Tuesday, JANUARY 3, 1978, the disco years, age 28 A STARTLING REPRIEVE

Lance Stevens sent me packing in mid-December with a "don't call me, I'll call you" dismissal.  As a result, I did not go anywhere near his studio for the remainder of the month.  Consequently I did not have the slightest idea that his phone began ringing off the hook over the final two weeks of December.  "I'm calling about Disco lessons..." 

Most people would have been thrilled, but not Lance Stevens.  He resented the constant interruptions.  Stevens was an excellent Ballroom instructor who had a thriving private lesson business.  However, he was also an angry, bitter man who possessed perhaps the worst public relation skills I would ever witness.  Nevertheless, thanks to an incredible piece of good luck, Stevens was about to succeed in spite of himself thanks to the unexpected appearance of Saturday Night Fever shortly before Christmas. 

On Tuesday, January 3, Lance Stevens left a message on my answering machine to say I had a class this coming Friday night, January 6.  I was stunned.  I had just spent the past three weeks deep in mourning over the expected loss of my much-cherished chance to teach dance lessons.  So did I leap for joy?  Not exactly.  Considering the brevity of the message, I had no earthly idea of what awaited me.  Quite frankly, I expected another line dance class of 5, 10, maybe 15 students. 

Imagine my surprise to walk into a room with 70 students.

Welcome to the Magic Carpet Ride.

SATURDAY NIGHT FEVER

Saturday Night Fever was just as much a fluke as my accidental dance career.  Every once in a while a movie comes along that no one expects much from, but becomes special anyway.  People point to Casablanca and It's A Wonderful Life as famous sleeper hits.  In similar fashion, Saturday Night Fever became a smash hit despite its low budget.  As Director John Badham put it, Fever was little more than an afterthought, a warm-up effort to keep Travolta busy while waiting for Grease, the main event. 

Robert Stigwood was a big-time music mogul who represented the Bee Gees, Eric Clapton and The Who.  He was also a heralded Broadway producer with Jesus Christ Superstar to his credit.  Stigwood had recently broken into the movie industry with Tommy, a highly-successful musical based on the rock opera album of the Who. 

Following a strong hunch about John Travolta, Stigwood bet the farm by signing this emerging TV star to a three-movie contract for a million bucks.  Stigwood had a reason to pursue Travolta.  He owned the movie rights to Grease, currently the biggest hit on Broadway.  Travolta would be perfect for the lead role.  Which of course was true, but Stigwood hit a snag.  As the ink dried on Travolta's big contract, to his dismay Stigwood had forgotten about a clause that prevented him from making the film until Grease, the longest-running hit in Broadway history, ended its run.  Uh oh.  Big problem.

Stigwood got lucky.  Maybe even Supernatural lucky.  At the exact moment Stigwood got the bad news, an assistant dropped off a magazine article about teenage Disco dancers in Brooklyn whose lives revolved around a moody dance stud.  Aha!  Stigwood recognized that Travolta would be perfect for this role and it would keep him busy until Grease became available.  However, Stigwood did not want to invest too much money in this long-shot movie.  So how did this unheralded, under-financed afterthought become a mega hit?   Despite low expectations, this hard-hitting tale of directionless youth packed quite a punch.  Thanks to a brilliant performance from John Travolta as a young man from the wrong side of the tracks looking to become somebody, this so-called B-movie caught the world by surprise.

In Hindsight it is clear Robert Stigwood caught one lucky break after another with Saturday Night Fever.  The perfect timing of Nik Cohn's magazine article appearing on his desk, Norman Wexler's superb script, and the mystical ability of the Bee Gees to write five smash hits in one weekend suggests there was a special light shining on this project. 

For this moment in time, John Travolta was the brightest star in the galaxy.  He was fortunate to find the perfect script at the peak of his ability.  Saturday Night Fever would give the Seventies its cultural identity while establishing John Travolta as a pop culture icon. 

FRIDAY, JANUARY 6, 1978, the disco years THE MAGIC CARPET RIDE begins

Ordinarily I should have had some inkling, right?  Nope.  Not a clue.  For some perverse reason, the Universe had decided to torture me by concealing the luckiest break of my entire life till the last possible moment. 

To be honest, I was actually in a bad mood when I walked in.  I did not like Lance Stevens.  I did not like the way he had sent me packing in December.  I did not appreciate his perfunctory answering machine message.  So, out of spite, I was in no hurry as I drove to the studio on Friday, January 6.  Arriving a mere 5 minutes before the start of class, Lance Stevens was apoplectic. 

"What the hell is wrong with you, Archer?  How dare you show up at the last minute!  You pull a stunt like this again and you can kiss this job goodbye.  Now get to work."

As Stevens chewed me out, I was stunned to see an enthusiastic crowd of 70 students awaiting me.  Now I understood why Stevens was so worried.  70 students!  Oh my God!  Where did all these people come from?  I could not help but think back to the 5 students in my final December class.  I could have sworn Disco was dying.  What in the world is going on here!?! 

70 people made for quite a crowd.  However, I was not intimidated.  Although I had little knowledge of social dances such as Swing, Country, Ballroom, and Latin, I suppose I was better prepared to teach this particular class than any other teacher in Houston.  In addition to three years of experience as a student during the Lost Years, I had spent much of the past year teaching Disco line dance classes.  For this reason, I was not fazed in the least.   Let's do it!   My first class was sensational.  We all thought we were the next John Travolta.  Too funny.

After the class, Lance Stevens came up to me.  "Do you understand you also have two other classes starting next Monday and Tuesday?"

My eyes widened.  Two classes next week?  Surprise, surprise.  What is going on here?

"I'm confused, Mr. Stevens.  I thought tonight's Courses a la Carte class was my only class."

"Well, you're wrong.  In addition to tonight's class, you have two more classes starting next week.  Will you be there or do I need to find someone else?"

I stared in astonishment.  This guy did not have even have the courtesy to ask in advance.  But I was not about to argue.  I wanted to teach these classes.

"You have nothing to worry about.  I will be here Monday and Tuesday.  Thank you, sir."

"There are a bunch of people in both classes, so don't miss it.  And don't be late."

After receiving further assurance I would be there, Stevens turned and walked away.  I did not know it at the time, but Stevens would keep adding classes.  By the end of January, I had 5 classes with a sum total of 250 students.  Unbelievable.

following the divorce
 

Before we get rolling with the story of Saturday Night Fever, I would like to backtrack to a story from my childhood.  We all have unanswered questions.  My father is at the top of my list.  He is without a doubt the great mystery of my life. 

Up till age 8, Dad was my best friend in the world.  That is why I have never understood why the man abandoned me after the divorce.  Our relationship began to deteriorate during that awful year leading up to the divorce.  My father was really mean to my mother.  I took her side because I thought he was being a bully (which he was).  Maybe that's why my father turned on me.  

The issue over St. John's deepened the rift.  My father was convinced that sending me to an elite private school was a complete waste of his hard-earned money.  First he resented me for sticking up for my mother.  Then he resented me for being such a serious behavior problem at my current school that the psychiatrist had to get involved.  Now in order to get his divorce Dad had been coerced into sending me to this expensive rich kid's school.  In his mind, because I dropped the ball with my emotional problems, he was forced to foot the bill. 

To say the least, my parents did not part on good terms.  My father's mistress had something to do with that.  However, I guess Dad managed to forgive me somewhat.  Following the August 1959 divorce, I saw my father every other weekend without fail for the next four months.  Then something terribly awkward happened that first Christmas.  I was 10 years old.  Here we were alone together in his apartment.  We were full of seasonal cheer, just Dad, me and the Christmas Tree. 

Under the tree was an enormous gift-wrapped box.  I looked at Dad and he nodded.  I ripped open the paper to discover my father had bought me a gigantic erector set complete with some kind of fancy electrical motor.  This was a very expensive gift.  It came in a heavy metal box so large I could barely lift it.  Dad was extremely proud of his gift.  I have a hunch this was the kind of gift he had coveted when he was my age, but of course never received because his mother was so poor. 

Dad beamed at his lavish present.  Being an electrical engineer, this erector set was right up his alley.  As for me, I gulped.  I had never tried this sort of thing before and wasn't sure how I would I do.  But I kept my insecurity to myself.  When I hugged my father and thanked him, Dad looked at me with a huge smile.   

"Why don't we build something, son?"

"Well, sure, of course, Dad, let's build something!" 

For a moment there, it was just like old times.  Dad could not wait to build something neat with his son.  That would make this his best Christmas ever!  I was beside with myself with happiness.  I missed my father so much lately.  I watched hopefully as Dad took out the list of projects and looked it over.  He immediately suggested we build a drawbridge so we could take advantage of that fancy motor.  I wasn't so sure about this.  My father's idea seemed a little ambitious.  I was thinking the beginner stuff on the first page was more my speed.  But Dad insisted. 

With a huge lump in my throat, I took out some of the parts and stared at the picture.  When I saw how complicated those drawbridge instructions looked, I had a very bad feeling about this.  However, if Dad said I could do it, then I would give it try. 

The drawbridge had elaborate instructions.  Dad said all we had to do was follow the instructions.  What could be easier?  Dad handed me the tools and worked with me for a while.  I was game, but didn't do very well.  The instructions made no sense.  As I had feared, this project was way over my head. 

I suppose it took about 15 minutes for my father to realize how totally overwhelmed I was.  At that point, Dad got the strangest look in his face.  He stared at me in disbelief.  When I saw his pained expression, I gulped.  I was almost certain I knew what he was thinking.  I firmly believe that when my father was my age, he had the talent to build stuff like this without anyone's help.  So why couldn't his son do it? 

Dad's frown deepened.  He could not believe how inept I was, especially when compared to his own immense natural ability at mechanics.  At that moment, something terrible snapped in the man.  I could see it in his disgusted expression.  It saddens me to say this, but when he began shaking his head, I believe his bitterness at being stuck paying all this money to a private school welled up.  Lord have mercy, his own son could not even build a goddamn drawbridge.  Dad had just discovered his son had no mechanical ability.  There would be no son following in his genius footsteps, would there? 

Dad set his coffee down and wordlessly studied me in disbelief.  His face was crestfallen.  What a disappointment I was to him.  How could I possibly be his kid?  And even if I was his kid, my value had plummeted.  At best, maybe someday I could get a job pulling bubble gum off theater seats or something noble like cleaning public toilets.

Impatient, Dad snatched the tools out of my hands and began to build the bridge himself.  Dad told me to watch carefully and he would show me how to do it.  Then I could do it again by myself tomorrow after he took me back to Mom's apartment. 

Yeah, sure, Dad.  Sick with self-loathing due to my incompetence, I retreated in shame to the corner and said nothing while my father took over.

With the sparkling Christmas tree as our backdrop, Dad got down to business right there on the carpeted floor of the living room.  The happy smile on his face said it all.  It was the same smile he had whenever he used to work on his giant train complex in the attic of our former home.  The moment he stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth, I knew he was in 'The Zone'.  Sticking his tongue out was Dad's characteristic signal that he was locked in.  I noticed Dad did not bother with the instructions.  One look at the picture was enough.  I was incredulous... not even a second glance!  I was forlorn.  Why didn't I have his talent?  How would I ever make him proud of me? 

Dad was in another world, so I stayed silent lest I interrupt his reverie.  The entire time I did not exist.  Despite my sadness, I smiled at seeing how happy Dad was.  I had never seen him look happier.  Dad was probably reliving some of his own boyhood memories.   I marveled at my father's immense talent.  Building that drawbridge came so effortlessly to him, I was reminded again of the good old days when Dad built his gigantic electric train complex.  Dad was a born engineer.

Three hours later, Dad finished.  It is a good thing I paid close attention as he built that drawbridge.  Little did I know this would be the last time in my life I would ever see my father display his amazing ability.  I have to hand it to Dad.  The completed drawbridge was a magnificent structure.  It was huge.  Hit a switch and the drawbridge went up and down.  Dad was so proud of himself.  This is what he was capable of.  He looked at the bridge and beamed with pride.  Then he looked at me and frowned. 

In Hindsight, it is clear my father was being selfish.  He wanted to work on something that would interest him.  So much for the nurturing gene, right?  I had zero mechanical ability and he had zero empathy.  You want to know something sad?  If it took my father three hours, that in itself should explain how complicated this project was.  This same guy had the talent to build cranes capable of launching rockets to send astronauts into outer space.  And it took him three hours to put this together!!  Would it have been so tough to cut me some slack, to try to make me feel better?  I never had a chance, did I?  But I was so young, I did not know that, so I blamed myself! 

Not once did my father bother to reassure me.  Not once did he suggest that perhaps this had been a tough place to start.  My father was so brilliant, he just automatically assumed that because he could do it at my age, I should be able to do it too.  Instead he took another long look at me and his smile switched back to the frown.  I got the message.  I had failed him.  I wasn't good enough.  When I went home that night, I was totally ashamed of myself.

Over the years I have asked myself many times if my father wondered if I was truly his son or not.  Sad but true, there is a strong possibility that disturbing thought passed through his head on Christmas morning.  However I seriously doubt my mother was unfaithful.  The marriage was strong when I was conceived.  Besides, I look just like my father in pictures taken at comparable ages.  But I can understand his disappointment.  When it comes to academics, I am top-notch, but mechanical things have baffled me my entire life.  I truly do not have an ounce of mechanical ability.  If my bike chain comes off, it might take me an hour to figure out how to get the chain back on.  Same thing with changing a flat tire.  I hate to say this, but whatever skill my father had was never passed onto me.  Dad had trouble accepting that.  How was it possible that his son did not have one bit of his limitless mechanical ability? 

JANUARY 1978 THE ONLY GAME IN TOWN

I hope my Readers will pardon the interruption.  No doubt you wonder why I shared this story at such an odd moment.  Two reasons. 

Mark Twain once said the two most important days of your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why.  As I stared at those 70 students, I had the most uncanny feeling that I had just discovered my purpose in life.  I did not know this for sure, but what I did know was this moment felt like the culmination of all those amazing Stepping Stones that had led me to this crazy development.

I also thought about my father.  He was so disappointed by my lack of aptitude.  What a shame he abandoned me before realizing I was actually very similar to him, but that my interests lay elsewhere.  Although it is true that I have no mechanical ability to speak of, I did inherit his intense curiosity.  In case my dear Readers haven't already figured it out, I am seriously analytical.  Born with a giant Question Mark in my head, in that regard I have my father's mind of an engineer.  If something strikes me as strange, I am not comfortable just knowing that something works, I have an inexhaustible need to know HOW it works (unless it is mechanical, of course).  I am careful not to jump to conclusions, I must have proof, evidence, theories, hypotenuses, and I must exhaust all possibilities before I make my decision.  So, yes, while it is true that I don't care how a flashlight works, I possess an obsessive need to understand the nature of Fate.  For that reason, I could not allow this class of 70 people to leave the building without digging a little deeper.  Given my certainty that Fate was unfolding right before my eyes, I was desperate to gather information to support my belief

After Stevens informed me of my two upcoming classes next week, I noticed a group of seven people hanging around.  Apparently they had met in class and struck up a conversation.   Curious to better understand why so many people had shown up for tonight's class, I asked what had brought them here tonight.  Everyone said the same thing.  They had all seen the movie over the Christmas Holidays and the dancing knocked their socks off.  On the spot they decided to make Disco lessons their New Year's Resolution.  That made sense.  I knew this had to be related to Saturday Night Fever.  However I was still shocked to see the movie had made this kind of impact. 

"So," I asked, "what brought you to this particular studio?"

I got three different answers.  Two couples said they had come across a Courses a la Carte catalogue and saw the listing for my class.  They figured 'Stevens of Hollywood' was as good a place as any.  A third couple said someone who was signed up for the class had invited them to come along. 

"You didn't sign up through Courses a la Carte?"

"No, it was word of mouth.  However we did phone ahead.  We got the number for this studio out of the phone book.  Some man told us we did not need to register.  We could just show up and pay at the door."

The response of the seventh person threw me for a loop.  He said, "I saw the movie and wanted to take lessons, so I got out the Yellow Pages and called several studios.  None of the studios had a group class to offer." 

None of the other studios had a class?  That did not make sense.  "How many studios did you call?"

"Five.  They all said the same thing, they had no group class scheduled.  Instead they offered to sell me a private lesson package.  But I don't have the money for that.  So your studio was next on the list.  I called here and some guy said they had a class for $23.  The price was right, so here I am.  Hey, buddy, be happy.  Sounds to me like you're the only game in town."

The only game in town?  What the heck is going on?  Throughout January, this conversation was duplicated so many times that I eventually began to believe this was the reason I became an overnight success in January 1978.  This, of course, was a fluke of the highest magnitude.  What could account for this bizarre development?  Obviously Saturday Night Fever was responsible for inspiring unprecedented interest in Disco dancing in record time.  But how did an unknown dance teacher end up with so many students? 

Did I have a sterling reputation?  No.  No one had ever heard of me.

Did I work at a successful dance studio?  No.  The place was completely deserted until the movie came along.

Did the studio advertise like crazy?  No.  Not a cent.

Was I brilliant as a teacher?  No.  I was an inexperienced rookie.  I barely knew what I was doing.  Fortunately, one need not be a brain surgeon to explain line dancing.

Did Lance Stevens give me training?  No.  Stevens despised Disco.  There was no one to explain the finer points to me.  I was completely on my own.  Fly or die, sink or swim. 

Was I a great dancer?  Not really.  I was barely better than many of the students I taught.  Some were even better than me.

Did I have anything going for me?  Hmm.  People said I was funny.  I guess that would have to do for the time being.

So what was the explanation?  To be frank, at the time I did not have the slightest idea.  All I knew was that I had 5 students in December and now I had 250 students in January.   My students were offering clues such as 'The Only Game in Town', but I was so new to the dance business, everything was just a blur.  Besides, I was working two jobs Monday through Friday.  To be honest, I was too busy in January to figure it out completely.  So I did the next best thing... I relied on my Intuition.

And what did my Intuition say?

Fate.  Timing is everything.  Right place at the right time.  When Fate is involved, anything is possible.  I was convinced the Hidden Hand of God was the best explanation for why I stood alone in January 1978 as Houston's only Disco instructor.

JANUARY 1978 THE SURPRISE EFFECT

As usual, the suspense of this moment is missing because the Reader already knows about the happy ending.  However, at the time no one bothered to inform me where this path was headed.  As a result, I worried constantly that something bad was going to happen.  Let me add that I had every right to feel this way.  The last time I had been this excited, Graduate School had turned into the worst experience of my life.  The irony, of course, is that I failed miserably despite possessing actual talent.  Now I facing another challenge that I was desperate to succeed at, but I had no experience and just the barest amount of talent.  Every time Stevens threatened to fire me, he meant it.  I walked on pins and needles around the man.

Plus there was so much Weirdness involved.  Why me?  Why was I the only Disco teacher anyone had knowledge of?  I was completely in the dark.  I knew something very, very strange was going on, but where was it headed?  I could not help but recall my despair last December when I thought I had reached the end of the road.  Although I was incredibly excited to be teaching five nights a week, I was also terrified it could all be taken away from me at any moment.  Although I was fairly sure my sudden good fortune was no accident, given how precarious my job security was, how could I know that a happy ending awaited?  As I write this story, there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that the strange circumstances that jump-started my dance career was God's Will.  But I did not have the luxury of that certainty in the beginning.  So I made a decision.  In a practical sense, the best way to keep my job would be to better understand what brought me here in the first place.  As time passed, I was able to identify three secret advantages to better explain my overnight success.  Let's start with the 'Surprise Effect'.

Monday, January 9, was a repeat of my Friday class.  This time we had 50 students.  Tuesday was more of the same time.  This time we had 40 students.  Bewildered, at the end of the Tuesday class I decided to ask Lance Stevens what was going on. 

"Mr. Stevens, I'm confused.  I get that Courses a la Carte brought all those students to the studio on Friday, but where did all these Monday and Tuesday students class come from?"

"Tonight's students were people who called the studio over the Christmas Holidays.  You obviously don't know this, but I have a strong reputation in the dance business."

It took every ounce of my self-control not to laugh in this face.  That said, I was proud of myself for keeping my opinion to myself.  If there was one thing I had learned at Colorado State, do not contradict a person who has the authority to hurt you.  That said, Stevens was completely wrong.  Stevens believed people flocked to the studio due to his incredible reputation.  Don't be ridiculous.  Stevens mostly taught private Ballroom lessons.  Due to his negativity, Stevens' largest group class never exceeded 20 students.  For that reason, I pegged his weekly attendance at 100 students.  So much for his amazing reputation. 

To be honest, I doubt seriously Stevens ever quite figured out what was going on.  As for me, I was so obsessed, I looked for answers night and day.  Stevens was right about one thing.  The studio phone rang all the time.  Things snowballed from there.  In mid-January Stevens added two more classes.   By the end of January I was teaching all five weeknights.  Lo and behold, I had 250 students.  That was strange enough, but things got even stranger due to rumors that I was the only Disco teacher in the city.  My mind worked overtime. 

How could I be the only teacher in town?  What about the 100 professional dance instructors who worked at Houston's other 20 studios?  It was their business to teach dance, so why wouldn't they offer a class to compete with mine?  What reason could explain why none of Houston's professional teachers bothered to offer Disco lessons in January?  It took a while, but I finally figured it out.  During the Christmas Holidays of 1977, I doubt there was a single person in Houston... or America for that matter... who had any idea Disco was about to rise from its coffin.  Since the movie's December debut was totally unheralded, the World of Dance was taken completely off guard.  That included me. 

Let's say I'm an old prospector who is intrigued by a tapped out gold mine.  Everyone else has abandoned this place because it has been ages since any trace of gold has been spotted.  I have the place all to myself.  One day I am wandering around and there is a significant earth tremor.  I get knocked down and the rumbling shakes up all sorts of dust.  Once the dust clears, I notice something shiny has been uncovered in the wall.  Because I was too stupid to leave the mine like everyone else, I have just struck gold.  Or, put another way, because I was too stupid to give up on a dying music format like everyone else, I was the last man standing when Saturday Night Fever magically brought Disco back to life. 

When the movie debuted in December 1977, every Ballroom dance studio in the city was caught completely flat-footed.  If someone looked in the Yellow Pages and called a Houston dance studio for Disco lessons, they would have been told no classes were currently offered.  The same was true for the professional dance instructors.  Like I said, Disco was a dying genre.  Due to lack of interest, they had concluded long ago there was no money in Disco. 

It may be hard to believe, but there were no January Disco classes scheduled at any Houston dance studio except Stevens of Hollywood.  Since the professionals had turned their noses on Disco dancing, that meant some klutz named Rick Archer was the only person minding the store when the Disco Avalanche hit.  This rather bizarre development was responsible for the Surprise Effect. 

To better understand the 'Surprise Effect', the 8-year Disco Era can be divided into two phases.  Prior to Saturday Night Fever, Disco Dancing consisted of Free Style and Line Dancing.  Was there any partner dancing during Act One?  No.  Partner dancing had been popular in the Fifties.  However, in 1960 'The Twist' had sent Sock Hop Swing into a lengthy oblivion.  Until John Travolta came along, Partner Dancing had been pretty much extinct for the past twenty years. 

As Disco Dave once lamented, "There is no money in Disco!"  Since Freestyle and Line Dancing was so easy to learn, why pay money to learn how to shake your booty?  There were exceptions of course... people like me for example... but for the most part demand for Disco dance lessons was so low during Act One that dance studios learned not to bother.  

As people lost interest in Disco dancing at the tail end of Act One, every teacher in Houston could see the writing on the wall.  Due to the simplicity of the dancing and waning interest in the music, there was zero demand for dance lessons in December 1977.  So what was the point of scheduling a group class for January 1978?  Now that every teacher had written Disco off as a lost cause, offering a group class in January was the last thing on their mind.  Part-time teachers like Becky and Rosalyn had already moved onto other things while professionals like David learned the hard way that teaching Freestyle and Line Dance was an unprofitable waste of time. 

Meanwhile, my star was rising at the same time the veterans of Act One had more or less turned their back.  So when Saturday Night Fever came out of nowhere in late December, every dance professional in Houston was caught flat-footed.  Although expensive private lessons were available, not one dance teacher in the city other than me had an inexpensive group class ready on Day One. 

So perhaps some Readers think I belabor this point too much.  Maybe so, but let me explain why I think the 'Surprise Effect' is important.  I had just spent three 'Lost Years' learning to dance.  Not only did I acquire a certain competence as a dancer, in the process I watched how four different instructors explained the footwork.  In addition, I had spent most of 1977 teaching line dance classes at three different locations.   As a result, I was the BEST-PREPARED TEACHER IN THE CITY OF HOUSTON to meet the unexpected challenge of a huge class on Day One of the Saturday Night Fever phenomenon.  Teaching my first class without even a hint of nervousness, it dawned on me that those so-called Lost Years had a secret purpose all along.

I am serious about being the 'Best Prepared'.  Could Lance Stevens have done a better job?  No.  Or Becky? Or Dave? Or Rosalyn? Or even Patsy Swayze?  No!  I was better than all them because I was entertaining as well as totally prepared.  These students were not 'Serious Dancers' looking to understand the mysteries of 'Step-Ball-Change', they just wanted to get their feet wet and have a little fun.  Now, if it was just 10 students, sure, your typical serious instructor would have done just fine.  However, the presence of 70 people changed the dynamic.  These people did not require a Master Teacher, they needed someone to turn the class into a laugh-fest party.  Good grief, Dr. Fujimoto was right all along!  I was not cut out to be a therapist, I was a born raconteur.  I had the natural ability to use laughter to loosen up a huge audience and invoke fun into the process of learning to dance. 

But here is the Weird part.  Not only did I 'peak' at the perfect time to handle the Tidal Wave, I was placed at the only dance studio in the entire city to offer a Disco group class.   Seriously, why me?  Do you realize how weird it felt to be the only Disco teacher in the whole city?  What would the odds be?  Houston's population in 1978 was 3 million.  Out of 3 million, I was the only one. 

Serious

Lucky Break
Coincidence
Synchronicity

JANUARY 1978 THE SPOTLIGHT EFFECT

In addition to the Surprise Effect, equally important was the Spotlight Effect.  Okay, so Rick Archer is the only game in town.  With the professionals blindsided by the arrival of Saturday Night Fever, for the first month I had the Gold Mine all to myself.  So what?   No one knew I existed! 

So how did 250 students find their way to my January Disco classes?  The reason I became instantly famous was Courses a la Carte (CALC).

For this story to make sense, let's recall my original visit to Stevens of Hollywood two years earlier.  In January 1976 I visited this studio to take Roberta's line dance class.  In that chapter, I explained CALC was a catalogue that listed classes of interest to adults... computer programming, conversational Spanish, karate, auto repair, you name it. 

It is important to understand that CALC was probably the only program of its type to offer a Disco line dance class in January 1978.  Competing programs such as the JCC and the University of Houston Sundry School no longer offered a dance class in their catalogue due to dwindling attendance.

In other words, when the movie came out, no one else in Houston benefitted from any sort of public advertising BUT ME.

THE LOST YEARS

Suspicious

In 1975 Courses a la Carte had reached out to Lance Stevens with a business proposition.  If Stevens would offer a Disco line dance class at his studio and supply the instructor, CALC would supply the students.  Stevens would receive 50% of the proceeds.  It was worth a try, but so far the arrangement had been break-even.  Since the CALC classes were small, the money Stevens made barely covered the cost of Roberta's salary.  In other words, "There is no money in Disco."

As a result, Stevens considered his arrangement with CALC to be a huge waste of time.  The only reason he kept it around was to bring a few students to his nearly-deserted studio.  Besides, since the class was not costing him any money, he kept the arrangement intact hoping attendance would pick up.  But it never did.  In fact, in the latter part of 1977 attendance dwindled below the break-even point for the first time.  For this reason, in December Stevens said he was ready to cancel the class.  Why keep me around?  Stevens did not like me.  Plus he assumed the mediocre attendance reflected on my lack of talent.  In addition, he was irritated that he had actually lost money on the class.  Stevens was serious when he said he was going to cancel the class.  Except for one thing.  By the time he called the CALC office, their January 1978 schedule had already been printed and distributed.  Too late to turn back now.  As a result of waiting too long to cancel, Stevens got lucky beyond his wildest imagination.  His studio had THE ONLY ADVERTISED DISCO CLASS IN THE ENTIRE CITY AS OF JANUARY 1, 1978. 

So how did the Spotlight Effect work?  Courses a la Carte advertised in two ways.  It had a mailing list which sent catalogues to everyone who had ever taken a class from CALC.  In addition, CALC distributed catalogues at businesses across the city such as restaurants, grocery stores, convenience stories, drug stores, book stores and MOVIE THEATERS. 

Let's say someone saw the movie in December.  Afterwards, they said to themselves, "Gosh, the dancing in that movie sure looked like fun. I think I'd like to take a dance class after New Year".

As the viewers filed out after watching John Travolta perform his magic, many of them had already decided to make dance lessons their New Year's Resolution.  Lo and behold, they spotted a CALC catalogue in a rack on their way out the door. 

"Let's look at that catalogue and see if there is a listing for a dance class.  Look, there is a class being offered at place called Stevens of Hollywood.  Let's give them a call."

Meanwhile, there was no competition.  I imagine there was a neighborhood Disco course here and there, but only a smattering of people would have known about it.  Meanwhile my class was being broadcast CITY-WIDE throughout December by CALC.  Thanks to a hypothetical Spotlight beamed into the night sky, it was no wonder my January classes were enormous.  Courses a la Carte was the next best thing to the Star of Bethlehem.

This fortuitous development funneled countless students to our door in January.  Now we know how a nowhere place like Stevens of Hollywood magically became Ground Zero for Disco lessons in January.  What an incredible Cosmic Joke!  And, because I worked at the only dance studio in Houston currently offering Disco lessons, I became the only game in town. 

Here again, what were the odds?  In a city of 3 million, I was the only dance teacher to instantly benefit from this totally unexpected cultural phenomenon. 

JANUARY 1978 THE MEDIOCRITY EFFECT

I understood that my insane good luck to be first in line had much to do with the Spotlight Effect and Surprise Effect.  However, those two factors did not totally explain why my January classes were so successful.  Nor could I claim my entertaining personality as the answer.  Sure, I could tell jokes on Night One, but at some point I needed to know what I was doing.  I owed my success to two reasons.  One was a secret that I will save for the next chapter, the other was the 'Mediocrity Effect'. 

Truth be told, I had no business being a success in a profession for which I had little natural ability.  It is one thing to win a contest where only one person is competing.  However, I would be a serious underdog when the pros began gunning for me in February.  Once people began to compare me to teachers with legitimate dance talent and experience, what chance did I have of keeping my lead?  In sports, any team can get hot.  But ultimately the better team wins in the end.  Talent beats Luck. 

Or maybe not.  When Fate is involved, anything is possible.  In February I defied the long odds and kept my lead.  I was still ahead at the end of March.  This continued all year long.  By the end of 1978, I was so far in the lead I couldn't even see the people trailing.  This was a mystery to me. 

So I asked myself, "How the heck did I do that?"  I decided the answer was Fate.  What other answer could there be?  In Hindsight, of course 'Fate' was the best answer.  But there was also a very subtle factor working in my favor.  I accidentally discovered how to turn a handicap into an asset.

Who succeeds in this profession?  Someone like John Travolta.  A hot shot dancer like John would surely be a success.  Popular.  Handsome.  Great dancer.  Loves attention.  Charismatic.  Loves to perform and show off.  Born leader.  Babe magnet.  Wins dance contests.  Everyone loves a winner. 

By comparison there's me, a loner with limited social skills, a klutz with limited dance skills.  Thrown out of Graduate School for my inability to relate to other people.  Lacks confidence, lacks an outgoing personality.  Moody, prone to depression.   I think I'm ugly.  Scared to death of rejection.  No natural dance ability.  Would not dream of entering a dance contest.  So shy it took a three year Dance Project to find the nerve to dance in public.  Virtually no teaching experience.  No money.  No connections.  Babe magnet?  Hardly.  At the moment my Epic Losing Streak stood at 14 years and counting. 

Guess what someone wrote in my high school yearbook?  "Least Likely to Succeed."  I'm just kidding.  In reality, no one said that.  However, if someone had actually bothered to sign my yearbook, that is probably what they thought.  Nevertheless, here I was one year later maintaining a steady lead over people more qualified.  As I stood at the pinnacle of my profession, I had my Secret Weapon to thank... The 'Mediocrity Effect'.  Okay, I confess I write somewhat tongue in cheek.  Let's not forget my gift of gab, a talent usually reserved for politicians.  However there is also a kernel of truth in what I say.

Let's have some fun with this.  Let's divide all potential dance students into two categories, Nerds and Hotshots.  During Act One, the Hotshots dominated.  Dancing came easy to the Hotshots in high school and that confidence carried over into the early Disco years.  Meanwhile, who did not participate in Act One?  Nerds.  Due to poor dance experiences in high school, the slow learners decided Disco was best left to people with dance ability.  So why didn't they try harder?  In Act One, Disco was not popular enough to bother investing the extra time necessary to join the Hotshots.  It was easier to find an activity more suited to them.  As for me, it took an Act of God to get me to hang in there.  Hmm.  'Act of God' is an expression we use casually.  However, in my case, I mean that with all my heart. 

Here in Act Two, there were two major changes.  The first change was related to the immense popularity of the movie.  The other change will remain a secret for the time being, but Readers are invited to guess.  Due to Travolta's scintillating dance performance, everyone wanted to get on the dance floor and be like John.  His charisma was so powerful, Travolta got people interested in learning to dance who had never been interested before.  Yes, the Nerds, a category that includes me.  Due to the astonishing energy surrounding this nationwide sensation, this time the Nerds were more invested in joining the fun.  Better yet, these slow learners had me to serve as their champion.   My students were amazed to learn I was the only Nerd in history brave enough to keep trying until the barrier was crossed.  That made me the perfect teacher for slow learners.  Bring me your lame and crippled.

So who qualifies as a Nerd?  People who think too much.  Analytical people.  People whose brains get in the way of their feet.  People who need each dance step described in the most logical, most easily digested way possible.  Although Hotshot dancers love to ridicule slow learners, there is no reason to feel sorry for people burdened with this handicap.  As it turns out, Nerds actually do pretty well in other walks of life.  Doctor.  Lawyer.  Professor.  Engineer.  Stock broker.  Accountant.  Computer analyst.  Scientist.  Administrator.

Who succeeds in difficult, high-paying professions?  Analytical people with persistence.  And who were my students?  Analytical people with persistence.  And who has enough money to take my class over and over again till they got it right?  Analytical people who make lots of money.  And why did I succeed where more talented dance teachers failed?  Because I was a card-carrying Nerd who not only spoke the same language, I was infinitely sympathetic to their plight. 

Since gifted dancers never think about their feet, sometimes a good dancer has trouble explaining how a move works.  Although there are other dance instructors who can explain things just fine, but not many.  For example, neither Black Jack nor  Phoney Baloney Henry could explain footwork worth a darn.  But the biggest problem is patience.  And even if they are good at explanation, many instructors lack the patience to bother.  Why did Lance Stevens become a dance instructor?  Because he had a gift.  Because he won dance contests.  But his gift was also his handicap.  He despised slow learners.  Like many gifted dancers, Stevens preferred to teach people who were a reflection of himself, people who learn fast, people who don't agonize over every step they take.  

Then one day John Travolta accomplished something that had not happened since the days of Fred Astaire.  Travolta lured countless people into the World of Dance who did not belong there.  Before Travolta, slow learners need not apply.  But for this one moment in time, a door opened and a flood of first-time dancers came through.  And guess who was standing there waiting for them?  Me. 

Let me add that I popularized a major innovation: Group classes.  Before I came along, expensive Private lessons were the prevailing business model of dance studios.  As an example, Lance Stevens made his living this way.  Private lessons will always be the best way for fast learners to maximize their skill. 

However, private lessons are not cost-effective for slow learners.  Given that my past experience during the Lost Years had been Group lessons, I was comfortable with this format.  As a result I found a niche in the World of Dance that had rarely been tried: inexpensive Group lessons that targeted slow-learning, overly-analytical dance retards with lots of money and tons of persistence.  So now you know the secret of my success.  My utter mediocrity as a Nerd dancer turned me into the perfect teacher for the January tidal wave of beginners.

february 1978, the disco years, Age 28 the crisis begins

Fortunately, my Mediocrity as a dancer was not a permanent condition.  Yes, it make overly-analytical people like me longer than most, but even a slow learner can get there eventually.  Through constant practice over the years I acquired the polish necessary to gain the respect of serious dancers as well as dilettantes.  However, at the start of my career, I did not have the luxury of time.  My lack of experience as a dancer and a teacher almost ended my career before it started. 

A dance class at Stevens of Hollywood consisted of eight one-hour lessons stretched over two months.  Since all my classes started in January, my students asked if there would be any follow-up classes starting in March.  One night in early February a married couple from one of my January-February classes pulled me aside after class.

"Rick, we really like your line dances and Freestyle moves, but what really intrigued us about Saturday Night Fever was the Partner Dancing.  Do you know how to teach partner dancing? 

"No," I said, "but if I learn, will you sign up for my next class in March?"

Big smiles came to their faces.  "Of course we will!  That's a great idea because we really like the way you teach."

I loved the compliment, but afterwards I smacked myself on the head.  Good grief, what was I thinking?  I immediately regretted blurting out the offer.  I had just promised to teach something I had no clue about.  Even worse, I had less than a month to solve the problem.  Caught up in the moment, this had been an insanely bad idea!  Now what do I do?

Immediately my Readers have a suggestion.

"Hey, Rick, I have an idea.  Why not find a teacher?" 

Yeah, right.  But aren't you forgetting something? 

I WAS THE ONLY DISCO TEACHER IN THE CITY!  This was sort of like the mind-boggling "Who Created God?" question that always scares me to death.  Who teaches the teacher when there are no other teachers?  Who was I going to go to for help??

So you say, "Well, gosh, Rick, just watch someone and copy what they are doing."

Two problems.  First, I lacked the ability to watch and copy.  My Brain did not work properly with Monkey See, Monkey Do.  That was a skill possessed by Born Dancers, but not me.  Second, who was I going to copy??  There was no Partner Dancing in Houston!!

The Partner Dancing in Saturday Night Fever was based on a trend in Brooklyn, New York.  Unfortunately, Brooklyn is a long way from Houston.  In January 1978, Disco Partner Dancing barely existed here.  During the early days of January-February, most of the time there was no one on the floor who knew how to partner dance.  Given that I had no one to teach me and no one to copy, I was at a loss to know how to proceed.

On the other hand, there was great Opportunity.  Why did I said yes to that couple?  Because when I first saw the movie, I had felt the same reaction.  I wanted to learn how to Partner Dance just as much as they did.  Unlike Freestyle and Line Dancing, Partner Dancing meant putting girls in my arms.  Given my Epic Losing Streak, I was all for it.

Only one problem.  Who was I going to turn to?  Lance Stevens?  No way.  Given his animosity, Stevens was the last person I wanted to ask for help.  So I did the same thing I usually do when presented with an insurmountable problem... I procrastinated.  Very bad move.  But here's the funny thing.  What happens to me every time I avoid doing the right thing?  Fate kicks me in the ass.  Sure enough, that's what happened.  On Monday, February 20, Stevens pulled me aside after class.  His next words froze me to the core of my being.

"I have scheduled you to begin teaching a Disco Partner Dance class beginning on Friday, March 3.  I expect you to announce it in all your classes this week."

I nearly fainted.  What is this man thinking?!?  I had never partner danced in my life.  With panic in my voice, I replied, "But Mr. Stevens, I don't know how to partner dance!"

"Well, buddy, you better figure it out because I'm getting a lot of calls and I am telling them to show up on March 3.  You have 11 days.  I suggest you go to a club and watch what they are doing."

With that, Stevens turned and walked away.  Watching him leave, I stood there too sick to move.  Aware I only had 11 days to prepare for the most difficult test of my life, I was overcome by a serious attack of nausea. 

My fledgling dance career was on the line.