MYSTERY OF THE TEXAS TWOSTEP

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN:

THE POSSE

Written by Rick Archer 

LIMBO MONTH TWO MONDAY, NOVEMBER 5, 1979 THE DECISION TO TEACH WESTERN DANCE

I awoke in a very bad mood on Monday, November 5th.  Tonight I would teach my first Western class to Jim, Jerry, Lynette and several more Disco converts.  I looked forward to this class with the all the enthusiasm one typically reserves for a root canal.

The first thing I thought about were Joanne's parting words.  She handed me her records, then said, "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 laughed bitterly.  I doubted seriously that my career as a western teacher would be fabulous.  "Mediocre" was a far more likely outcome.   Dance teachers were only necessary when people could not figure it out on their own.  The problem was that country dancing was so damn easy to learn.  I already knew I would be hard pressed to find seven hours of material.  As for an Intermediate Western class as a follow-up, that was out of the question. 

I never had this problem with Disco.  The partner dancing was so complicated that I found enough Disco material to keep my Monday Die Hard students interested for an entire year.  That was not going to happen with Western.  I would teach till Christmas, then hang up my spurs.

Western dancing had a long tradition here in Texas.  Back in the days of the vast Texas prairie, a cowboy had three ways to meet a single girl: saloon, church or the big Saturday night barn dance.  There were no dance studios on the prairie, so they kept the dancing simple.  That made sense at the time.  However, it seemed to me the level of difficulty had barely progressed over the past hundred years.  Given that there was virtually nothing to learn, how would I ever carve out a fabulous career given such uncomplicated dancing?  The only reason it had been difficult for me was trying to learn without a teacher.  With a competent teacher, I bet an accomplished dancer could learn everything I knew in a couple of hours.  Little did I know just how prophetic that depressing thought would be. 

I saw the sudden loss of Joanne as a terrible omen.  Yes, I had the ability to teach this November-December Western class at Stevens of Hollywood on my own, but Joanne's disappearance left me badly exposed.  Her abrupt departure meant I would not have a female assistant.  I did not dare ask another woman to help.  Only Joanne knew my Imposter secrets.  To trust someone else would risk exposure.  How was I supposed to practice with some new woman?  For example, I could ask Lynette to help.  I would be forced to tell her we would have to experiment most of the time because I had no clue what I was doing.  What would keep Lynette from telling her friends that I barely knew what I was doing?  The Monday Night Disco students assumed I was competent. 

Even my so-called business partner Victoria assumed I knew how to Western dance.  One night she was curious to know how I had learned.  Preferring to keep her in the dark about Joanne, I lied and said Glen had taught me.  I had no intention of asking Victoria to help.  If this gamble worked out, I fully intended to use Western as a way to break the business stranglehold Victoria used to intimidate me.  I figured with a new crowd, her popularity would no longer give her an edge if she decided to write the poison pen letter.  Even better, I would sure to avoid giving her the new addresses on the mailing list.  

With a sigh, I concluded I would have to teach the Die Hard class all by myself.  I wished Joanne had given me more warning. Without Joanne, my chance of success had drastically plummeted.  Joanne had been a Godsend throughout the Meyerland ordeal, so I took it for granted that she would help me with the upcoming Western class at Stevens of Hollywood.  During the Disco Era, Joanne was always on the premises for Monday practice at 6 pm, so I had assumed we could resume that arrangement.  I was prepared to pay her generously to be my Wingman, but she never gave me a chance to make an offer.  As a result I felt completely abandoned.  Jennifer had pushed me away.  Victoria turned her back to concentrate on her problems at home.  Losing Joanne was the final blow.  Understandably, I was in one of those desperate 'Me Against the World' kind of moods.

I thought seriously about calling Joanne at work on Monday morning and begging her to reconsider.  However I stopped myself with the memory of how fragile Joanne looked last night when she announced her departure.  I had the power to pressure her to change her mind, but was that the right thing to do?  Probably not.  Joanne had asked to be set free, so with great reluctance I honored her wish.

Eventually I toughened up.  Joanne was right, I knew enough to teach the class on my own.  However, I felt immense regret at the way we had parted.  Joanne left so fast last night, I had been unable to tell her how important she was to me.  I wondered if Joanne ever knew just how much she had contributed to my life and career.  I always admired Joanne for her basic decency.  Joanne was a far better human being than women like Patricia, Darya, and Victoria.  What was it about privilege and beauty that turned those women into such jerks?  I would always remember that Joanne continued to care for me despite all the pain I caused her.  Oh well, she was gone now.  Joanne was one of the most important people in my life and she will never know it due to her hasty departure. 

I was curious about something.  Why me?  I had an odd hunch I was the only Western teacher in Houston.  If so, why me?  By all reason, it should have been someone more qualified.  Sandy said that she and her friends had made a dozen phone calls.  Since I made similar phone calls after agreeing to teach, I knew for a fact no dance studio in Houston was offering Western dance lessons.  In other words, yes, I was unqualified, but obviously no one wanted this job but me.  Let me add that I strongly suspected there was a Supernatural element at work.  One would think someone besides me would be willing to take a chance.  But then again, maybe not.  Maybe everyone else had the sense to avoid teaching a style of dance they had no knowledge about.  As a result, I got the job due to my willingness to pretend I knew what I was talking about. 

Here is where Fate comes in.  Strangely enough, I had been in this same position once before.  Back when Saturday Night Fever first hit town, I had to learn how to teach partner dancing on my own.  During the first six months of 1978, I became a master at faking my way through a dance class.  I had no choice but to learn ways to distract my students anytime I got in a jam.  Considering I had grown up as a shy kid who had never told a joke or anecdote in public, my innate ability to bluff my way through jams came as a major surprise.  

Indeed, the Great Imposter survived his Disco Apprenticeship specifically due his unexpected ability to fool his students.  Fake it till you Make it.  Now History was repeating itself.   Thanks to my Disco experience, I had vast experience at conducting a class without knowing a damn thing about what I was teaching.  Truth be told, I was learning how to Western dance at the same time as I was trying to teach it.  Without my previous Disco experience, I would have never dared to teach tonight's class.  To me, I had no business doing this.  But on other hand I was getting used to doing things I had sworn never to do.  What about Doorstep Night?  The lesson there was that if something is meant to be, it is going to happen whether I liked it or not.  Now the same felt true for Western.  Kicking and screaming, I was being forced into this stupid Western career more or less against my will.  Hard as it was for me to believe, the Great Imposter was back in the saddle.

Of course, I did not have the faintest idea what on earth was going on.  This is all written through the benefit of Hindsight.  But what I did know at the time was the Cosmic Wheel of Fortune seemed to be pointed in my direction again.  In a profoundly weird way, my Disco struggles had inadvertently turned me into Houston's first country-western dance teacher.  However, given the amount of dread I felt about tonight's class, I had a feeling I was walking into a trap. 

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 5 IGNORANCE

I'm an old cowhand from the Rio Grande
But my legs ain't bowed
And my cheeks ain't tanned.

I'm a cowboy who never saw a cow
Never roped a steer 'cause I don't know how
And I sure ain't fixin' to start in now.

Yippie-yi-yo-ki-yay!

   -- I'm an Old Cow Hand, Bing Crosby
 

I have made clear that I entered the Western Era with barely the slightest idea what I was doing.  Nor could I say much for my attitude.  As far as I was concerned, Country dancing should have stayed in the country where it belonged.  With a nod to Bing Crosby, I added some lyrics of my own.

"Never danced a Twostep 'cause I don't know how.
 Ain't been to Gilley's, not fixin' to start now."

No one at Stevens of Hollywood knew about my Meyerland Club experiment.  In fact, I was ashamed of myself.  By staying one step ahead of the law, I had been able to bluff my way through eight weeks at Meyerland.  Bronco Bill had turned out to be my biggest hurdle.  Once I got past him, the other students in the class had given me no further problem.  At the time, I was content to fool my students and pocket the easy money.  I thought it was a blessing at how easy it had been to fool this group of non-dancers into thinking I knew what I doing.  However, Karmic Justice was about to strike.  Life was preparing to teach me yet another lesson the hard way.  Is there any other way?  Not in my case.

Sad to say, the loss of Joanne gave me the willies.  Having used her as a crutch and seeing-eye dog, I was at great risk of exposure tonight.  Consequently my new-found 'Fool on the Hill' determination from a week ago sagged.  I felt trapped.  Just when I had vowed to continue teaching something I knew very little about, my only remaining friend in the world had walked away.  I was really feeling sorry for myself these days.  I felt like I had been forced to make tonight's commitment completely against my will.  Because this new challenge arrived long before I was emotionally ready for it, so far I had refused to invest any more than the barest minimum of interest.  I hated feeling rushed and bullied.  Why was my life always moving faster than my ability to cope with it?   I never thought I would have a worse year than my ill-fated time in Graduate School, but my Year of Living Dangerously had been even more difficult. 

Tonight would mark the official start of my career as a Western teacher.  In my mind, Meyerland did not count.  To me, that event was Off-Broadway or Spring Training, whichever metaphor you prefer.  Tonight would be the grand opening.  When the Disco Era came knocking two years ago, I had been woefully unprepared for the challenges ahead.  Fortunately, back then I was enthusiastic and excited.  I had overcome my lack of knowledge by attacking each obstacle with the ferocity of a hungry lion.  When it came to the Disco Era, my ambition knew no limits.  The Western Era was just the opposite.  No man could possibly have a worse attitude.  I was bitter, apathetic and hostile.  And, given how little I knew, very afraid of exposure.

As 6 pm approached, I was restless.  6 pm Monday was the hour when Joanne and I always practiced our Disco dancing.  Without Joanne, my confidence was waning fast.  I had a bad feeling about this class, but I did not know why.  I assumed my fear was related to losing Joanne.  Without Joanne, I was being forced to take a major step without her to cover for me if I screwed up.  A major problem with ignorance is not knowing just how ignorant you are.  Such was the case here. 

As I drove to class, I tried to subdue these mysterious jitters.  I had a foreboding about tonight's western class I could not put my finger on.  Looking back, one would think the loss of Joanne would have scared me into taking this Stevens class more seriously.  Unfortunately I failed to get the wake up call, probably because I was going through life with blinders on.  Another case of Cosmic Blindness?  Quite possibly.  The Meyerland class had been so easy to fool that I had breezed through.  This made me arrogant enough to assume my new class would be just as easy to fool.  I was so disdainful that I never anticipated the danger this new class presented.  For example, what would happen if a new Bronco Bill appeared to make my life miserable?  How would I survive a major test without Joanne?

I did not want to teach this class.  The only reason I showed up was Ted Weisgal.  Although my 'Fool on the Hill' epiphany had convinced me to accept the challenge of teaching tonight's class, it had not improved my bad attitude.  If Ted could make himself hand out catalogues on a cold October night, a thankless but necessary task, then I guess I could force myself to go through with a thankless but necessary task of my own.  However, that did not mean I had to embrace it.

I reassured myself I had already solved the mysteries of Western Dance.  With the experience from Meyerland to rely on, what was there to worry about?  After faking my way through Meyerland, I would repeat the same moves for this new class.  My plan was to see how things went tonight and make adjustments.  From that point on, I would fake my way through the rest of the lessons just like I had at Meyerland.  I could care less about being a fraud.  So what?  I hated the music and I hated the dancing.  Furthermore the pictures of Gilley's I had seen in the newspaper confirmed my suspicion that all Western clubs were ugly beyond my wildest imagination.  In the midst of a terrible depression, it seemed like my whole world was ugly.  Let's get this over with so I could go home and sulk some more. 

Another thing that bothered me was Joanne's frequent reference to 'New Country Dancing'.  Joanne was not one for words, but the impression she gave was there were two forms... the old Prairie style and the new Aggie style.  Since I refused to go anywhere near a Western club, I had no idea what she was talking about.  At least I knew what Disco looked like, but with Western the only eyes I had belonged to Joanne.  I was the cowboy who never saw a cow.  I was flying blind.

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 5 FLAT-FOOTED

At 8 pm, a class of twenty brave pioneers greeted me for my very first 'Texas Twostep' class at Stevens.  They had no idea they were taking a class from a man who had never seen a Texas Twostep in his life.   These people were my advanced Disco students.  So how does someone become 'Advanced'?  By taking lots of dance classes.  That should offer a clue right there in this countdown to disaster.

I knew the names of every person in the room.  Every student had been taking Disco classes from me for six months, twelve months, a few even longer than that.  During that time, most of this tight-knit group had become my friends during the glory days of Camelot.  My entire social life revolved around these people.  We had gone dancing at Annabelle's and Pistachio many times together.  A couple of them had even been to the Jet Set Club back in 1978.

I missed Joanne's presence keenly.  I noticed that Jim and several of the same people who had chased Joanne away four months ago at Annabelle's were now taking my class.  That made me frown.  It was their antagonism towards Joanne that had caused her to avoid helping me tonight.  I vividly recalled how Joanne had taunted them that they would be learning to dance Western soon enough.  Joanne was prophetic.  I wished she was here to see her prediction come true.  However, considering her fear of further confrontation, I understood why she had passed on helping me with this class. 

Out of morbid curiosity, I looked to see if Jim, Joanne's main nemesis at Annabelle's, was wearing boots.  Nope, not yet.  But give him time.  It was amazing how peer pressure has a way of changing people's minds.  As for me, I was still wearing my Disco shoes.  Some things never change.

As people waited for class to start, it seemed to me the enthusiasm for this class was pretty sketchy.   These veteran Disco dancers were in mourning just like I was.  No one was very happy about this.  I've seen funerals with more energy than tonight's class.  Their attitude was about the same as mine... "let's get this over with".  If I had to put my finger on it, we all felt like Country dancing had been rammed down our throats.  By removing all the Discos in Houston, if we wanted to continue our favorite hobby in the world - dance - then Country-Western was the only game left in town.

I wondered if any of these 20 students had ever been to a Western club.  Had any of them visited Gilley's?  If so, they would know just how dreary things were.  Maybe it was better they didn't know.  Just get me through December.  One last paycheck and I would fold my tent at Christmas time. 

Sure enough, as we waited for everyone to show up, I noticed the pre-class talk revolved around asking who had previously gone Western dancing.  Only one guy in the group, Dave, admitted he had been dancing at a club.  Immediately everyone swarmed around him.  However, they weren't hostile to Dave like the Annabelle's crowd had been to Joanne.  Instead they were intensely curious.  Someone asked Dave how crowded it was.

Dave replied, "I went to some place called Fool's Gold.  It wasn't busy at all.  Mostly just a bunch of Aggies, Mexicans and Rednecks."

Everyone shuddered.  The people in this room were Yuppies, sworn enemies of Aggies, Rednecks and Wetbacks.  There was a lot of thinly concealed hostility.  From what I gathered, the upcoming Urban Cowboy movie was meant to reveal the harmonic Age of Aquarius blending of Urbans and Cowboys.  Typical Hollywood nonsense.  Based on what I saw in this room, these well-educated Urban professionals did not want to have a damn thing to do with the less privileged members of society.  No one said it out loud, but I suspected these people resented the onset of the new Western clubs just as much as I did.  None of them wanted to give up Disco.  Nor did they appreciate being given no choice in the matter.  As a form of protest, so far everyone in the group except Dave said they had deliberately avoided the new Western clubs.  They were Disco True Blue, the Die Hards.  The thought of saying goodbye to their Boogie Woogie dancing shoes was just as painful to them as it was to me.

Although my students were not any happier about the loss of Disco than I was, loyalty has its limits.  It is tough to remain loyal to something that is gone for good.  The happy days of Camelot were over and everyone in this room knew it.  No one had a clue why Western was so important that Disco had to go, but they were not going to give up dancing just because they were pissed off.  That meant they had chosen to swallow their pride and adapt.  This was as good a time as any to learn how to Western dance.

As I signed up the students for class, I calmed down a bit.  It wasn't like I was a rookie.  Since I had already passed my test at Meyerland, all I had to do was repeat the material.  Furthermore, since I knew these people well, I was not afraid of the unknown like I had been at Meyerland.  Besides, I had already told them I was no expert.  They said that was okay with them because they had never been Western dancing.  It was reassuring for an Imposter to hear his marks admit they knew nothing.  Nevertheless, I had no intention of revealing I had never been Western dancing in my life.  I did not count my 20-minute visit to the Cactus Club with Joanne as actual dancing.  Joanne kept saying the new Western clubs were different than the Cactus Club, but I had no idea what she was referring to.  Did Joanne teach me the old Twostep or the new Twostep?  What did the new Twostep look like?  What if this Dave guy knew what the new Twostep looked like and I didn't?  Was there also a new Polka?  And I was clueless about Waltz.

With Dave shaping up as my next Bronco Bill, a wave of insecurity passed through me.  I told myself to calm down.  These people were my friends, mi amigos.  They weren't going to give me any trouble.  Besides, I was undefeated.  I had been teaching two years and not once had the Great Imposter ever been exposed.  I was too slick to be caught.  However my courage evaporated the moment a bunch of strangers showed up.  Minutes after I started class, two new girls and one guy came in late.  It turned out Dave had invited them.  One of the women was Sylvia, Dave's new girlfriend.  The other was a couple named Devin and Mona.  Devin was Dave's best friend.  I noticed the two young ladies wore authentic western clothing.  This too was a bad sign.  No, these women were not wearing the absurd Meyerland Club clothing, but rather a style of clothing closer to what Joanne and the other women had worn at the Cactus Club... boots, jeans, denim shirts.  Their clothing suggested these women had actually been to a Western club.  As that sick feeling returned, I was immediately on guard.  I hated having strangers in the class.  What did Dave, Devin and these women know that I didn't know? 

I began by teaching the Cotton Eyed Joe.  The class learned it in five minutes.  Or was it four minutes?  Damn it!!  Their rapid learning speed initiated a major panic attack.  Trying to slow things down, I told one of my jokes.  They politely smiled, but I could see they were impatient.  After we danced the Cotton Eyed Joe to music, we were done in 10 minutes.  Holy smokes, these veteran Disco dancers had just covered the same material half an hour faster than my students back at Meyerland.  Alarmed by the speed at which they picked this up, I suddenly realized how badly I had underestimated the learning curve of these people.  I looked at the clock.  50 minutes till the end of class.  Oh my God, I was in serious trouble. 

I had noticed several of the people in my class already seemed to know the Cotton Eyed Joe.  As everyone caught their breath following the energetic dancing to music, I asked a woman why she was so good.  "Hey, Pat, did you already know the Cotton Eyed Joe ahead of time?"

Pat answered, "No, I've heard about this dance, but this is the first time I have ever seen it.  Your explanation made it pretty easy." 

That was my second major warning signal.  I had just realized the Cotton Eyed Joe was child's play for people who actually knew how to dance.  Uh oh, a lot could go wrong in 50 minutes.   Sure enough, a new problem arose when I began to teach the Polka.  After teaching the basic step, it was time to partner up.  I instructed the men to put their right arm around the woman's back.  Dave raised his hand.  Uh oh.

"What are you doing?  Over at Fool's Gold, the men all had their right arm around the woman's neck.  Which is correct, your way or the way they do it at Fool's Gold?"

As all eyes turned to me at the challenge, a bolt of fear raced through my body.  Uh oh, here it comes.  I was about to be exposed.  What should I say?  Where was Joanne to cover for me?   At the thought of Joanne, an idea came to me.  I suddenly remembered how Joanne liked it the night when I put my arm around her back during a Meyerland class.  If Joanne liked it, then maybe these women would prefer it too.  I decided to take a major risk.

"You asked a good question, Dave.  There is no right or wrong.  I am well aware the current style [complete BS] is to put your arm around the woman's neck, but my training suggests it is much easier to guide the woman through turns with the man's arm on her back."

Seeing the skeptical look on Dave's face, I continued.   

"Tell you what.  Why don't we experiment?  Let's try it both ways and let the ladies give the men some feedback.  After all, the whole point of C&W is to make it fun for the women [a covert appeal for the girls to back me up]."

So that's what we did.  The men and the women paired off and tried the hand hold both ways.  The women's vote was unanimous... they wanted to keep the man's arm around their back.  I smiled.  That was quick thinking.  I had gambled the women would prefer it my way.  However, the frown on Dave's face as he backed down was ominous.  I had just made a potential enemy.  Given that he had three friends in this room did not help.

The discussion over the arm placement had wasted fifteen precious minutes.  That turned out to be a real break.  I watched in horror as my students gobbled up my Polka patterns at a rapid clip.  This had not happened at the Meyerland Club where the students were beginners who knew little about dancing.  Nor were those students motivated.  They took lessons strictly as an excuse to socialize.  The men were faking it, I was faking it, and the women only cared about the clothes.  Everyone was happy. 

Not so with this Disco group.  Good grief, at Meyerland we spent two weeks mastering the art of 'step-together-step' in the Polka.  My Disco students did it in two minutes.  Thanks to their previous experience with learning Disco and their motivation to learn a new style of dance, they chomped down moves faster than Ms. Pac-Man.  I could not believe the accelerated pace at which they picked this stuff up.  I also noticed that Dave and the new guy named Devin already seemed to know the moves I was teaching.  Their confidence suggested they might actually know more than I did.  Reeling from one worry after the other, I decided to kill time by playing Polka music twice and making everyone switch partners.  Somehow I made to the end of the class.  However, just then, a new headache appeared. 

At the end of class, Lynette made an announcement.  "Hey y'all, Jim, Jerry and me going dancing tonight.  How about everyone join us over at Cowboy?"

Judging by the expressions, at least half the class decided to join them.  To my horror, I now understood why my students had paid such close attention to what I said.  They were planning to go dancing after class! 

Things got worse when Lynette and two of her girlfriends cornered me.  Lynette gave me that persuasive grin of hers and made me an offer. 

"Hey, good-looking, are you coming with us?  We promise to make it worth your while!  You can put your arm around our back and make us do whatever you want us to do."

Caught totally off guard, my face turned white with fear.  I said no, but I stuttered and was hesitant.  Did they sense my fear?  Yes!  The three girls looked at each other with a funny expression.  The ladies had no idea I was hiding a major secret, but they could see there was something about their request that bothered me.  Fortunately, they did not challenge me further. 

Lynette frowned.  "Okay, Rick, I won't lie.  We are very disappointed you won't be there to protect us, but we will forgive you this one time.  See you next week!"

As the three ladies walked out, I collapsed in a bundle of nerves.  Every student had my entire Transition Polka pattern down pat by the end of class.  It had taken me four weeks to get this far with the Meyerland crowd.  Half my material was gone and we still had six more classes leading up to Christmas. 

Indeed, these people were such fast learners, my two-month Meyerland Club head start had practically evaporated in just one night.  Now I was terrified I could not find enough moves to fill out the remaining weeks of class.  As it stood, I had one, perhaps two more weeks of material left to show my new class.  Where would I find four additional hours of material without Joanne?  My only solution was to visit a club, but I adamantly opposed to that. 

My face burned with embarrassment.  The Meyerland group of non-dancers had lulled me into a false sense of complacency.  Given the ease of my Meyerland deception, I assumed I had no need to learn something new.  My new fear was there was nothing out there waiting to be discovered.   Without new material, I was sure to be exposed.  This wasn't like the Disco Era.  Whenever I needed a new move, I just hung out at the Pistachio Club till something caught my eye.  How was I supposed to learn new Western moves without going to a Western Club?  How would I ever stay ahead of these people?  This was quite a dilemma.  Barely one step ahead of the Posse, unless I broke down and visited a western dance club, my demise was imminent.