JANUARY-FEBRUARY 1978, the disco years, Age 28 DANCE STUDIO ECONOMICS

On the other hand, the desire to learn Line Dancing and Freestyle fit Group Lessons like a glove.  Private lessons expect people to pay top dollar in return for rapid progress.  Group lessons were just the opposite.  Group classes gave people an inexpensive way to learn at a turtle's pace.  Plus there was less danger of criticism.  A person with little confidence could avoid embarrassment by hiding in the crowd.  Besides, strength in numbers was good for moral support.  It was sort of like Group Therapy... misery loves company.  No matter how bad a person was, there were other students just as bad.  So roll up your sleeves, laugh at your mistakes, and try again. 

JANUARY-FEBRUARY 1978 UNDERDOG

Hey, y'all, let's make a movie about my dance career!  You've seen Saturday Night Fever and Dirty Dancing, so you already know the script.  I am a hungry, ambitious kid who learned to dance on the streets.  In the process I developed a huge following.  I used my skill to win a big dance contest, then parlayed my legendary street credentials into a job at a dance studio. 

We've heard this before, right?  With a wink, you know I will turn out to be a good-looking dance stud like Patrick Swayze with lots of girlfriends and plenty of envious buddies who tag along to catch my leftovers.  I am slick with the ladies, quick with the quip, fast on my feet.  I'm on fire!    

Well, guess again.  That ain't me, babe.  In reality, I was closer to Quasimodo than Adonis.  In a curious twist, I was the exact opposite of Patrick Swayze.  And how do I know this?  Because Patrick's mother Patsy Swayze was my jazz teacher for over a year.  She also became a friend who enjoyed chatting with me over coffee before jazz class. 

Patsy was candid enough to tell the truth... when it came to talent, I was no match for her son.  In fact, after a year of taking her adult jazz class, I wasn't even good enough to join her dance company.  Patsy really liked me, but she knew I was too hopeless as a dancer to make the necessary improvement.  In the kindest way possible, Patsy suggested I turn my dance ambitions in a different direction. 

"Rick, the reason you struggle with dancing is that your brain gets in the way of your feet.  You are so busy thinking what your feet are supposed to do you don't even hear the music.  That is why you are rhythmically-challenged. 

Plus you get angry at yourself too easily.  You are very critical of your mistakes.  You see other students learn faster and move with more grace and then you get frustrated.  You need to accept your skills lie elsewhere.  You should be a lawyer or a stock broker.  Find a profession that makes use of your special ability to solve puzzles.  Lord knows you would be successful.  You are most persistent student I have ever had."

Lance Stevens confirmed what Patsy said, but in a far more sinister way.

"Archer, you have the least ability of any person to ever attempt to teach dance..." -- Lance Stevens

Stevens meant what he said.  I was a reasonably good dancer compared to the students I taught.  However, I was hardly a match for the graceful swans who dominated the Dance World.  Typically people are drawn to a profession for which they have natural ability.  Professional dancers are no different than professional athletes.  To excel, they must have a special gift that puts them above the pack.   Dance teachers are born with rhythm, balance, fast feet and a quick learning curve.  Equally important is their keen desire to demonstrate their excellence through competitions and exhibitions.  People pay dance teachers to make them look good.  But first a student wants to know their teacher looks good as well.  Dance teachers love it when every eye in the room is drawn to their scintillating dance performances.  These people are born to show off and entertain.

And then there is me, the guy who hid in the shadows during his high school dances.  I never danced in high school and just once in college.  I took my first dance lesson at age 24.  Compare that to a prodigy like Patrick Swayze who began taking classes from his mother at age 5.  No natural ability, late start, plus a morbid fear of showing off on a dance floor.  I would never dream of entering a dance contest.  Can it possibly get any worse?  Oh sure.  I was an introvert who had trouble making conversation with people I did not know.  I was terrified of rejection from pretty girls.  I was painfully shy in a profession that rewards people who are outgoing and confident.

Okay, now that I have revealed my position on the lowest rung of the dance teacher talent ladder, how do I intend to explain my eventual success in a field for which I was poorly suited?  By some cosmic fluke, I landed in the only spot in the World of Dance where I had a fighting chance to succeed... teaching group classes to Beginners. 

JANUARY-FEBRUARY 1978 A RIFT IN THE SPACE-TIME CONTINUUM

Lance Stevens was full of scorn because I did not fit the established profile of a successful dance instructor.  He only hired me because he wanted nothing to do with Disco students, most of whom who did not know their left foot from their right.  Stevens was not the only teacher who felt that way.  Although there were exceptions to the rule, many dance professionals had a similar attitude.  Dancing came so easily to the pros that they did not understand those who struggled.  Mediocre dancers were considered riff-raff.  Why waste their time?  The only students the pros cared to deal with were committed students willing to dedicate themselves to perfection. 

In general, people who could not dance avoided lessons like the plague.  Why embarrass themselves?  And so the lines were drawn.  The pros did not like the Left Footers and the Left Footers did not like the pros.  Then it happened.  Without warning, Saturday Night Fever turned the Dance World upside down.  John Travolta made Disco Dancing look so cool that Left Footers who had never taken a dance lesson in their life suddenly wanted to join the party.  That is where I came in.  In January 1978, a veritable army of first-time dancers signed up for classes.  This onslaught was new to the Dance Business.  It was like a rift had opened in the Universe to invite an unwanted army of lousy dancers to participate. 

Meanwhile I was a neophyte instructor who had been thrown by Fate down a Dance World Rabbit Hole that had never been explored before.  Dance professionals were used to private lessons where they could deal one-on-one with serious students.  Since they preferred to avoid dealing with people who lacked talent, they had little experience with group classes.  I was just the opposite.  Based on past experience, I understood group lessons would work better for shy people who did not want to be made to feel foolish for their slow progress.  Although I could not relate to people on an individual basis worth a flip (which is why I was tossed from graduate school), I had the unique ability to keep large groups of people amused with jokes, antics, sarcasm and teasing.  I was like an idiot savant who possessed only one dance skill, the innate ability to teach large groups of people using a mixture of mischief and encouragement to compensate for my shortcomings.

Okay, are you ready for the 'Weird' part?  Strangely enough, my lack of dance talent worked in my favor.  People who have the most trouble learning to dance are handicapped by their tendency to think too much.  Sound familiar?  However, if footwork can be explained in small, concise increments, people with over-active minds can catch on.  The thing to understand is that slow learners can become reasonably good dancers.  It will just take them longer.  Plus it helps to have each step explained in a precise, logical way.  Call it Dancing for Dummies.  If ever there was someone uniquely qualified to teach "Special Ed" classes to slow learners, that would be me.  I was a Nerd and so were my students.  They understood me, I understood them.  None of us belonged in the World of Dance, but through some absurd Cosmic Fluke, here we are. 

For this to make any sense, we need to talk about Nerds.  80-90% of my students were college-educated professionals.  Doctor.  Lawyer.  Professor.  Engineer.  Stock broker.  Accountant.  Computer analyst.  Scientist.  Realtor.  Businessman.  Who succeeds in difficult professions such as these?  Smart people, people who think too much, people just like me, i.e. Nerds.  Although my tendency to be over-analytical had been a major handicap back when I was learning to dance, my tendency to Think Too Much became a Secret Weapon in the New Reality. 

Incredible as it seems, my handicap magically became my asset.  Recalling my own frustration at my slow learning pace, I was able to understand why my students were so phobic about dance lessons.  These were people who had been successful in every walk of life they had ever tackled until they tried learning to dance.  Now they were stupefied to see people with far less education improve at dance far more rapidly than they did.  That made no sense to them.  Then one day they met me.  How fortunate!  I alone could ease their pain by explaining they were too smart for their own good.  Not only that, unlike instructors who preferred to criticize, I even offered to cure their problem.  Imagine that. 

I used my penchant for mischief as a healing tool.  Early in my dance career, I learned my students would relax and better accept their foibles if I could make them laugh.  I accomplished this through good-natured teasing.  The story of Peter the Nerd is a perfect example.  One night a hapless guy named Peter could not do anything right.  Mishap after mishap.  Since most line dances start to the right, I made it clear that this particular line dance started to the left.  I frowned when Peter started the wrong way three times in a row despite my announcements to the contrary. 

Should I chew him out?  Unlike Lance Stevens, I did not like embarrassing my students.  Stevens got a kick out of it, but not me.  Recalling my own struggles, I knew these people were scarred by memories of humiliating high school dance experiences.  However, I was not above good-natured teasing.  I had teased Peter before, so I knew he did not seem to mind.  In fact, I sometimes wondered if Peter did this deliberately to provoke me.  Could anyone actually be stupid enough to go the wrong way three times?  Suspecting that Peter was pulling my leg, why would he do this?  For attention.  I noticed whenever I called him out, he would make a retort that would crack the class up.  With that in mind, I decided to call on Peter. 

"Uh, Peter, do you have some sort of hearing problem??"

"What do you mean?"

"I have told the class three times to start to the left and not once did you listen."

"I actually heard what you said, but my feet have a mind of their own."

That started the laughter.  Hmm.  Just as I suspected.  Okay, Peter, you're on.  I could not pass this up. 

"So, Peter, let's get to the bottom of this.  What you do for a living?"

"I'm an entrepreneur in the computer field."

"Ah, so you take risks.  Are you any good at it?"

"I haven't been sued yet."

More laughter.

"You must be pretty smart to be a computer geek.  What's your IQ?"

"Oh, I don't know, 120, 130 on a good day."

"That's what I thought.  You strike me as a bright guy.  So, please don't get mad at me, but has anyone ever called you a nerd?"

While the crowd gasped at my effrontery, Peter blushed.  "People have called me a nerd ever since I was a kid."

"Well, there's your answer right there.  You are too damn smart to be any good at dancing."

More gasps and laughter too. 

"Uh, what do you mean by that?"  Peter was unsure whether I was insulting him or teasing him. 

"I'm not making fun of you, I am identifying with you.  I was no better at learning to dance than you.  It took me three years."

"Three years?  I don't have that long.  I need a girlfriend now."

More laughter.

"Oh, don't worry, Peter, it won't take you that long."

"Why not?"

"Because you have me.  I am the first Nerd in history to become a dance teacher.  I am the only person who can help you.  Now, stick out your left hand."

When Peter stuck out his hand, I slapped the top of it.  Not too hard, mind you, but enough to make it sting a little.

"Ow!!"  Peter gripped his hand to embellish the pain for his audience.  "What did you do that for?"

"Because your feet aren't paying attention.  When we start again, I want you to dance in the direction where your hand hurts."

I suppose I took a risk in giving Peter a hard time, but not really.  Instinct told me I was picking on a guy who would not only take it the right way, but probably relish it.  Thank goodness I was proven correct.  Indeed, I did Peter a favor.  During the remaining time, one lady after another made sure to offer poor suffering Peter some sympathy.  When a pretty lady named Leslie paid extra attention, Peter played it for all it was worth. 

"Oh, Leslie, thank you so much for your concern.  Gosh, my hand really hurts bad!" 

 Peter paused, then held his wounded hand up for Leslie to inspect. 

"Do you see how red it is?  Hey, I have an idea.  Would you rub it for me?  That would make me feel so much better."

When Leslie began to laugh, I saw the sparks fly.  Later on I scolded Peter. 

"I saw that stunt you pulled with Leslie.  You should be ashamed of yourself."

Peter grinned.  He was totally unabashed.  "Hey, I think Leslie really likes me!"

I nodded in agreement.  Peter may have just found the girlfriend he was looking for.  And so the legend of Peter the Nerd was born.  Every now and then Peter and I would resurrect our shtick to great laughter.  The crowning moment came when Peter came to our annual Sock Hop as "Peter the Nerd" complete with thick glasses, pocket protector, and white socks.  Just to make sure everyone got the point, Peter wore a sign on his back that said "Kick Me".  Trust me, I obliged Peter several times.  I also noticed Peter was hit of the party.  Oh, by the way, remember that girl named Leslie?  Peter married that girl.  True story.

So what is my point?  I had skills, just not the kind of skills Stevens was looking for.  The sad thing is that I knew in my heart I was good at this, but once Stevens got it locked in his mind that I was too pathetic to keep around, I had no idea how to change his mind.  In my darkest fantasy, I wondered if I could organize a student revolt.  Believe it or not, my students really liked me.  And who could blame them?  Where else could my beloved nerds find a teacher carved in their own image? 

Thanks to Peter and others like him, I discoved that giving my students a hard time improved class morale.  But I would have never imagined it.  Growing up a loner, I never teased a soul.  Nor did anyone tease me.  So it remains a mystery how a hidden side of my personality emerged at such a convenient time.  My students were not my only target.  I made fun of myself on a regular basis.  For example, Peter and I would publicly argue about who was the superior Nerd.  The absurdity of seeing two grown men claim to be more Nerdish than the other was sure to provoke laughter.  And guess what?  It worked!  I was inspiring people to hang in there by making them laugh at their difficulty.  Now that Saturday Night Fever had changed the game, my slow learners were motivated to try harder.  The Hotshots would still dominate the dance floor with their superiority, but my students would not be intimidated.  They might not be the best, but they were good enough to join the party.  That is because I assured them that even slow learners could reach the promised land with enough persistence.  Every time I said that, the Nerds would smile.  If there is one thing Nerds have, it is Persistence. 

Seriously, it was like looking in a mirror.  They were me, I was them, but with more experience.  Oh my gosh, they were so bad!  Send me your lame and crippled.  The majority of my January-February students were so clumsy I knew without asking they had never been near a Disco in their life.  Or if they had visited one, they were so intimidated by the good dancers they just sat and watched.  I knew the feeling quite well.  However, persistence had worked for me and it would work for them too.  Due to the sensational energy surrounding Travolta's dancing, they were willing to give it a try.  Even better, this time they had me, the Dancing Nerd, as their champion. 

The 'Peter the Nerd' incident was definitely one of my favorite moments, but it was not an isolated event.  By teasing Peter and others like him, I learned if I could make people laugh, it made it easier for them to accept their mistakes.  My occasional ad libs also made the students pay better attention.  They listened closely because they never knew what terrible thing I might say next or who might be my next victim.  Don't ask me where this wicked side of my personality came from, but it worked like a charm.  I was not a natural dancer, but I was a natural teacher.  Too bad Lance Stevens could not see this.  He was too blind to notice.

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 20, 1978 HANGING ON FOR DEAR LIFE

Was I as mediocre as Lance Stevens made me out to be?  Yes and no.  Looking back, the first two months were the honeymoon period.  My three years of practicing line dances and freestyle had paid off handsomely.  Everything went so smoothly that I thought this is how it would always be here at my Dream Job.  What I failed to realize is that I had been handed the least demanding job imaginable.  One does not require the skill or training of a brain surgeon to teach people how to line dance.  "Step-together-step, kick!"  The real test comes when someone like Lance Stevens could teach people to perform complicated Waltz and Tango patterns.  That required real skill.  However, I had nothing to worry about.  Let Stevens do his thing, I'll do mine. 

Then suddenly the Honeymoon was over.  On Monday, February 20, Lance Stevens pulled me aside after class.  His next words froze me to the core of my being.

"Archer, 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 phone calls and I am telling them to show up on March 3.  You have 11 days.  I suggest you go to a dance club and watch what they are doing."

With that, Stevens turned and walked away.  As I watched him leave, I stood there in horror too upset to move.  Aware I only had 11 days to prepare for the most difficult test of my life, I nearly died on the spot.  Stevens had just announced it was time for me to begin teaching the Partner Dancing that had made John Travolta famous.  Only one problem.  John Travolta had a teacher to prepare him for each scene.  Not me.  I did not have a teacher and I had never partner danced in my life.  Nor did Stevens give me enough time.  This was my defining Peter Principle moment.  With my dance career on the line, I had just been promoted to my level of incompetence.

Peter Principle is an unusual theory developed by Lawrence Peters, a Canadian educator.  The idea is that whenever someone does their job well, they are eventually rewarded with a promotion that carries more responsibility. 

If they handle the next level of responsibility well, they get promoted again.  As each job gets tougher, eventually the day comes when they get promoted to a job level well beyond their talent level.  At this point they flounder miserably. 

This idea made a lot of sense to me.  In fact, I used to think it was funny in an ironic way.  However, now that it applied to me, I wasn't laughing anymore.  My knowledge of line dance and freestyle had allowed me to get my foot in the door.  However, once Stevens decided to promote me to my level of incompetence, I was expected to perform a duty that was hopelessly over my head.

Considering I had never partner danced in my life, I was panic-stricken.  This test was so intimidating, the 12 Labors of Hercules immediately came to mind.  Sure, if I had the blood of the Greek Gods in me, maybe I could pull this off.  But I was a mere mortal.  I didn't stand a chance.

There was no one to teach me, so I would have to figure it out myself.  This was a tall task considering I was the proverbial slow learner when it came to learning anything to do with dance.  I recalled an embarrassing moment in Patsy Swayze's jazz class.  One night her daughter Bambi, a member of Patsy's dance company, joined me and the other Beginners to kill time.  Bambi danced circles around us.  I could not believe how easy it was for her to pick up Patsy's moves.  Discouraged, I asked Patsy to explain Bambi's superiority.  She reminded me of my tendency to be overly-analytical.  I was so self-conscious that my brain constantly monitored my feet when I danced.  Patsy compared me to a baseball hitter. 

"Rick, if you try to analyze fast ball, curve ball, or slow pitch, the ball will be past you before you even swing.  You have to learn to react, not sit there and think about it.  Professional dancers like my son can see a move and copy it without thinking.  This special ability is what sets Patrick, Bambi and other born dancers above the rest."  

I understood what Patsy was trying to say.  Whenever Patsy showed us a move, I would stop to figure out the footwork, then tell my feet what to do.  By that time, a gifted dancer like Bambi was off to the races.  But what choice did I have?  I had to play with the hand that nature dealt me.  Threatened with the loss of the only thing that had given me satisfaction after many years of mediocrity, I wanted this job more than anything in the world.  That meant I had to overcome my handicap.

Unfortunately, it would not be easy.  One month ago Lance Stevens had tried to teach me 'Latin Motion', a major element in Rumba that involves eye-catching hip motion.  He was so impatient that I got incredibly nervous.  My hips went lockjaw and refused to move properly.  Appalled by my glaring lack of fluidity, Stevens lost his temper and walked off.  From that point on, it seemed like every day Stevens found something nasty to say to me.  Through constant criticism and snide remarks, Stevens made it clear he was unimpressed with my dance ability.  In his opinion, I had no business teaching dance... except perhaps Disco, "the lowest form of dancing" in his opinion.  Every time he snarled at me, I honestly thought I was about to be fired.  No doubt Stevens considered it.  Sensing his low opinion, I constantly worried that he would send me packing.  After all, I believed I was easily disposable.  I somehow kept my job, but that Saturday morning fiasco marked the onset of extreme anxiety.  Anytime Stevens came near, I was certain this was it.

I deeply resented how Stevens treated me.  I was definitely headed in the right direction, so what was the hurry?  If Stevens would just be more patient, I would eventually catch on to whatever he wanted me to learn.  But that wasn't his way.  Stevens figured anyone with a learning deficit like mine was not cut out to be a dance teacher.  Why bother coaching me?  His time was too valuable. 

Consequently, over the past month I had lived in constant fear of losing my Dream Job.  Assuming there were lots of professional instructors with far more skill, I prayed no one with actual dance talent would walk in the door and tempt Stevens to replace me.  Now my worst nightmare had come true.  Lance Stevens had just demanded the impossible.  What could I do?  I had never felt more helpless in all my life.  The end was near.  I was certain of that.