Question:  "How did the Aggie smoking a cigarette on the cliff accidentally kill himself?"

Answer:  "He threw the wrong butt off the cliff."

march 1978 THE GREAT IMPOSTER

march 1978 confrontation

It was now March.  I was only two months into my dance career and I had already dealt with difficult situations totally beyond anything I had ever faced before.  In addition to the explosion of dance students and this mind-bending gay controversy at the Jet Set, there was my gut-wrenching Partner Dance Crisis.  Acting upon the orders of Lance Stevens, I went to great lengths to learn how to teach partner dancing.  So far the results were phenomenal.  I was teaching eight classes a week, all of which were going very well.  My students loved learning to partner dance.  Attendance was growing, somewhere close to 300 students, and the Disco Cash Cow was making Stevens rich beyond his wildest imagination.  So Lance Stevens is happy, right?  I assumed he would be pleased.  Guess again. 

I received a crushing blow early in March.  One night Stevens watched me teach my New Yorker class from the sidelines.  I hoped my cute little partner dance would satisfy the boss, but Stevens was not impressed.  When I saw him watch with a big frown and arms crossed, my heart sank.  I knew by his expression that I was in trouble.  Sure enough, when class was over, Stevens pointed to his office.  In private, he gave me the worst chewing out since the days of Dr. Fujimoto, the man who threw me out of graduate school.  Stevens let his disgust be known loud and clear. 

1. My students were not dancing on the beat. 
2. I was not teaching any sort of footwork Stevens had ever seen. 
3. My female students had no styling or dance showmanship. 
4. The women let their free hand hang down at their side, the crime of the century.
5. Many students looked clumsy.  This meant I wasn't teaching proper dance technique. 
6. My male students had no idea how to lead partner dance patterns properly. 

But forget all that.  This was nothing compared to my worst sin of all.  Stevens barked at me, "What the hell happened to the 'Disco Swing' that I ordered you to teach!?!"

Awash in a sea of criticism, I was furious.  Make that beyond furious.  Did Stevens have even an ounce of gratitude?  Heck no!  At his request, I had moved mountains to create this admittedly rudimentary dance system.  My students liked the New Yorker.  It was easy to learn.  Even better, it allowed men to begin partner dancing in the Disco clubs right off the bat.  Stevens had asked for a partner dance to be taught to Beginners and I had given him exactly what he asked for.  As a result people were streaming through the doors and lining his pockets.  Happy students mean healthy profits, right?  What was my reward?  A raise?  Some praise?  Don't be silly.  My reward was this barrage of criticism that stretched out the door.  Given that I did not handle criticism well, this harangue really stung.  Considering the time constraints and the pressure Stevens had made me work under, what did this tyrant expect?

And that is when it happened.  I snapped and opened my big mouth.  Uh oh.  Feeling insulted and unappreciated, I tried to defend myself.  Big mistake, huge mistake, mucho grande mistake.  When will I ever learn?  I had gone through this once with Fujimoto, so you would have thought I knew better by now.  Some fools never learn.

"Mr. Stevens, when you watched my class, did you notice how much the students enjoyed what I was teaching?"

Stevens exploded.  He yelled, "Don't you dare evade my question!  Why didn't you teach Disco Swing like I told you to!?!"

"With all due respect, sir, what I am teaching is material I copied from watching people dance in the clubs like you told me to.  I combined my observations with material taken from your Disco Swing.  Surely you noticed I used several of the patterns you taught me.  All I did was slightly modify what you showed me."

"Young man, 'Disco Swing' is graceful.  It has precise footwork and it keeps the beat of the music.  It is far superior to that abomination you have cooked up.  Furthermore, someday you will understand that when someone tells you to do something, you do it.  I have 40 years in this business and you have two months.  Who the hell do you think you are?  I have a business to run and I gave you an order.  The next time I give you an order, you either follow it or get the hell out of here!!"

Stevens was hopping mad and so was I.  This guy had no idea how hard I had worked to come up with something that would make my students happy.  Furthermore Stevens had never been to a Disco in his life.  What did he know about Disco partner dancing?  Frustrated, I continued to argue.  Trying hard not to raise my voice, I stated my case.

"Mr. Stevens, I did not teach your Disco Swing because there's something wrong with it.  What you taught me is slower than what they use in the clubs.  The students would not dream of using Disco Swing because it moves at a snail's pace compared to the best dancers.  Anyone using Disco Swing would be laughed off the floor.  If you don't believe me, go look for yourself!"

Stevens stared at me in shock.  I had never talked back to him before.  Stevens sat at his desk too surprised to respond.  He could not believe a smart-mouthed, snot-nosed kid half his age had just told him, The Master, that his beloved Disco Swing sucked.  Seeing the angry expression on his face, I paled.  What have I done?  Did my mouth suddenly develop a Death Wish?  My mother used to get fired for doing things her way without permission.  Furthermore, the last time I stood up for myself, Fujimoto had thrown me out of graduate school.  Now I expected Stevens would do the same.  I fully expected he would dismiss me on the spot.  However, unlike Fujimoto, to my surprise Stevens spared me.  He pointed to the door and shouted, "Get the hell out of my sight!"

I stomped off fuming in anger.  I was very fortunate indeed.  I am fairly certain the only thing that saved me is that Stevens did not have an instant replacement for eight classes and 300 students.  Otherwise I would have been fired for impertinence.  Driving home, I seethed at Stevens for being such a jerk.  I imagine Stevens hated Disco so much that not once did he ever visit a club to see for himself.  Consequently I had eyes and Stevens was flying blind.  In Stevens' defense, his students tended to be a 50-plus crowd who had no desire to move at break-neck speed.  For them, I imagine the reduced pace of Disco Swing worked just fine to the rapid Disco beat. 

However I was teaching young people my age, people like Janie who could dance till dawn and loved the energetic movement.  The Disco crowd danced at a clip roughly 20-30% faster than Stevens' older crowd.  I was right to stand my ground because I gave my students what they wanted.  My mistake, however, was my inability to deal with the problem in a diplomatic way.  I had not mastered the fine art of massaging the ego of an arrogant bully.  Consequently I was pretty certain I had not heard the end of this.  It had been a serious mistake to openly defy him.  I suspected that Stevens would not tolerate my affront to his grandeur for long.  Sorry to say, my fear would soon be proven true.  There's an old saying... 'He was right, dead right.'  This fight was not over.

Wednesday, march 15, 1978 exploitation

History is full of stories where the boss was clearly wrong, but his subordinates were at a loss to know how to talk him out of it.  Adolf Hitler is a perfect example.  Every German officer with a brain knew the story of Napoleon's greatest mistake.  Napoleon had rashly chased the Russian army all the way to Moscow despite low supplies.  Napoleon assumed Moscow would have plenty of food to feed his hungry army.  Wrong.  The Russians burned Moscow to the ground.  Checkmate.  150 years later Hitler decided to attack Russia.  His commanders begged him to reconsider, citing Napoleon.  Hitler ignored them.  Guess what?  The Russian winter did the same thing to the German army as it had to the French army.  Checkmate.  As Hitler became increasingly erratic, German commanders began to countermand his orders.  For example, facing certain defeat in Paris, Hitler ordered General von Choltitz to burn the city down.  Thank goodness the general ignored Hitler’s orders.  Choltitz left the city intact and surrendered instead.  Paris was saved.

My nasty confrontation with Stevens left me uncertain how to proceed.  What should I do?  Throw the New Yorker in the trash or continue to do things my way?  Ultimately I stuck to my guns.  Stevens was so locked into dance perfection, he could not seem to comprehend the mind-set of a Beginner.  My students did not aspire to greatness.  Most of them just wanted to learn the bare minimum necessary to get out on the floor and join the fun.  As long as no one was concerned about clever footwork, stylish patterns or keeping correct time to the rhythm, the New Yorker worked just fine.  Since most men did not hear the beat of the music anyway, they loved this admittedly humble partner dance.  The New Yorker quickly became a very popular fixture in my classes.  It was so easy to learn that the men were able to begin partner dancing in the clubs as early as their second class.  I was proud of my accomplishment and it was good for business.  Okay, I agree it was simple, but is that such a bad thing?  Look at it this way.  Other than graduates of Texas A&M, no one in the city had a clue how to partner dance.  Every ski instructor knows to put Beginners on the bunny slope.  Same for me.  The New Yorker was the dance equivalent of the Bunny Slope.  Was there really any benefit to teaching my slow learners a difficult partner dance like the Hustle and watch them get discouraged?  And where was the logic in teaching the Disco Swing, a slow-paced dance that would instantly stigmatize my students in comparison to experienced dancers? 

I would never say this out loud, but Stevens was not a very smart businessman.  For crying out loud, just give them what they want.  How difficult is that to understand?  If Stevens had been willing to listen, I would have explained my reasoning.  But that was not his style.  I cannot recall a single conversation where we exchanged outlooks.  However, for whatever reason, he did decide to let me have my way on this issue.  With Hercules unchained and free to do as he pleased, the New Yorker marked a major stepping stone in my climb.  Noting how much my students enjoyed learning the New Yorker, word of mouth brought many referrals to the studio.  At the time, I assumed this New Yorker partner dance was all I needed.  By adding a new step here and there, I could live happily ever after.  Unfortunately, nothing could be further from the truth.  My 'Partner Dance Crisis' was only the start of a six month ordeal I referred to as my 'Apprenticeship'.  Lance Stevens intimidated me time and again with his bullying.  Indeed, his unceasing demands to produce more patterns and more class levels forced me to take one dangerous risk after another.

Following our heated 'Disco Swing' argument, things were quiet at first.  Stevens gave me the cold shoulder, so several days passed without a word.  Too bad it didn't stay that way.  On the Ides of March, the date Julius Caesar was murdered in the Roman Forum, Stevens made his move.  I doubt Stevens noted the calendar connection, but I did.  His cold-blooded attack left me reeling.

"Archer, I have studied the material you are teaching in your partner dance class.  It is not sufficiently difficult.  I want you to develop a new set of patterns to begin teaching an Advanced class in April.  In this way, we can keep your Intermediate students around longer."

I was very confused.  Stevens considered my new Partner Dance class to be 'Intermediate' level.  In my mind, my current March class was 'Beginner' level since I had decided to teach 40% Freestyle and Line Dancing and 60% Partner Dancing.  But I knew what he meant.  I was supposed to add more difficult patterns to what he considered to be my Frankenstein concoction.  This time Stevens was correct in his thinking.  I agreed we needed more patterns.  What I objected to was the timing of the start date. 

Let me explain.  Stevens could care less about what date he started a class.  January was a good example.  All five classes had started at random times throughout the month.  I strongly suggested he coordinate things and shoot for an eight-week cycle that would fit the months... January-February, March-April.  If we did things my way, "Advanced" partner dancing would commence May-June.  All he had to do was wait a month.  Stevens would not listen.  He was the boss.  New classes would continue to start whenever he felt like it.

Doing things Stevens' way, "Advanced" partner dancing would commence in two weeks.  I groaned.  Here we go again.  I had only two weeks to come up with a brand new level.  Keep in mind I had yet to finish even two weeks of my Intermediate class.  Not only that, I barely knew more about partner dancing than my own students.  Given my Imposter ways, the chance of exposure seemed ever more probable as Stevens drove me relentlessly towards a Peter Principle meltdown.  

"I don't understand, Mr. Stevens.  Are you asking me to add a new class in addition to my current Intermediate class?"

"That is exactly what I am saying.  I have received complaints that no one cares about your stupid line dance patterns.  You can keep the Freestyle.  Beginner dancers need to know Freestyle, but ditch the line dances.  Most important, I want you to develop new partner dance moves.  You have a big Intermediate class, so it is good business to come up with new material to keep them interested in continuing.  I expect this fad will be gone soon, so we need to capitalize while we can.  Plan on teaching an Advanced class at the start of April."

"There is one big problem, Mr. Stevens.  My classes are two months long.  For example, Intermediate Partner Dance on Friday doesn't end until late April.  Doing things your way would create all kinds of overlaps."

Stevens stared at me blankly for a moment.  "Huh, I see your point.  Well, that's just too bad.  This craze could be gone tomorrow, so I don't want to wait that long.  I'll just start your new Advanced class on another night in early April.  That way your best students can take Intermediate and Advanced at the same time.  I'm counting on you to figure it out."

As I stared in horror, Stevens pulled out his schedule.  "There's a slot that opens on Wednesdays at the end of March, two weeks from tonight.  We will do it then."

"That does not make any sense.  I have an Intermediate class that night.  How do you expect the students to take Intermediate and Advanced on the same night?"

"Okay, fine, I'll move the Advanced class to Friday, March 31."

"But that only gives me two weeks to prepare!"

Stevens did not even bother to answer.  No doubt this was far too complicated for his overloaded brain.  He just walked away, leaving me to pull the dagger out of my own back.  I nervously reviewed the conversation.  Stevens had said "We need to capitalize."  'We'?  Give me a break.  What Stevens meant was that 'He' needed to capitalize.  Depending on the number of students who signed up for the next level, Stevens would stand to make a fortune.  As a rough estimate, each level had the ability to generate $3,000 a month.  If things continued as they were, 3 levels would generate $9,000 per month.  Considering a month's salary at my Child Welfare job was $1,500, this was serious money back in those days. 

Unfortunately, creating an Advanced Disco class would not increase my salary very much.  I would still be working for $15 an hour, so my reward would be an additional $200-$300 in return for creating a $3,000 payoff.  Nor would I be paid for my time in developing the next level.  I was incredulous at Stevens' nerve.  Overwhelmingly bitter at being pushed around, the same sickening feeling which had haunted me during the Partner Dance Crisis returned.  Expecting me to tackle this new project with just two weeks notice was asking too much.  Furthermore, this guy was not thinking clearly.  In his greed, he had forgotten my current Intermediate classes still had a month to go in April.  What did Stevens expect these people to do, take Intermediate and Advanced at the same time?  This was roughly akin to asking a kid to take 3rd grade one day and 4th grade another day. 

How much effort was Stevens willing to invest in this new project?  None.  And what would be my reward?  I had the honor of keeping my job and working overtime for free.  How did I ever get so lucky?  Welcome to American Capitalism.  Stevens' actions spoke for themselves.  'My way or the highway.'  His contempt for me was so great he assumed I would either bow to his will or he would use my defiance as an excuse to get rid of me.  Noting how Stevens took me for granted, my bitterness flew off the charts.   I don't think Stevens had the slightest idea how much work I had put in to create the New Yorker partner dance he had demanded back in February.  And what was my reward?  Humiliation and brow-beating.  Now he wanted me to pull off a second miracle.  He expected me to just snap my fingers and... presto!... pluck an Advanced class out of thin air. 

Another sign of his contempt was how little warning he had given me.  Two weeks.  Stevens assumed two weeks was sufficient.  All I had to do was use my Vast Experience to create a new level consisting of 8 one-hour classes spread out over April and May.  I think Stevens actually enjoyed my predicament.  He knew I lacked the training to pull off his latest demand.  Maybe that was what this was really about.  If he fired me, he would get serious blow-back from my 300 students.  But if I quit, that let him off the hook.  In the meantime, I bet he was looking for my replacement this very minute.  After that ugly 'Disco Swing' confrontation in early March, this was my payback.  He would either exploit me or he would run me off.  Or maybe both.  Due to the level of his hostility, I feared there was a real possibility I would be fired shortly after I handed him his lucrative new Advanced class. 

Stevens was right about one thing... an Advanced class would be good for business.  More and more, my current Intermediate-level students were asking if I had a follow-up class which would teach them more partner dancing.  No, not yet, but I promised I would use all of April to develop one.  That would have given me six weeks.  Stevens had shortened that cushion to two weeks.  I did not know if I had the strength to survive another ordeal like the last one.  I also wondered if there were enough Partner Dance moves in existence to fill a new level.  With two weeks left to meet his challenge, did I really want to go through that ordeal again?  And how would I ever come up with a complete course in two weeks?  Shaking my head in despair, I despised Lance Stevens.  He knew how important this job was to me, so he expected I would knuckle under and give him what he wanted. 

Did I rise to meet the challenge?  Are you kidding?  Of course not.  Don't you know me by now?  I invoked the usual Rick Archer motto:  When in doubt, Procrastinate!  Six days passed and I did not lift a finger to create a new class.  Procrastination is the thief of time, but so what?  I was too bitter to act.  I had expended all that energy during last month's Partner Dance Crisis and all I got in return was a severe tongue-lashing.  Now Stevens was ramming this new Advanced class down my throat.  Full of resentment, I rebelled by refusing to look for potential new patterns.  Call it 'passive aggressive'.  What was he going to do, fire me?  Not until he had a replacement.

The Travolta-inspired Disco fad was just as big as the Beatles had once been.  Freestyle and Line Dancing were still around, but as the Disco Phenomenon grew, 'Partner Dancing' was proving to be more popular.  TV variety shows featuring Disco singers were common now.  Top-flight dance couples appeared on these shows to accompany singing stars like Donna Summers.  People were treated to glamorous images of beautiful women with long legs spinning effortlessly on the dance floor.  Soon a new feature emerged.  Dance acrobatics were the new big thing.  Visions of daring women being tossed high in the air stoked America's dance passion on a nightly basis.  Disco was sexy.  Disco was fast.  Disco was exciting, dangerous, thrilling.  The entire country was on fire.

I mulled it over.  Yes, I felt sorry for myself, but I could never bear to leave this scene.  So I changed my mind.  I would give Stevens his class even though he had deliberately thrown me to the wolves again.  But you know what?  If Stevens was going to throw me to the wolves, I hoped the day would come when I would turn around and throw him to the wolves.  My desire for revenge burned strong.

march-April, 1978 feeling inadequate

Was Fate on my mind?  Not even remotely.  Locked in Survival Mode, I was too close to the trees to see the forest.  Not once did it dawn on me that Stevens was doing me an indirect favor by forcing me to discover resources I never knew I had.  Instead, I was consumed with hate.  I despised this man every waking moment.  And so for a while there the Great Imposter became the Great Procrastinator as well.  Fortunately, I came to my senses just in time.  Did I want this job or not?  Yes, of course I did.  It meant expanding my role which in turn would make it harder to get rid of me.  In April I would be teaching close to 15 one-hour classes a week.  These classes had anywhere from 20 to 70 students asking me to hand them the ticket they needed to get on the Disco Train.  Considering this Magic Carpet Ride was the most satisfaction I had ever experienced in my life, I was desperate to hang onto it.  If I lost this job, I would never forgive myself.  Time to get to work.

What was my confidence level?  Very shaky.  At one point I thought I had the makings of a good dance teacher.  After all, my students said so.  So why didn't Stevens want to keep me around?  And why did he refuse to help?  I was making all this money for him and all he did was sabotage me.

Obviously Stevens saw things differently.  Stevens made it clear I did not know a damn thing about teaching dance.   In his mind I was an entertainer, some sort of circus act, not a true professional.  He hated it every time I made the students laugh and criticized me for it.  Stevens hurt my pride the same way Fujimoto had once pointed out I had no business being a therapist.  I did not want to admit it, but Fujimoto had been right.  Deep down, it was not my nature to listen to people's problems on a regular basis.  But what about teaching dance?  My deepest fear was that Stevens was right just as Fujimoto had been. 

There was one particular Stevens insult I could not ignore.  During his tongue-lashing, Stevens had embarrassed me by pointing out how my students let their free hand dangle to the floor while they partner danced. 

I felt so ignorant when he said that.   Due to my inexperience, I had no idea how important this issue was.  However, once Stevens had pointed the problem out, the hanging hand issue was such an obvious no-no, why didn't I notice this myself?  I just wanted to beat my head against a wall.

So what about my 1% chance of success?  Hmm.  Time for a confession.  That unflattering percentage was based on the opinion of Lance Stevens during our confrontation.  It was truly embarrassing when Stevens pointed out I was so pathetic as a teacher that I did not even have the sense to remind my students to avoid letting their free hand droop while partner dancing.  Oops, now that he mentioned it, I realized I let my own free hand dangle when I danced.  This faux pas was so obvious I wondered why I had never noticed this common sense maxim before.  This was my "Mozart Moment".  Stevens' criticism reminded me of a famous story. 

Young Composer: "Herr Mozart, I am thinking of writing a symphony.  How should I get started?"

Mozart: "A symphony is a very complex musical form and you are still young. Perhaps you should start with something simpler, perhaps a concerto."

Young Composer: "But Herr Mozart, you were writing symphonies when you were 8 years old."

Mozart: "Yes, but I never asked anyone how to do it." 

I visualized young Lance Stevens in his crib explaining to his Ken and Barbie dolls never to let their hands droop.  No one had to tell Stevens to remind people to keep their hand up.  That was because Stevens was to dance what Mozart was to music.  Stevens did not need to be told because he was a genius, a gift to the World of Dance.  West Coast dance champion, California State champion.  Stevens knew he belonged in this profession.  He also knew that I did NOT belong in this profession.  Maybe Stevens was right.  Angry at myself, I wondered whatever possessed me to think I could succeed in a profession for which I had so little natural ability. 

What was wrong with Stevens?  He seemed to go out of his way to make this job harder than necessary.  Why had he never bothered to tell me about this hanging hand problem before?  Rather than insult me, why not take a minute to train me?  Would it be so difficult to pull a struggling young teacher aside and offer a few well-placed suggestions?  Why did this man hate me so much?  I was more than willing to learn, but Stevens could not care less.  It was more satisfying to humiliate me as a way to enhance his own superiority. 

The similarity between Stevens and Fujimoto was unmistakable.  Once they saw the extent of my shortcomings, they decided I wasn't worth the effort to salvage.  Instead of helping me, they took potshots instead.   The entire situation was pure deja vu.  Based on my dismissal at Colorado State, I felt like I was doomed to a similar fate here at Stevens of Hollywood.  Convinced that Stevens could not wait to terminate me, the moment a replacement appeared, I was toast.  Overwhelmingly insecure, I walked on pins and needles.  Hanging on by a thread, 'Obsequious' became standard operating procedure.  Any time Stevens came near, I began to grovel.