in the world, at least I was qualified for the job. For the next four weeks, I came to Stevens of Hollywood one night a week to teach a Disco Line Dance class.  I had 15 students.  It was hardly an auspicious start, but as they say, the mightiest oak starts out as a small acorn.

What neither Mr. Stevens nor I ever expected of course was that just around the corner, a Tidal Wave known as Saturday Night Fever was headed our way.  My life was about to change dramatically.

Saturday Night Fever hit Houston one month after I started my job.  Think about the sharp timing.  I started my class in October and one month later the movie arrived in Houston.  No one earth knew a thing about the movie. I didn't even know it had been filmed.  The first time I heard about it was the day it opened in Houston.  The Houston Post had a small Friday review about this new movie.  As I read the plotline, I was immediately curious.  Disco was my first love and here was a movie about the dancing.  Wow!  Better check it out!  I took off work a little early to see the movie at 4 pm that same day.

I was practically the only person in the theater. There could not have been more than 10 people in there.  That didn't keep me from loving every single minute of the movie.  I left the theater thinking the movie was a lot better than I expected it to be.  That said, I certainly never suspected the world was about to go nuts.  Nor did I expect this movie would change the course of my life.  But it did.  I was in the right place at the right time.  It only took 4 months to go from teaching one class one night a week to teaching 16 classes stretched over all seven days.  This was suddenly a full-time job in its own right.

Soon after the movie's release, hundreds of students began to bombard Stevens of Hollywood for lessons.  The phone would not stop ringing.  Mr. Stevens bitched the whole time.  Like I said, Mr. Stevens couldn't stand Disco.  That didn't keep him from cashing the checks.  He had a better idea.  Rather than teach the classes himself, he kept scheduling more classes for me.  Not only was I having fun, I was ambitious.  I turned those Beginner classes into Intermediate classes.  The Intermediate classes spawned Advanced classes.  As word of mouth about my classes spread, more Beginner classes were starting almost weekly... all this for a young man who knew nothing more than a bunch of Line Dances.

As you might gather, the sensation caused by Saturday Night Fever created a horrible 'Peter Principle' situation for me. The Peter Principle holds that people who do a good job keep getting promoted.  Then one day they find themselves promoted one level above their competence. This business axiom certainly held true for me, but with one exception.  I wasn't promoted one level above my competence, I was pushed SEVERAL LEVELS past my level of competence. 

I was overwhelmed, but I was game.  It helped that I had no idea what I was getting myself into.  Ignorance was bliss.  I liked the music and I liked the dancing.  I did everything I could to learn more line dances plus I started teaching freestyle, i.e. line dance moves without structure.  It got close a few times, but I always managed to stay one step ahead of the students I was teaching.

My Achilles Heel was partner dancing.  Partner dancing had been more or less non-existent on the American Dance Scene since the Fifties.  The Sixties had witnessed a never-ending series of fad dances like the Twist, Cool Jerk, Frug, Monkey, Hitchhike, Pony, Mashed Potato, Watusi and more.  These goofy dances kept teenagers busy throughout the Sixties.  The Seventies had seen the introduction of Disco Line Dances, my specialty.  Saturday Night Fever changed all that.  SNF brought back partner dancing with a passion. 

Everyone was inspired to learn how to partner dance like John Travolta!  My students begged me to start teaching partner dancing.  The problem was, I barely knew any partner dancing!  I had taken some Whip lessons, but the Texas Whip certainly didn't look anything like the fast, fluid partner dancing seen in SNF. 

One day Mr. Stevens showed me a simple dance based on East Coast Swing footwork.  It used even-tempo Swing footwork.  In other words, one step per beat.  I knew this wasn't the dance in the movie.  This 4-beat dance moved too slow.  On my own, I developed something similar to Aggie Jitterbug that shortened the basic pattern down to 3 beats.  Calling it the New Yorker, my modest invention worked for a while, but I was never satisfied.  What I really wanted to do was to learn the Latin Hustle!

I could see the advanced dancers in the clubs were using a system of footwork that was far more sophisticated than this goofy thing I had concocted.  Known as the Latin Hustle, or Hustle for short, this beautiful dance with its syncopated timing was far too difficult for me to pick up just by watching.  I had no idea what they were doing out there, but I really wished I could learn how to dance it.  I told Mr. Stevens about the Hustle, but either he didn't know what I was talking about or he didn't care.  I didn't know where else to learn the Hustle, so I stayed in the dark and cursed my bad luck. 

The demand to learn partner dancing was intense. It was driving me crazy to feel so ignorant!  Although I was teaching partner dancing in my classes, I was barely one step ahead of my own advanced students.  I kept making up new moves based on what I saw out on the dance floor during my nightly scouting trips.  I was in constant fear that one day my students would realize I didn't know any more than they did.  More often than not, I would learn a pattern on Monday to teach my advanced students on Tuesday... I was always winging it. 

This practice isn't quite as unheard of as you think.  The secret of my success could be indelicately described as "Fake it till you Make it".  Every career has moments where an opportunity arises before you are completely ready.  You can either sit back and wait for a safer chance to come along or you can hit the hole and go.  I went for every opportunity, but I was taking some very big chances in the process.  Sometimes when you play Fake It Till You Make It, you get burned. 

The Invitation to Perform at the Ritz

Shortly after The Ritz opened, in May 1978 Mr. Stevens received an invitation to perform there.  Mr. Stevens and his wife Cliann were celebrated Whip dancers and well-worthy of the honor.  The Texas Whip wasn't actually much of a Disco dance.  This dance was suited to slow, sensual rhythm and blues music with a strong downbeat.  The Whip vaguely resembled another dance known as West Coast Swing that several people were trying to use in the clubs, but I thought the West Cast Swing looked stupid to Disco music.  The fluid Latin Hustle was the dance of choice for most people including me (I just wish I knew how to dance it!)

Nevertheless, Mr. Stevens was so good at the Whip that I was sure people would enjoy watching him perform. 

Two days.  We had been nervous before, but now we were sweating bricks.  Nausea was a full-time guest in my stomach. 

Practicing every spare second we could find, we were now able to remember the pattern.  Sort of.  That was the good news.  The bad news was that neither of us could remember the entire pattern at the same time.  We took turns screwing things up. 

Then I made another bad discovery - I couldn't figure how to restart in the middle of the pattern!   Our grasp of the routine was so flimsy that we could only perform it by starting from the top again.  This worried me a lot because I was certain something was going to go wrong... a fairly easy prediction since it had never gone right once! 

Since I didn't know how to lead or create a move, I had to depend on Suzie to get into each acrobatics position herself.  I didn't know how to put her there myself.  We would dance a couple patterns, then Suzie was supposed to get into position.  I would grab her and throw her up in the air for a while, put her back on the floor, then let her get into position to start the next move.  

I kept thinking to myself, What were we going to do if we messed up... ask the deejay to start the song again?

Finally I couldn't take the pressure any more.  The night before the performance I tried desperately to back out.  No luck.  Mr. Stevens reminded me I had made a commitment.

That night I was sick with worry.  I couldn't sleep.  How did I ever let myself get into this fix?  They shoot horses, don't they?  Shoot me now.  Put me out of my misery.

The next day was the day of the performance.  It was a weekday.  I snuck out of the office to meet Suzie for more practice.  Throughout the afternoon we had yet to do the routine right even a single time.  One of us would screw up and we would both freeze.  Then we had trouble deciding how to get it going again from the middle of the pattern.  We would give up and have to start the song over again.

The entire time both of us carried that awful panicked feeling inside.  One time Suzie broke down and cried.  We could both feel the impending doom.  

However today wasn't quite as hopeless as it had been yesterday.  We were getting closer.  We were messing up later in the routine than we had before.  Isn't that a sign of progress when it takes longer to screw up?    Grasping for any sign of progress, at least I had this small encouragement.   We hugged and parted, planning to meet later at the Ritz half an hour before the performance and try again. 

Mind you, as I said goodbye, there was one dominating fact at the front of my mind.  There had not been one single time Suzie and I had ever performed the routine from start to finish without a mistake.  Not once.   What possible chance did we have to make this work?  This was hopeless.  We were surely doomed.

Suzie and I were introduced.  The time had come.  

A phrase from my Eight Grade Latin class crossed my mind.  Morituri Te Salutamus... We who are about to die salute you.  That's what the Roman Gladiators would say as they entered the arena.  The way I felt, it seemed fitting.  Death by Disco.  That would be my epitaph.

The music began.  To our surprise and great relief, our routine began flawlessly.  Each move was executed with precision! 

After our first tough move came off without a hitch, Suzie smiled at me.  I smiled back. Suzie and I were gaining confidence.  It felt like our last minute success off-stage had carried over onto the dance floor.  We were right on the verge of enjoying ourselves.   We could feel the invisible crowd start to warm up to us.  Encouraged, we began to smile for the audience and they responded back.  From the darkness, they began to clap and cheer! 

I was flush with excitement.  Maybe this will work after all...

While I searched for Suzie, I also screamed at the DJ to turn the lights back on.  His unnecessary transition had left us completely blind.  What kind of idiot turns the lights out while someone is performing?   The bright spotlights had been in our eyes, but now it was totally dark.

Making things worse, the audience could see everything that was going on.  After all, they had been shrouded in darkness the whole time.  The transition to the strobes made no difference to their eyes.   As a result, they could see me clearly as I groped around frantically for my dance partner. 

I could hear them start to laugh and giggle as I kept lunging around furiously on the dance floor trying to locate my missing partner.  I was numb with anger and frustration!   Why couldn't I find my partner?   Losing my cool, I cursed out bitterly, using the F word.  I was groping everywhere in the dark for Suzie without any success!  I kept screaming, "Turn on the lights!  Turn on the lights!" 

This all took place in about 5 or 6 seconds.  Too bad I asked for the lights to be turned on again because now my eyes had adjusted to the strobes.  I didn't realize my eyes would adjust, but 6 seconds had been enough. The strobes supplied just enough light for me to discover Suzie was standing behind me.  Now I could see just fine. 

That didn't last long.  Now I got my second blow.  Reacting to the urgency in my voice, the DJ flipped the lights back on at the exact moment I finally located Suzie.   Now I was suddenly blind again!  Back to groping for my partner.  What a comedy.

The crowd groaned audibly.  Here we go again.  They had seen me lose my partner in the darkness.   They had seen me flailing for her without luck.  They had heard me scream at the deejay and loudly curse my bad luck.  Now every person in the room was able to see me lose her again for yet a second time!

Now they would witness the final act and it wasn't pretty.

Once my eyes adjusted for the second time, I found Suzie again.  I still had my wits about me, but my partner had gone rigid with fear.  She was glassy-eyed and terrified.  Suzie looked like someone who has been in a serious car accident and is wandering around trying to make sense of it all.  

Suzie was practically catatonic. Any memory of our routine was long gone.  

Since I didn't know how to lead, I didn't have any way to recreate the routine.  We were only one-third into our performance and my partner had gone psycho.  All I could do now was grab Suzie and throw her around.   She was in shock.  What else could I do?

Maybe I should have just walked off the floor.  They say the show must go on, but this was ridiculous.  Stupid me, I stayed out there.

Although I was badly shaken, I could still remember what patterns came next.  I cursed again, this time at my helplessness to rescue the situation.  I did not have the ability to carry out the routine alone.  We finished the act only because I literally manhandled this poor hapless woman for two more painfully long minutes.  A wooden dance dummy would have actually done just as well.
 

Aftermath

After our two very public minutes of hell, Suzie and I were sick with shame.  As we crawled off the floor in ruins, I remember the quiet crowd separating to let us pass as if we had leprosy.  Their faces indicated that we were pathetic.  We could see the frowns and the averted glances as we passed.  No one said a single word to us.  We were dead men walking.  It was a grim scene.  

Mr. Stevens and his wife Cliann passed us on their way out to floor.  Her face was taut and uncaring.  She looked rigidly straight ahead.  His face was cold as ice.   Mr. Stevens refused to look at me as well.  I assumed he was ashamed of me.  They just walked right past us as if we didn't exist.  God forbid anyone should think he was associated with me.  Oddly enough, he never said another word to me about it.  I might add he never asked me to perform again either.

Fortunately I had not told a soul at the dance studio about this performance.  There was no one there to support, but that was okay by me.  This meant there was no one there to witness our debacle who knew us.  Even Suzie's husband Chick had stayed away.  It was just Suzie and me against the cold cruel world as we made our way towards the recesses of the building.

With my arm around Suzie's shoulders, I took her as far from the dance floor as I could.  There in the remote corner of the club where we had practiced earlier, Suzie came back to life.  She started to cry uncontrollably.  I didn't cry, but I sure wanted to.  We were so ashamed of ourselves.   And disappointed too.  We were right on the edge of pulling this off only to have someone else's stupid mistake ruin it for us.

Suzie didn't say a word.  She just cried.  No one else came near us.  We had leprosy, remember? 

As I sat there trying to comfort her, I struggled to comprehend what had gone wrong.