MYSTERY OF THE TEXAS TWOSTEP

CHAPTER ELEVEN:

BLIND LEADING THE BLIND

Written by Rick Archer 

THE TEXAS DANCE TRADITION

How did Country dancing originate in Texas?  Where did it come from and why did it become important?  Perhaps a little Texas history would help. 

Texas was a popular destination for German immigrants during the 1800's.  The first wave of settlers arrived in the 1820's.  They joined American pioneers brave enough to cross the Mississippi River in search of land.  These two groups combined to fight the 1836 war against the Mexicans, a campaign which included the Alamo and the decisive Battle of San Jacinto.

When news reached Europe of Texas Independence, the pace of immigration picked up considerably.  The end of the Civil War brought on another surge of Germans and Czechs.  By the turn of the century, roughly one-sixth of the Texas population claimed German ancestry.  This explains why many Texas towns such as Luckenbach, Fredericksburg, New Braunfels, Muenster and Schulenberg have German names.

The Germans brought several great traditions with them.  In addition to their love for fiddles, Oompah music and Polka, they brought their love for community activities to the New World.  Not a weekend went by without a large get-together complete with beer, bratwurst and music.  And of course dancing.  We have the Germans to thank for bringing dancing to Texas. 

The far-flung prairies played a large part in the popularity of saloons in Texas.  A cowboy tending a herd could go weeks without seeing a woman.  If he got stir-crazy, he could ride into town and have some fun, maybe meet some gals.

In addition to local cowboys living near town, visiting cowboys would drop by for a brief stay.  Everyone has seen Western movies featuring cowboys who celebrate at the end of a long cattle drive.  After a long, tough ride, these cowpokes inevitably headed straight to the nearest saloon for entertainment. 

At a saloon, the men could do some serious drinking, gamble away their hard-earned money on cards, listen to piano music, and visit a willing woman if they were so inclined. 

Oddly enough, there wasn't much partner dancing in saloons.  Yes, there were dancing showgirls in the fancier places, but by and large the women preferred to get down to business.  They were far more interested in a man's wallet than his footwork.

At some point in the evening, many of the male patrons predictably took to the stairs.  They were escorted by a friendly, scantily clad woman who promised to give her guy something to dream about on his trip back to the trail.  If a man wasn't careful, he could trade a season of wages for a few short hours of revelry. 

Although saloon girls in the movies are typically lookers, typically the real-life saloon girls were not quite so attractive.  Fortunately, no matter what their appearance, scarlet women had no trouble generating a considerable amount of attention.  Thanks in large part to a night of hard drinking and a serious case of built-up lust, it did not take long for an available woman to find her way into a cowboy's arms. 

The day came when some of the cowboys got tired of exchanging wages for an hour of rolling in the sack.  Due to the perpetual loneliness of the prairie, cowboys and farm boys alike began to think about settling down and starting a family.  Although saloons were definitely a good place to meet women, the time had come to seek out a different kind of lady.  A saloon was probably not be the best place to find a pretty girl ready to sing 'Home, home on the range'.

A better strategy was to attend the weekend hoedowns with their pronounced family atmosphere, maybe even stick around for church on Sunday.  Unfortunately, these kind of women could not be bought and paid for.  They had to be courted and wooed.  That meant learning to dance.

BARN DANCES

Cowboys met the settling-down kind of girls at events known as 'Barn Dances'.  These well-attended events traced their roots back to Europe.  From the festive beer halls of Germany, pubs of Ireland and ballrooms of France, early settlers brought their love of dancing to the Texas frontier.  Over time popular dances brought from faraway Europe evolved into what became known as 'Country dancing', Texas-style

During the pioneer days of the 1800s, immigrant settlers yearned for a way to recapture the sense of community they had back in their homeland.  The best way to accomplish that was to organize community dance events.  Where should they meet?

In the beginning the settlers used barns large enough to double as weekend community centers.  The Barn Dance tradition originated in Scottish, Irish, German, and Czech communities dating back to the 19th century.  Thanks to these popular events, the tradition of weekend C&W dancing flourished in rural Texas well into the early 1900s.

The day came when Barns became obsolete.  Once the local population grew too large to fit everyone into a barn comfortably, the citizens would build a large hall to congregate in.  These halls represented an important step in taming the wide-open, often dangerous frontier.  New to the Wild West, the sooner the settlers banded together, the safer they were from Outlaws.  Equally threatening were angry Indians and Mexicans upset over seeing land they considered their own occupied by foreign invaders. 

These halls served all kinds of purposes... quilting bees, auctions, meetings, politics, farm sales, trade posts, job fairs.  And dancing too!  Typically these meeting halls had a big open space with a smooth wood floor.  Finding musicians was no problem.  As the joke goes, if you had two Czech immigrants, they formed an insurance company.  And if you had two Germans, they started a band.  You could kick any bush in the state of Texas and half the time a fiddle player would fall out.  Invariably the musicians played lively toe-tapping music straight from the Old Country. 

These public dances were very popular.  On weekends, these festive events offered food and beer while the band played late into the night.  The dances were held in a wholesome, family atmosphere, come one, come all.

What about the single guys?  Loneliness has a way of encouraging a young man to travel great distances in hopes of meeting the right girl.  As the cowboy rode the range, he was often far from civilization.  Texas was so large, communities were spread 20 to 50 miles apart.   With the population sparse and separated by vast distances, the only way a cowboy was ever going to get a girlfriend was to attend the big Saturday night barn dance. 

Meeting a woman was easy enough.  If a man saw a woman he was interested in, all he had to do was walk over and stick out his hand. 

"Howdy, ma'am, my name is Joe.  Would you like to dance?" 

Barn dances not only served as the perfect way for cowboys to meet pretty girls, they filled other purposes as well.  Men talked about farming and ranching while their wives traded gossip and recipes.  Little babies slept on tables while grandparents taught the young ones how to dance.  In this way, Country music and Country dancing played an important role in Texas heritage. 

As one might guess, back in the days of the Texas prairie, a knowledge of dance was pretty important.  if a guy couldn't dance, he might be out of luck.  Consequently, in rural Texas communities young men were taught to dance shortly after they learned to walk.  Otherwise, how would they ever find a girlfriend when they got older?

Unfortunately, not every cowboy had the benefit of childhood training.  Since there were no dance teachers out on the prairie, they kept the dancing simple enough to learn on the spot.  The easiest solution was to have the girls dance backwards all night.  That way a cowboy only had to learn one pattern: men go forward.  And that how things stayed for 100 years.  Then one day Urban Cowboy came along to upset the apple cart.

Despite knowing virtually nothing about Country-Western music or dance, I had just committed to teaching an eight one-hour classes, the first of which would start in four days.  This was the craziest gamble I had ever taken in my life.

As I drove to the studio Wednesday afternoon to meet Joanne, I was filled with an overwhelming surge of relief thanks to her unexpected ride to the rescue.  Thank goodness the girl was poverty-stricken.  Joanne was so convinced this idea was a hopeless waste of time, I don't think anything but the potential payday could have persuaded her to try.  The way I felt right now, quite frankly, I would have given her the whole $2,000 just to save my skin.  Given that I had no one else to turn to, Joanne was probably the only chance I had to save my dance career.  I had a lot riding on her help.

Although I was thrilled at the thought of extending my career, I was still deeply depressed that Western dancing was my only hope.  Right now I could not get the Cactus Club out of my mind.  Could this obscure honky-tonk be more forlorn?  Dreary place, dreary music, dreary dancing, dreary people.  To me, the sagging, shriveled dead cactus in the middle of the dance floor was the perfect symbol for the coming Western Plague.

As I sat in a small side room at the dance studio waiting for Joanne to arrive, I wondered how hard this would be.  Joanne had warned me she didn't have a clue what the boy's part was.  Despite her pessimism, I had to make this work.  My back was against the wall.

Joanne was wise to warn me.  The moment she put some awful song sung by Wailin' Waylon Jennings on the phonograph, I knew this was a bad idea.  I hated this music with a passion. 

The song was a duet with Willie Nelson, 'Mammas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys.'  This song was a real groaner.  Joanne saw the pained look on my face and was immediately offended.  "What's your problem, Rick?  This song is a big hit!"

"I'm not going to lie to you, Joanne, I am not a big fan of Country music.  I am doing this because sometimes in life I have to do things I don't want to do just to get by.  But please don't expect me to pretend to like it."

Joanne was immediately hostile. "I knew this wasn't a good idea!  You don't know a damn thing and you don't even like Country." 

Shaking her head in disgust, Joanne added, "Why did these people hire you?  What sort of lies did you tell that woman?"

Ouch!  Joanne's negativity was a huge downer.  I suppose my bad attitude affected her the same way her negativity affected me.  The only friends Joanne had were the Western crowd and here I was putting it down.  The two of us were about as depressed as two humans could possibly be.  Consequently neither of us were mentally prepared for the struggle ahead.  I knew Joanne did not know the boy's part, but it never occurred to me that Joanne did not know the girl's part either.  Joanne was the same way with dancing as I was with basketball.  I never thought about my feet when I played basketball and she never thought about her feet when she danced.  Consequently she had no idea how to describe her footwork.  Every time I asked a question, Joanne would reply "I don't know."

About the tenth time she said that, I was ready to scream.  Joanne was at least able to explain there were three Country dances... Twostep, Polka, and Waltz.  Now came a succession of unwelcome surprises.  We tried Polka first.  Sad.  We tried Twostep second.  Sadder.  We tried Waltz.  Forget it.  Zero luck on the first run-through.  Things were grim.  The next setback came when I showed Joanne the 'Step-touch, Step-touch, walk walk' version of the Twostep I had learned from Glen yesterday.  It was so easy it could be taught in five minutes.  This footwork was worthless.  I needed something that would take eight weeks to learn. 

Joanne took one look at that and said, "Oh, yeah, that's what they dance at the Cactus Club, but you don't want to teach that." 

I raised an eyebrow.  Considering this was the only thing I knew about Western dancing, I was curious to know what was wrong with it.

"What is the problem?" I asked.

Joanne replied, "That's the old style Twostep.  That's for the older crowd at the Cactus Club.  The younger guys do something else."

My ears perked up.  "What do the younger guys do?"

"I don't know.  I just follow.  But the new style is tricky, so I think we should try the Redneck Polka as our first target."

"Why do they call it the 'Redneck Polka'?"

"I don't know.  Maybe because there's a German Polka and a Mexican Polka.  Maybe they needed a different name."

"Why not the Texas Polka?"

"You ask too many questions.  How should I know?" 

"You're right.  I do ask too many questions.  So here's another one.  What's the difference between the German Polka, the Mexican Polka and the Redneck Polka?"

"Beats the heck out of me.  I don't know."

We were not getting anywhere.  My frustration was so overwhelming, Joanne risked her life if she said "I don't know" one more time. 

I was drowning in utter futility.  Nearly 30 minutes had passed without any progress.  I thought of The Miracle Worker, the classic movie where Anne Sullivan helped poor deaf and blind Helen Keller overcome her profound handicaps.  It took the ultra-patient Sullivan over a month to achieve a single breakthrough.  I had four days.  Considering our complete lack of progress, it crossed my mind that our situation might require a similar miracle. 

When it came to Western music, I was deaf.  When it come to the dancing, I was blind.  And since nothing Joanne said made a bit of sense, I guess I was dumb too.  I asked Joanne every question I could think of, but all she did was shrug.  The worst part came when we both discovered Joanne's feet could not move without a man's arms to guide her.  Joanne was like a  flashlight without batteries.  Without music and a man's arm around her back, her feet could not move.  Oh good grief.  If I could not get her feet to move, what good was Joanne?

"Joanne, please try to dance the Polka on your own so I can watch your footwork."

Near tears with frustration, Joanne responded, "I can't do it, Rick.  I don't think I could tell you what my feet are doing if my life depended on it.  I just follow."  

That's when Joanne lost it.  She threw up her hands, then went over to sit down and have a little cry.  With a look of utter despair, she said, "Just give me a minute, Rick, I need to settle down.  We aren't getting anywhere."

I nodded.  This lesson was sheer torture for both us. 

"I just follow."  "I don't know."  "Beats the heck out of me."  I must have heard Joanne use those phrases a hundred times.  Despite my overwhelming despair, I forced myself to keep my temper in check.  Given how fragile Joanne was, if I yelled at her, I was certain I would lose her forever.  Since my career depended on this, I reached down and found a level of patience I never knew I possessed.  This lesson was that important.  But it wasn't easy.  Since I already had a very bad attitude towards the music and this mediocre style of dancing, every setback amplified my desire to walk away.  If it was not for my sense of obligation, I would have never stuck it out.

We spent the first hour getting nowhere.  Our breakthrough came when I remembered Joanne had been able to explain the Cotton Eyed Joe to me while we danced it at the Cactus Club.   I asked Joanne to show it to me again. 

Joanne drew a blank.  "I don't know the footwork."

"But you knew the footwork at the Cactus Club."

That made Joanne blink.   "Huh, you're right, I forgot about that.  That's because the music was on and there were people dancing on the floor.  Hey, I brought a copy of the song along.  Maybe if I play the song, it will come back to me."

Sure enough, once the music was on, Joanne's feet magically remembered the footwork.  The rhythm of the song was so strong that Joanne was able to get her feet moving for the first time all day.  With the music working its magic effect on Joanne's feet, the two of us danced forwards side by side.  When I realized I was able to copy her footwork, I was so relieved I could barely see straight.  Okay, that wasn't so bad.  Now we had a foothold so to speak.

"Joanne, what is the significance of the Cotton Eyed Joe?"

"Beats me.  All I know is they play the music once a night anywhere I go.  That's why I went out and bought this record on my way over here today.  I thought we would need it for Sunday's class."

Hmm.  Smart move.  Joanne was not well-educated, but she was not stupid.  The problem was that her brain and my brain were wired differently.  She learned by feel and I learned by analysis.  Joanne had the gift of copycat.  Joanne could see a move and mimic it without thinking.  Not me.  I could see the same move a dozen times and still need to have it explained in finite detail.  Fortunately the footwork to the Cotton Eyed Joe was so simple even I could figure it out.

I said, "What if we teach this first at the Meyerland Club?" 

Joanne nodded.  "That's a good idea.  At least that gives us a place to start."  Joanne paused, then added, "But I don't think it will last an hour."

I nodded, then smiled.  How did she know that was what I was thinking?  I took a deep breath.  Back to the Redneck Polka.  Joanne was trying so hard.  I could see she was just as frustrated as I was.  When she put on the Polka music again, every prejudice I had towards Western music came rushing back.  I wanted to vomit as Wailin' Waylon Jennings droned on in the background.

"She's a Gud-Hearted Woman in Luv with a Gud-Timin' Man!!  
 She loves him in spite of his wicked ways she don't understand..."  

I couldn't stand it!!  How do people listen to this stuff?  There was no way to numb the pain.  At least with root canals I could get anesthetic.  However, with Disco dying faster than the Dinosaurs, I didn't see any choice but to continue.  I gritted my teeth and tried again to decipher the Polka.  Just when my despair was about to overwhelm me, Joanne had a thought.

"You know, Rick, there's this guy named Henry.  Every time we dance the Polka, he says 1-2-3, 1-2-3 under his breath.  Maybe that's the footwork for Polka."

"Can you show me?"

"No, but if we play the music and you put your arm around me, I might be able to figure it out."

So that's what we did.  It sorta worked, but I couldn't see her feet.  When I complained, Joanne nodded.  "Try holding my hands instead." 

Good idea.  As Joanne danced backwards, I watched as she dragged me along while calling out "1-2-3, 1-2-3" to the music.  Believe it or not, my feet started to match hers.  However, I was stumbling so I had to let go.  I was very clumsy.  To begin with, the music was too fast.  Furthermore, since I was twice Joanne's size, she could barely move me.  It wasn't easy for a 120-pound woman to toss around a 200-pound man who doesn't have a clue.  I must have felt like a truck to her.  But Joanne was determined.  Each time I stopped she grabbed my hands again and kept tugging away.  She was going to move this mountain one way or the other.  I tried to make my feet go 1-2-3, but I did not know where to put my feet so I didn't get the hang of it. 

I asked Joanne to show me her footwork again.  "I can't do it alone, Rick.  Try putting your arm around me."

Frustrated, I shook my head in disgust.   But when I saw the look of despair in Joanne's eyes, I got a grip.  It was time to try try again, so I dutifully put my right hand around her back and let her pull me along.  For the heck of it, I started calling out '123, 123' as well.  If 'Open Sesame' could open the Treasure Door for Ali Baba, who knows what '123-123' might do for me?  Together we called out '123, 123' till we were blue in the face.  The more we danced, the more my footwork seemed to resemble my Cotton Eyed Joe footwork.

I had a flash.  "Hey, Joanne, are you sure the Polka is not the same as the Cotton Eyed Joe?"

"No, they are two entirely different dances."

"But I am kind of doing the same footwork to the Polka as I did to the Cotton-Eyed Joe."

Joanne looked puzzled.  "Are you kidding me or are you serious?"

"I'm serious.  It might be the same thing."

Joanne looked dubious.  We danced the Cotton Eyed Joe again, then Joanne shrugged.  "Maybe, but I'm not sure."

"Well, why not?  When you taught me the Cotton Eyed Joe, you called out 1-2-3 when you were teaching me."

Joanne just stared at me.  "Yeah, I know, but the Polka and the Cotton Eyed Joe seem different."

I was not going to give up that easily.  My analytical brain had made a connection.  1-2-3 Polka?  1-2-3 Cotton Eyed Joe?  How could they be different?  "Joanne, you told me the Polka uses 1-2-3 steps."

"Yes."

"And you said 1-2-3 for the Cotton Eyed Joe."

"Yes, we do a series of eight 1-2-3 steps in the Cotton Eyed Joe."

"So what's the difference between the Cotton Eyed Joe 1-2-3 and the Polka 1-2-3?"

"I don't know.  I never think about this stuff."

"Really?  C'mon, Joanne, why don't we try something.  How about if I dance those eight 1-2-3 Cotton Eyed Joe steps and you go backwards with my arm around you?"

The moment we started, I stepped on Joanne's foot and she screamed.  "Ow, that really hurt!!  You started with the wrong foot!"

"But you told me the Cotton Eyed Joe starts with the right foot."

"Yeah, well, so do I.  Try starting with your left foot instead.  At least I know that much."

We both gave each other one of those 'just shoot me' looks.  "Don't worry, Joanne, we're gonna get through this."

"Not if you amputate my foot." 

This time I started with my left foot and gave it a try.  Almost immediately, Joanne screamed aloud.  At first I thought I had stepped on her foot again, but this time she was screaming for joy. "That's it, Rick! You just danced the Polka!  You're right, the Polka must be the same as the Cotton Eyed Joe."

To my relief, Joanne smiled for the first time all afternoon.  Now it was her turn to ask a question.  "Why do you suppose I never realized the two are the same?"

It seemed curious that Joanne did not see this, so I thought it over.  "Maybe because you never go forward in the Polka."

Joanne gave a bitter laugh.  "I think you're right.  The guys aren't very good at going backwards in the Polka, so they make me go backwards all the time.  In the Cotton Eyed Joe, I go forwards all the time.  To me, I guess it seemed like two different things."

I stared incredulously at Joanne.  How could she have failed to make that connection?  Then I remembered that when it came to dance, Joanne had no reason to analyze what her feet did.  I half-smiled, half-frowned.  Weren't we a pair? 

Now Joanne paused.   After some thought, she answered, "You know what, I think I agree with you.  I think the Cotton Eyed Joe must be based on the boy's footwork to the Polka."

So we tried again to the Waylon Jennings song.  With me doing the Cotton-Eyed Joe footwork while Joanne danced the Polka backwards, it sort of worked, emphasis on 'sort of'.  We danced for a minute or so without any mishaps.  When we finished, Joanne stared at me in surprise.  "Yeah, that was pretty close.  That's the Redneck Polka.  I think you are on to something."

Aha!  Now we were getting somewhere.  I made Joanne do the Cotton Eyed Joe several times.  By watching how she did her steps, I was beginning to see what my own steps should look like.  Right now, the Cotton Eyed Joe was the best thing that had happened all day.

"Joanne, is the Polka based on a series of triple steps?"

"I don't know, I just..."

I raised my hand in mock threat. "Don't you dare say it or I'm going to swat you!"

When Joanne saw that I was smiling instead of frowning, she visibly relaxed.  My heart went out to her.  Joanne was trying as hard as she possibly could to please me.  Joanne rarely smiled, but this time she grinned at being busted for using her stock phrase. 

"I don't know...oops…" Joanne caught herself, then added, "But let's dance it again and maybe you can watch my feet."

I was proud of Joanne.  She was getting braver.  To my surprise, Joanne said she didn't need for me to dance with her.  This time she danced the Polka on her own.  I was amused to see that someone who already knew how to Polka had been forced to learn footwork like a beginner.  After 30 seconds or so, Joanne stopped. 

"Yes, the Polka is definitely a series of 1-2-3 steps with the man going forwards and the woman going backwards."

"I also noticed your Cotton Eyed Joe footwork is different than mine."

"What do you mean?"

"I take a long first step and you take a short first step."

"Yeah, a lot of guys take that long first step.  That's probably why I get stepped on so often.  Why do you suppose that is?"

"Beats the heck out of me.  But we can figure it out later.  Right now I think what little we know about the Polka is enough to get us through on Sunday in addition to the Cotton Eyed Joe."

The relief on Joanne's face was unmistakable.  A worrier by nature, our problems today had probably been even more stressful for her than they had for me.  Joanne was never meant to be a dance teacher and I was never meant to be a natural dancer.  But between the two of us, we were finally getting somewhere.  The crazy thing is how simple it was to dance the Polka now that I had figured it out.  Getting there had been nearly impossible, but now that I knew the answer, it was embarrassing how simple the solution was.  I guess that's why it helps to have a teacher.

It was now 6:45 pm.  We had been at this nearly three hours.  About this time, students for my 7 pm Disco class began strolling in.  I went to the phonograph and put on some Disco music.

Addressing the students, I said, "Okay, everyone, pretend like you know something and find a partner to practice with."

As I watched my students warm up to the music, I was overwhelmed with a sense of sadness.  I wished so much that Disco did not have to die.  However, maybe country dancing would allow my dance career to see another day.  I hoped so.  As I turned to Joanne to thank her, on impulse I asked her to dance.  Haunted by the memory of how the Disco people had snubbed her, Joanne held back at first.  However, when I insisted, she gave in.  Gosh it was good to dance Disco with Joanne again, just like the old days.  Joanne must have felt the same way because she suddenly turned on the afterburners.  Here we go, Showtime!  When the students saw us dancing, they stopped what they were doing to watch.  None of them had any idea who Joanne was, but they definitely appreciated her talent.  This was a rare treat, the chance to see the finest female Disco dancer in Houston showing off for old time's sake. 

Seeing their jaws drop, I said to myself, "Why not?"  So now I began to lead the Acrobatics, flips, dips, and aerials.  To the oohs and aahs of the students, Joanne became the daring young lady on the flying trapeze.  When we finished, they clapped with wild enthusiasm.  Joanne was grinning from head to toe.  She was about to hug me, but stopped.  First she looked over her shoulders to make sure Victoria wasn't looking, then she went ahead and hugged me.  I hugged her right back.  When I stepped back, I noticed Joanne had tears in her eyes.  I bet it hurt like crazy to have been shunned for the crime of being too good a dancer.  It also seemed like some of her feelings for me had returned.  Whatever the reason, I was so happy to have Joanne on my side again. 

"Thank you, Joanne.  You are a life saver.  We should be able to get through our first class.  Will I see you Sunday?"

"Yes, I'll be there."

"Good.  But don't forget!  Without you, I don't stand a chance.  And bring your records."

Joanne nodded as she wiped her eyes.  Then she turned and left without another word.

We were done for today.  Our Helen Keller dance lesson had been quite a struggle.  I was still pretty much in the dark, but we had made enough progress to get through our first class on Sunday.  I was fairly amazed.  Deciphering the Polka footwork had been one of the toughest puzzles of my life.  Just then I thought of something called the 'Rosetta Stone'. 

For centuries, no one had been able to decipher Egyptian hieroglyphics.  Then in 1799 a large stone tablet was discovered in Egypt.  The top half was written in ancient Egyptian using hieroglyphics while the bottom half was written in ancient Greek.  One day someone wondered if the Greek was a translation of the Egyptian.  Aha!  Breakthrough!  The Rosetta Stone became the key to deciphering Egyptian manuscripts.  And today the Cotton Eyed Joe had been the 'Rosetta Stone' I needed to learn the Polka.  I laughed.  This situation was so absurd I could scarcely believe it.

The long afternoon left me drained.  Talk about blind leading the blind.  Overwhelmed by our lack of progress, I had come within an inch of giving up at least six times.  Thank goodness I had too much riding on this to quit.  If I had not been so negative, I suppose I would have taken more pleasure from solving these riddles.  Unfortunately, I had been far too disgusted by Joanne's music to take much satisfaction in our progress.  Nevertheless, I was encouraged.  Who knows, maybe my Country-Western gamble would work out after all.  Unless listening to the music killed me first.