MYSTERY OF THE TEXAS TWOSTEP

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX:

BAD NEWS

Written by Rick Archer 

LIMBO MONTH ONE, age 30 SUNDAY EVENING, OCTOBER 29 THE SEVENTH MEYERLAND CLASS

One night after running into Ted at Miller Theater, it time to start my 7th Meyerland class.  I began by saying I had changed my mind about something.  I wanted the men to learn how to lead with his arm on the woman's back.  I did this because Glen had insisted I make this change.  At the end of my previous lesson, he made me dance a Foxtrot pattern backwards with his right arm hooked around my neck.  Not only did his arm stink, it was sweaty and slimy.  But that was not the worst part.  Being jerked around by my neck was very uncomfortable.  As if to drive the message home, Glen danced the same pattern with his hand on my back.  Big improvement.  Trust me, I got the message. 

Met with grumbling, I said putting the man's arm around the woman's back was a better way to hold the women than using the neck wrap.  Seeing skepticism on the men's faces, I added this made it easier to lead the women.  Joanne was shocked, but fortunately, she didn't argue with me.  Thank goodness for that.

As a way to persuade the men, I needed the women on my side.  So I repeated Glen's technique with five women, dancing the Twostep one way, then the other.  It was unanimous.  All five women agreed it was much comfortable to have the hand on the back.  Even Joanne agreed it was more comfortable.  She whispered that some of the men from Texas A&M used that hold and she much preferred it.  However, she had assumed it was better to teach the old style with the arm around the neck because that's what most of the men used. 

I didn't give it much thought at the time, but this was yet another time that Joanne had tried to explain the difference between 'Old Style' western dancing and 'New Style' western dancing.  Since I still refused to visit an actual kicker club, I had no idea what she meant.  Nor did I care to probe further.  Too bad I didn't listen.  Right now all I cared about was surviving Bronco Bill.  Feeling anxious, I looked to him for approval.  To my surprise, he nodded.  Imagine that.  Wonders never cease. 

And with that, I began my Foxtrot lesson.  Oops, did I say 'Foxtrot'?  Change that to 'Twostep'.  Gritting my teeth, I was determined to plod my way through this class.  C&W had to be the most boring style of dancing in existence.  If only the music was better.  I was reminded of my distaste when I told Joanne to play a Twostep.  Next thing I knew, I heard the unwelcome sound of "Redneck Mutha!" 

And it's up against the wall, Redneck Mother
Mother, who has raised her son so well
He's thirty-four and drinking in a honky tonk
Just kicking hippies asses and raising hell
 

"Joanne," I groaned, "what happened to Crystal Gayle?"

"I accidentally left the record on the turntable at your studio."

Oh great.  I wanted to say something ugly, but I bit my tongue.  This well-meaning woman had her shortcomings, but she was trying as hard as she could to help.  That meant a lot to me.  

MONDAY, OCTOBER 29, 1979 THE DECISION TO TEACH WESTERN DANCE

It was Monday night, October 29.  Thanks to my 'Fool on the Hill' change of heart, I decided to follow through on my decision to teach a November Western class at Stevens of Hollywood, the place where I worked.  The vision of Ted Weisgal working tirelessly had made a strong impression.  Here was a man who did a thankless, boring job in pursuit of his career.  Meanwhile I had a gift for teaching and a likely demand for my services, yet I was ready to chuck it all away simply because I did not like the music and thought the dancing was boring.  Oh, poor me.  Having recently turned 30, maybe it really was time to grow up.  The least I could do was give Country-Western a better try than I had so far. 

So I ignored my bad attitude as best I could and told my Monday night Advanced Disco class I would begin teaching Western lessons starting next week in this same time slot.  I added it was too late to advertise the class, so attendance would be limited to our usual Monday group.  I added that since teaching Western was new to me, I expected them to cut me some slack.  Did the class scream for joy?  Hardly.  The air in the room was somber.  The Pistachio Club had closed and the best-known Disco teacher in the city had just thrown in the towel.  Tonight was the end of the Disco Era.

These were my most loyal students.  Some had been with me for over a year.  Loving Disco with the same passion as me, this was like a death in the family.  They had known this day was coming, but it still hurt.  The only thing that comforted them was their curiosity about Western dancing.  I didn't have the heart to tell them it sucked.  They would find out soon enough.

On Tuesday morning, October 30, I explained to Glen that henceforth I wanted to work on Foxtrot and German Polka patterns.  Glen smiled.  "No more Disco?"

"No more Disco."

"So you have to take Western more seriously"

I nodded and pointed to the Lawrence Welk album with a deep sigh.  God forbid, I felt like such a traitor. 

On Wednesday afternoon, October 31, I met with Joanne to go over Twostep patterns for our final Meyerland class this coming Sunday.  I mentioned my decision to begin teaching western here at Stevens of Hollywood on Monday.  Joanne said that was a good idea, but said little for the rest of our practice lesson.  We looked for her missing Crystal Gayle record, but it was gone.  Not a good omen. 

I thought October would never end.  Jennifer?  Not a word.  We were still on a 'don't call me, I'll call you' basis.  Victoria?  Showed up to teach class, left immediately.  Ordinarily October was my favorite month of the year, but not this time.  My life was borderline tragic.  Now the big question was whether things would improve in November.  This was, after all, my Year of Living Dangerously.

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 4 the FINAL MEYERLAND CLASS

It was Sunday, November 4th, time to conduct the final class of my eight Meyerland Club lessons.  The class went well.  They liked Joanne's 'New Twostep' a lot.  I even made an effort to keep the beat when Joanne played her beloved 'Redneck Mutha' song.  That, of course, meant I had to listen to the song.  No one said it would be easy.  Fortunately, I kept up a good poker face.  I refused to let anyone know just how much I despised Country music. 

On the way out, Sandy handed me a check for $1,800.  Knowing how important this money was to Joanne, when we got to my car I wrote her a check for $1,000.  I expected a smile, but all I got was a rather somber thank you.  Joanne had been a Godsend throughout the Meyerland ordeal.  I could not have done this without her.  Now I needed her to help me teach tomorrow night's Western class at Stevens of Hollywood.   As I walked Joanne to her car, I asked if she would help me teach my new November-December Country-Western class at Stevens.  

I did my best to hide my disgust as I held her records.  Although I tried to conceal my feelings, it was no use, I winced in pain.  A very strong part of me wanted to snap those records in half and throw them into the nearest trash can.  Joanne's wry smile indicated she knew exactly what was running through my mind.  Joanne knew what she was doing.  I suspected there was a certain amount of revenge hidden in this donation for all the times I had complained.  

Joanne looked me in the eye and said, "Gosh, Rick, I know how much you love this music, so with this gift, I predict you will have a fabulous career as a Country-Western teacher."

I was about to object, but Joanne put a finger to my lips.  That is when I realized Joanne was putting up a brave front.  This really was Goodbye.  Joanne was teetering on the edge of falling to pieces, so I showed mercy and did not try to talk her out of leaving.  After a brief hug, a tear-filled Joanne got in her car and disappeared from my life.  Poof!  Just like that, Joanne was gone.  I was in shock.  What a strange, totally unexpected ending to such an important relationship. 

In Hindsight, it was my own fault for pushing Joanne away.  Joanne was wired differently than me.  Each week her fear grew stronger that we would be exposed as frauds.  She was like the nervous passenger in a car driven by a reckless man.   The combination of my apathy and my penchant for faking my way through each Meyerland class left her in constant fear I would crash and take her with me.  I could tell Joanne was furious over my pathetic attitude.  Unwilling to practice like I should, unwilling to visit a Western club to better understand what the dancing looked like, I had raised Joanne's fears of exposure to an intolerable level. 

I had no idea she was preparing to quit.  I was so lost in my own problems, I never saw Joanne's departure coming.  Oddly enough, on the final night I skipped the jokes and taught the Twostep/Foxtrot patterns as best I could.  Seeing the Meyerland students start to get the hang of it, Joanne softened.  However, my improvement was not enough to change her mind.  Joanne stuck to her secret decision to say goodbye at the end of class.  Watching her drive off, I was beyond crestfallen.  I felt like I had lost my last friend. 

BLIND FAITH

Following Doorstep Night, I never imagined the Year of Living Dangerously could get worse.  Guess again.

When Joanne drove off after her surprise resignation, I did not anticipate the dark consequences lying ahead.  They say you never know what you've got till it's gone.  No kidding.  When Joanne compared herself to a seeing-eye dog, I should have paid better attention. Totally blind as I entered the next stage of my Country-Western career, I was about to pay a swift and terrible price for losing Joanne.