How I Learned to Dance
June 1974 - February 1975

I was given a "D" in an Interviewing course.  A "D" in graduate school is fatal.

So how do you get a "D" and claim your failure is not academic?   They used an odd trick to force me to leave - they failed me in a course that had no tests!  They based my "D" on their subjective opinion of me, an opinion which obviously wasn't very good.

In my other eight courses, I received an A- average.  Out of 9 first-year graduate students, only one person did better than me in those same courses.  So if you ignore the D, I was second in my class.  I say this not to brag, but to state my case that I had the talent to belong in that program.

The curious D grade was a scam.  There was no written exam. The only test was an mock interview at the end of the course.  I was supposed to "interview" an advanced graduate student from the Pysch Dept who pretended to be a guy coming in to talk about his problems.  I was supposed to help him tell the whole story and allow him to express his feelings. The Interview was videotaped, then graded.  They gave me a "D" based on what they said was a poor job of interviewing.

I was mystified by my grade.  I thought I had done pretty well.  I sought out Jeff Besser, the graduate student that I done the interview with.  He frowned when I showed him my grade.  Looking over his shoulder, he whispered that I had done the second best job out of the 4 first-year grad students who interviewed him.  He said it was a hatchet job designed to get rid of me.

But Jeff's opinion wasn't the one that counted. The professors had a different point of view. They could give me any grade they wanted to.  The beauty was that no one could disagree with my grade.  It was based on their 'subjective' opinion. 

The consensus among the older grad students was that I wasn't given a fair shake.  But they also pointed out I wasn't blameless.  It was my lousy office politics that had caused my undoing.  

Dr. Suinn, the instructor of my Interviewing course, was my strongest critic.  Since Dr. Suinn was also the Chairman of the Psychology Department, his low opinion of me was fatal.  

It was true I didn't have a clue how to behave around him.  For one thing, I never learned to keep my mouth shut.  While everyone else in my class stayed quiet, I was outspoken.  I would do things like ask questions, ask him to explain something further, disagree with him on an interpretation, and defend my position or ask him to defend his.  Stupid me, I acted like we were colleagues.  I actually had the nerve to debate points with him in class!   

I was a fool.  It never dawned on me that I was cutting my own throat the whole time.  Dr. Suinn was a cold, authoritarian man who had few kind words for me.  I bristled at his harsh criticism and handled it poorly.  The consensus was that I was defensive.   Well, guess what, they were right.  I had a very thin skin.

I wasn't the only one who chafed under Dr. Suinn's authority.  All the first-year graduate students disliked his sharp tongue.  But they had the sense to stay silent in class and keep their opinions to themselves.

Interestingly, another student named Michael quit because of that Interviewing class.  He dropped out in the first month of the program.  Michael told me he couldn't stand the way he was being put down.  I admired him for his courage to be so sure he was doing the right thing.  But losing Michael turned out to be a bad break for me.  After he left, it became my turn.  I became the new whipping boy. 

I fought back, unaware of the price I would have to pay for my outspoken ways.  I suppose in the process I did the other students a favor.  With me as the lightning rod for his criticism, by fighting back I allowed the rest to hide in my shadow. 

Looking back, if I had kept my mouth shut, it might have been a different story.  But then that wouldn't be my style, now would it? 


Playing the Game

I failed because I never learned how to play the game.   Now that I am older and wiser, I can see my mistakes clearly.  Too bad I was clueless back then.  Throughout my life, I always seem to be forced to learn my lessons the hard way. 

I didn't deserve the "D", but then I probably wasn't born to be a therapist either, at least not by their definition.  According to them, the best therapists are good listeners.  In their opinion, I talked too much.  I didn't see it that way, but when I disagreed with them, then I was being defensive.  How do you argue without being defensive?  I couldn't win.  They held all the cards.  

Some of my fellow grad students urged me to fight the decision, but I threw in the towel.  I just couldn't bear to grovel.

"Yes, Sir, you are right.  I don't listen well, Sir.  I shouldn't have disagreed with you, Sir.  I agree I am am too defensive, Sir.  I know I asked too many questions, Sir, but if you will give me one more chance, Sir, I promise to do everything you tell me.  I am open to whatever you say, Sir."

In retrospect, I might have hung in there to graduate, but it would have always been an uphill struggle trying to conform my true nature to their vision of the 'good therapist'.  

I suppose they felt they were doing me a favor ending it after one year. Maybe they did, but at the time, it sure didn't feel like a kind gesture.  It meant the end to a dream. 

Colorado State was not the right place for me.  I bristled under the constant lash of criticism.  A softer approach would have made all the difference in the world.    I was an angry kid in those days, but I also had a good heart.  With a little more faith on their part, I think I would have matured. 

But they made it clear it wasn't their job to burp me and feed me.  They had a picture of what sort of person succeeds in this field - patient, low-key, quiet - and they saw me as too big a gamble. 

There was one positive thing I learned that year.  It was my responsibility to be a teaching assistant to one of my professors.  The professor would conduct a lecture to 300 students, then I would hold weekly classes of my own to review the material.  I discovered I not only enjoyed teaching, I had a nice touch for it.  I expressed myself well and I cared about what I was doing.  In return, I received the ultimate compliment - my review classes were strongly attended.  I was a popular teacher.

Teaching turned out to be my gift.  After I left CSU, it would be three years until I eventually found my niche as a a dance teacher.  Today I am right where I belong.  My career as a dance teacher has been filled with satisfaction.  I get to use all my interests and skills in a very positive way.  I enjoy teaching.  I enjoy writing.  And I am a born social worker. 

So it must be said in the long run, things worked out perfectly.   But at the time, oh my goodness, the failure hurt terribly!
 

How ridiculous was that story?   I had spend four months listening to the weirdest excuses imaginable, but now for the first time I realized what the truth had been along all the time.  Finally everything made sense - Kevin had been there all along!   I had known that Jan had just broken up with Kevin when she began seeing me, but I had no idea he had come back in the picture... until now.  Jan had been deceiving me for four months.

Not long after this call, I found out the entire truth from a friend of Jan's who also worked in the Psych Department.  This woman was kind enough to fill in the background details so I could finally know the entire truth of Jan's deception.

My romance with Jan developed like a wildfire.  It was intense and passionate.  What I didn't know was that two weeks after Jan started seeing me, Kevin decided their breakup was over and talked his way back into her arms.  Apparently Jan always had a weakness for this guy.  But at the same time, Jan was surprised by the intensity of her feelings for me and didn't want to give me up.  So she didn't tell either guy about the other.  I suppose Jan decided it was easier to juggle both men than deal with the pain of hurting one of us.  She would be leaving Colorado soon and that would be the easiest way to solve the problem.

Jan's lies set the stage for the biggest heartache of my life.  I was completely devastated when I learned the truth.  Flattened. 

No wonder I was so beaten down.  As I sat alone in the darkness on New Year's Eve, I faced the fact that I had failed at my chosen career and I had lost the only woman I had ever loved to another guy.  I was a broken man at this point in my life.  I had no idea what I would do next.

I spent the next five months at Colorado State trying to make amends for my poor performance in Interviewing, but it was to no avail.  In May, they sent me packing.  So at the end of May 1974, I crawled back to Houston to pick up the pieces.

JUNE 1974.  BACK IN HOUSTON - MY SLOW RECOVERY

Burdened with a big chip on my shoulder and suffering from serious depression, I sought out the kindness of the Clark family.  Polly and Allen Clark had been surrogate parents my whole life.  Now in my darkest moment, I sought refuge in their home.

What wonderful people they were!  With three kids of their own, there were no guests rooms in their house.  But no matter, they said I could sleep on their living room couch.  Their main living area was the den, so in a way I had the living room to myself.

Little did they know they had acquired a mental patient.  For the entire month of June 1974, I lay on that couch practically day and night.  As I listened to the sad music of the Moody Blues Tuesday Afternoon album, I would throw a baseball in the air and catch it on the way down time after time.  I wasn't catatonic, but I was close.  I was in so much pain. 

I would like to point out that not one time in that entire month did the Clarks ever say a harsh word to me.  Not once.  Here was this unhappy, miserable blob who laid on their couch for hours on end, but they never said a word. They simply let me be.  What incredible patience!

Don't ask me how, but my life force eventually kicked back in.  One morning in early July, I picked up the paper and looked at the Help Wanted ads.  That afternoon I went out and got a job as a social worker.  Now that I had an income, I got my own apartment that weekend and moved out.  I had decided to get on with my life.


A PAPERBACK BOOK CHANGES THE DIRECTION OF MY LIFE

I suppose you take inspiration wherever you can find it.

Now that I was on my own again, I took stock.  I realized how lonely I was.  Even though I grew up in Houston, I had been away now for six years.  I didn't know a soul my own age.  

One day I visited a bookstore.  I noticed a  paperback book on "How to Meet Girls".  This was clearly a subject I needed help with so I glanced through it.  A couple passages caught my eye.   For $1, I purchased the book that would change my life.

I took it home and began to read.

Chapter Three was titled "Develop Interests Which Facilitate Socialization."

The chapter listed the three easiest ways to meet girls:

1)  Learn to talk to women, develop an outgoing personality, learn to be charming, be a good listener.
2)  Be a great cook, invite them to your apartment for dinner, then seduce them after the meal (that's what it said; I am not making this up)
3)  Take a guess.

Since my confidence was still shattered from my lethal relationship with Jan, the very thought of talking to women scared me to death at the moment.  And since my idea of cooking was to heat a hotdog or make a peanut butter sandwich, the only thing left was (guess).

The idea of dancing intrigued me. I decided to study the advice of Suggestion #3 more thoroughly. 

"There are certain skills which on occasion might stimulate a girl to turn her head in your direction instead of the other guy who is competing for her.  Dancing is one of them. I don't say that everyone can be a great dancer, but most men can be good dancers. 

In certain situations there is no easier way of meeting a girl than asking her to dance. 

The stakes of the game being what they are and the effort involved being as slight as it is, there's no reason why a man should not learn to become a good (or at least a tolerable) dancer."

The first line in that passage caught my eye.  If I was reading this right, the writer was convinced that 'dancing' was a skill that might turn a girl's head in my direction instead of towards the other guy who is competing for her. 

Since I had just come up on the short end of a contest for a girl's heart, I was all eyes and ears for any asset that could turn the tide in my favor if I found someone I liked. 

I thought about it for a while.  It dawned on me that I had nursed a secret ambition to learn to dance for a long time dating all the way back to high school.  But I had always been too busy with school to take the time to learn.

I picked up the Yellow Pages.  I thumbed the pages for 'Dance Studio'.

MY FIRST DANCE CLASS EVER

After calling around, I discovered there was a Saturday morning Disco Freestyle class at a studio known as Dance City USA.  Located on Richmond one block outside the West Loop, this place has been extinct for many years.  However in August 1974, it was one of the best known dance studios in the city.

My first day there would be an experience I will never forget.

Till now I had danced in public maybe three times in my life.  There had been one chemically-induced experience at my senior prom which technically should not really be called dancing.  In addition I also danced a couple times in college, but each time I was sober enough to be painfully aware how poor I was. 

As I read the book's advice on dancing, it occurred to me I had been interested in learning to dance long before I had ever read this How to Meet Girls book. 

A long lost memory surfaced when I remembered asking a girl in high school to show me how to dance.  Since I only received one lesson, I can only assume my teacher didn't think I had much of a chance.

Then I remembered trying to teach myself to dance in college two years ago.  Twice in my Senior year I turned on the stereo in the living room when none of my roommates were around.  I would flop around trying to dance.  I quickly made the sad discovery that it was no use.  They say practice makes perfect, but not when you have no idea where to start.  I didn't know any steps. I didn't understand music or rhythm.  It's hard to practice something if you don't know what to do.  I soon gave up.

Therefore I was already painfully aware of my dance inadequacy.  Not surprisingly, I was very nervous as I walked in the dance studio.  After inquiring at the registration desk, I paid my money for the class and headed to the dance room.

They were eye-balling me so closely, I was definitely taken aback.  What is this all about?  As I got closer I did a double-take.  I realized each man was more than likely gay.   In my heretofore sheltered life, I had never seen more than two gay men together at the same time.  Now there were ten of them.  I groaned to myself.   For my purposes it did not help to find 10 gay dance instructors eyeing me up and down at the entrance. I was already nervous enough and now this!   

I could see the only way I could get to my room was to walk past them.  They were definitely checking me out.  At the time, it did not occur to me the reason might have been that I looked like a gruesome hillbilly from the "Texas Chainsaw Massacre", but I will get to that in a minute.  All eyes were on me and I didn't like it one bit.  I felt very uncomfortable.

An incident from my freshman year in college flashed before my eyes.  Johns Hopkins was a men's school in 1968.  In order to have a dance, they had to bus girls in from several women's colleges in the area.  I remember how l joined 400 of my freshman classmates as we formed an impromptu welcoming line along the sidewalk.  The line stretched all the way from the bus to the gym where the dance would be held.  We were there to greet the girls as they got off the bus.  This became a nightmare.

The young ladies had no choice but to get off the bus one girl at a time to the cheers of hormone-crazed teenage boys.  We gawked at each girl and evaluated them in the same manner these dance instructors were looking at me.  I am ashamed to say we made a lot of noises too, some appreciative, some not.  It was a horrible experience for these girls.  How pathetic!  The girls were miserable having to undergo the scrutiny of these immature young men as they walked to the gym.  I felt so sorry for them at the time.

Today the shoe was on the other foot.  It was my turn to see what it felt like.  My only other choice was to turn around and leave. Although I admit I hesitated for a moment, I decided to stick it out.  I kept my eyes forward and smiled grimly as I walked the gauntlet.


THE RIVER OAKS SEVEN

Little did I know the Dance City Ten was just a warm-up act.  When I opened the door, I saw the room was fairly small and lined with mirrors on three walls.  There were no windows.  I had a rude reception when I entered the classroom - seven women looked up at me and frowned. 

I just wanted to hide.  Fat chance of that.  At 6 feet, I was at least half a foot taller than anyone else in the room.

I clenched my teeth and tried to pay attention to the instructor.  This was hard to do because inside I was miserable.  I could barely stand to look at myself, but it was impossible not to.  There were mirrors on three walls.   Everywhere I looked, there I was, the Mountain Man from Hicksville.

It did not help that I did not feel welcome.  These River Oaks women did not appreciate having their little dance party interrupted by such a rude country bumpkin.  Their frost was palpable.  I gritted my teeth and decided to at least try.

I will never forget the step that drove me to distraction - the infamous "Step Ball-Change".  This triple step move was one of the most popular freestyle steps in the 70s.  During class I made the same mistake over and over.  On the Ball-Change, I kept putting my heel down instead of using the ball of my foot when I stepped back.  As a result, I consistently fell slightly backwards.  Losing my balance, I could not recover fast enough to stay with the beat of the music.  Nor did it escape my notice that I was the only one having trouble.  My frustration mounted; I could feel my teeth clenching even tighter. 

JUST WHEN YOU THINK THINGS CAN'T GET WORSE

Frustrated, I stayed after class. I hoped my instructor might be able to help show me what I was doing wrong. 

David was nice enough to watch.  First he tried to explain not to put weight on my heel, but it didn't work.  Either I was too tense to understand or he didn't explain the move very well.  Either way, I was still stuck. 

Then David made another suggestion - rather than try a step ball-change, maybe I could switch to the simplest dance step in the book... step-together-step.  Put another way, you step sideways right, close your feet, step sideways right, then repeat it to the left. 

It was a good idea.  Step-together-step is one of the easiest patterns in dance, but this suggestion didn't work either.  I could not even do the most basic triple step of all: Step-together-step.   What moron can't do step-together-step?  Well, that moron would be me.

I am going to give you an idea how bad I was, but first I want you to know I am not making this up.  What I am about to say is the truth, the whole truth so help me God.  

With David watching carefully, I was so worried about getting it right that I deliberately did David's three steps very slowly.  I watched my feet move as if my life depended on each step.  But I failed for a bizarre reason.  It seems every time I brought my feet together, I would stop before making another step.  Then when I looked down at my feet and saw that they were together, I wasn't sure which foot had moved last! 

I did not even trust myself to guess which foot should move next.  Was it the right foot or the left foot that moved last?  Confused, I had to start over.  Step together step.  What could be easier?  But I couldn't get it.

To David's credit, he spent 10 minutes after class helping me and giving encouragement.  Struggling mightily, I appreciated that he did not make fun of me although I am sure he was astonished at my ineptitude.  

I said I wouldn't know.  But that remark put me on guard.  It didn't take much to know where this was heading. 

David made another crack about how body proportions, then went in for the kill.  He asked me if I would like to come to his apartment.  He said he couldn't stay here at the studio helping me because someone else needed the room, but he lived nearby.  He said he could fix me lunch (he must have read the same book!), then he could help me some more with my dancing. 

I declined as best I could.  If ever there was someone who needed help, that would be me, but I wasn't that desperate.  Last time I checked... and it had been a while... I still preferred women.

Dave's proposition was the last straw.  It was more than enough to finish me off.  I was stunned that this guy had the nerve to take advantage of me.  Maybe if he figured if he put his idea to me just the right way, I could be his afternoon road kill.  I am sure it was obvious to him that I was walking wounded.  If ever there was a human being reeling from problems, it was me.  I was in a weakened state.  Why not take a shot?

I had to get out of this place.  I was in near total despair as I left the room.

STRANGE DAYS

People are strange when you're a stranger,
Faces look ugly when you're alone
Women seem wicked when you're unwanted
Streets are uneven when you're down

The Doors, People are Strange

I stumbled out the building as fast as I could.  I was starting to shake.  I was terribly out of control. 

Reaching the sanctuary of my VW Beetle in the middle of the Windsor Theater parking lot, I collapsed in shock.  I was way too shaken to make a move.  I could easily have had an accident. 

Wearing a flannel shirt with the ruthless summer sun beating down on the car, I was soon drenched in sweat.  The car was hotter than a sauna.  I had no choice but to take my shirt off.  It didn't do any good. The heat made me miserable as I sat frozen in the car. 

But I couldn't move.  I numbly sat there trembling in my car in the middle of the parking lot.  I turned on the engine a couple times just to cool off, but I didn't have enough gas to leave it on for long.  I gripped the steering wheel like it was a life preserver for a full 30 minutes.  

First the gauntlet and the disdain of the wealthy women, then my lousy dancing which appalled me, and finally the proposition had attacked me on one level after another.  I felt totally humiliated. 

Don't forget, this was not a good time in my life for taking risks.  I had not even come close to recovering from the twin Colorado State blows losing my girl friend and being thrown out of graduate school.  I had already been a nervous wreck before I even began my class and today's events had used up whatever was left of my already shaken confidence. 

As I sat in the car, I hit rock bottom.
 

THE COURAGE TO CONTINUE

Getting propositioned was actually the least of my worries.  I had grown up in the Montrose area.  My mother had a couple of gay friends who had given me at least an inkling of what the gay world was like.  Furthermore going to a men's-only college at Johns Hopkins had taught me additional lessons.  I averaged at least one offer per semester, always at random from someone I didn't even know.  I knew how to say no. 

David's proposition had merely been the final blow.  It hurt in a different way than you might guess.  I need his kindness and thought Dave was being friendly.  His gesture to help had seemed an act of kindness, but instead it had turned ugly.  I felt so alone.

What bothered me far more was the utter disgust written on the faces of the River Oaks ladies.  That was where I was attacked the most.  You see, for nine years I had been a poor kid going to a rich kids school.  I was on scholarship the whole time.  My mother was so poor, I had to pay the final bill for books and meals just to graduate from high school using money out of my own pocket.

Nine years is a long time to be the poorest kid in the school.  That was where the chip on my shoulder came from.  I had spent nine years at that place on the outside looking in.  Now I connected the disdain of the seven women with my lack of acceptance at the school.  They made me feel just like the poor kid who never fit in.

Furthermore the women's scorn hit me in another sore spot.  Memories of Jan were still haunting me on a daily basis.  Thanks to her, my experience with being two-timed had left me with a lot fear towards women.   

Another unwelcome by-product of my shattered romance was my loss of confidence.  Jan had found another man to be more attractive than me.  Now I was so insecure that I was terrified of looking foolish in front of any woman. 

Today the women's frowns had made me feel ugly.  Well, too bad, so sad... today I had gotten not just a dose of rejection, but a brutal overdose.  Welcome to dance class, Quasimodo.

Most of all, I was angry at myself for dancing so poorly!   Why was I so bad?  I started to cry.  I realized I how badly I wanted to learn to dance, but why did it have to be so hard?

I had put a lot hope into the book's advice in regards to dancing.  However that stupid book had set me up - it said learning to dance was easy!  (...and the effort involved being as slight as it is...).  Now I was discouraged to find out it was going to be a lot more difficult than I anticipated.

Thanks to that book, in my mind, 'dancing' had already become directly linked to getting a girlfriend.  If I couldn't learn to dance, then how was I going to get a girlfriend?  

Not very good logic, but then these were the thoughts of a deeply insecure young man.  I was a lonely, over-serious 24-year old kid who was looking for direction.   This morning's failure had put a spike in a lot of dreams.

Guess what?   I practiced and practiced.  Then I practiced more.  Every night. 15 minutes, half an hour, an hour, it didn't matter just as long as I practiced every night.  I didn't understand it completely, but this was something I had to do.

WHY?

While I practiced, I did some thinking.  My mind raced back to high school.  Back at St. John's, there was an open dance at someone's house after each home football game.  These houses were something to behold for a poor kid like me.  I was so intimidated by my low status, I deeply feared someone - a pretty girl or a smartass guy - would make fun of me if I danced.

I went to every party, but I never danced.  Instead for four years I helplessly watched as my classmates had fun dancing to the sounds of the Beach Boys, the Supremes, and Marvin Gaye.  Gosh, I was envious!  But I had no idea where to start and no one encouraged me to try.  My status as the only poor kid in the school didn't help my confidence either.  It was safer to stand still and be inconspicuous than take the chance of looking ridiculous and have someone make fun of me. 

Then my thoughts turned to the time in college I had tried to teach myself how to dance.  The effort was futile, but as I thought about it, this experience was clear evidence I had been interested in learning to dance long before the How to Meet Girls Book came along.

That is when I realized that the desire to learn to dance had been with me for a long time.  I decided this was the time to do it.  Right now.  Right here.  I was 24.  Late start maybe, but I still had plenty of time. 

I didn't want to settle for OK. I was still deeply afraid women would laugh at me exactly as the River Oaks woman had.  This was a constant fear of mine.  To deal with this fear, I decided that I couldn't just learn to dance, I had to become a very good dancer.  I would not settle for anything less.

The second dance class was a turning point.  Now that I stood my ground, the River Oaks women begrudgingly accepted that they weren't going to chase me off.  So they left me alone to practice my steps.  Furthermore, thanks to a week's practice in my mirror at home, I had noticeably improved.  I felt encouraged.

From that point on, I took David's class for over a year.  I never missed a single week.  In addition I took other classes at different times whenever I discovered a new one.  For the next four years, I would take at least one and usually two different dance classes a week. 

David never said another unprofessional thing to me again.  I think he had embarrassed himself.  Now that he saw that I genuinely wanted to learn from him, he went out of his way to be my teacher.  We became friends of a sort.

One day David told me he had won the Dance City Staff Freestyle contest three years in a row.  I had to admit the guy could dance.  His favorite song was "Rock the Boat".  I tried as hard as I could to imitate his moves, but it just wasn't happening.  That guy had a real gift!

I was still lousy and the River Oaks ladies still frowned, but so what?  I hung in there.  

THE RIVER OAKS SEVEN

The River Oaks Seven became as powerful a nemesis in my mind as Dr. Suinn had been up at Colorado State.  Out of seven different women, not one of these society matrons ever smiled at me. 

And you know what else?  I do not believe even one of those ladies ever spoke to me either.  Why not?  Was it the age difference?  These ladies were at least twenty, more likely thirty years older than me.  But why should that matter?  We were taking a dance lesson together.  On this floor, we should have been equals.  How hard would it be to be friendly or simply cordial to a classmate?

I don't know why they shut me out.  Maybe they didn't appreciate having their class disturbed.  Before I came along, they had David, their pet, all to themselves.  Now the equivalent of a homeless man had joined their class.  Making things worse, I was a pathetic dancer.  Maybe they worried if they got close, my dancing would rub off on them.

But still, once they saw how hard I was trying, wouldn't you think they would develop enough respect to break the ice?  I took the class with them for well over a year, but I simply can't recall one woman ever saying a word to me.  Other than snickering at me whenever I struggled, otherwise I didn't exist.  How do you ignore someone so effortlessly?

As insecure as I was at that point in time, I took their coldness personally.  Oh no, there's the awkward kid who can't dance or dress properly.  Who let him in?  If I have to watch him dance one more time, I might get sick.  Where does that kid get his clothes, Salvation Army?

I finally decided the problem boiled down to class differences.  I was poor and they were rich.  Why bother acknowledging my existence? 

After nine years of being left out at my rich kids school, these seven women had reawakened all my feelings of inferiority from grade school. They became a symbol for every doubt I had about myself.  In their eyes, I was simply not talented enough to bother with. 

My pride had been wounded by Dr. Suinn.  My pride had been wounded by Jan.  And now these women were taking up right where those two had left off. 

In a way, the River Oaks Seven helped me.  I turned all my anger towards them into a passion to improve at dancing.  I was bitter that they laughed at me, but I was determined to beat them at their own game.  They gave me the exact edge every underdog has to have to find the strength to fight back.  Don't get angry; get even.

I channeled my anger into a decision to practice my dancing every night no matter what.  I would show them.
 

I guess I could have stopped off on my way home from basketball at some dance club.  Maybe I could have asked a couple girls to dance and made some friends.  But no way.  Maybe someday, but not now.  I had to improve quite a bit before I was ready to make my move.

During the Fall of 1974, dancing in front of the mirror became a nightly ritual.  Each night after basketball, I would go home, turn on the radio, and practice my dancing in front of the mirror.  While I danced, I spent all the while dreaming of the day I would be good enough to ask a lady to dance.  Dancing had become the key piece in my road to recovery. 

I was still licking my wounds.  If I had learned any lesson at all from my broken heart, it was that I wasn't ready to play with the big boys and big girls just yet.  And if I had learned anything from getting kicked out of graduate school, I didn't have a clue how to play politics either. 

I simply wasn't ready to make any big moves until I looked back at Colorado and figured out what in the heck had gone wrong. 

I didn't fight at all.  I had been the nice guy who finishes last.   When she started to lie to me, I accepted her excuses rather than ask questions.   I tried to 'understand her' rather than draw a line in the sand.   Cupid's arrow had once been pointed at me, but my weakness had swung the arrow back in Kevin's favor.

The more I thought about Jan, the more I worried that I would mess up the next time I met a girl I liked.  I really did not want to get hurt like that ever again.  The simple explanation was that I had chased a woman who was out of my league.  But I didn't buy that.  Jan had fallen in love too.  I didn't go there by myself.  So I concluded that where I failed was my lack of inexperience at playing the game. 

My next thought upset me.  How was I supposed to get that experience without getting hurt?  I didn't have an answer for that one.  

Reading my book on 'How to Meet Girls' didn't improve my confidence at all.  If anything, the Book made more aware of just how much I didn't know.  The book made me realize when it came to "Girl Skills", I didn't have many.  For starters, I wasn't the greatest conversationalist in the world.  I barely knew how to talk to girls because I never dated in high school (the poor kid, remember?) and I never dated in college (men's school, remember?) 

Furthermore the first serious relationship of my life was darkened by my experience with an unfaithful woman.  Her memory still haunted me.  Were all women like that?  Me and Sue and that guy too?

As I plotted my comeback, I was pretty discouraged.  When it came to women, I had no confidence left.  Zero. Nada.  I wasn't very good with men either - in my ignorance I had alienated Dr. Suinn, my professor, without even knowing it!  I obviously had a lot of work to do. 

I stuck to my opinion that I was capable of playing in the same league that Jan did.  But for the time being, I decided I was safer to keep a low profile while I developed the interpersonal skills that had been missing to date. 

Thoughts like these crossed my mind on a regular basis during my evening dance practice ritual in front of the mirror.  Almost all my dance practices turned into a meditation just like this one.   Practicing dance always made me feel better about myself.  Just the fact that I was working on a skill I could use to meet women someday made me feel I was headed in the right direction.  Fall of 1974 was a period where dance practice became the most important part of my day.  It became my way of healing myself.

Of course I knew the best way to become a good dancer was to get out there and "practice" on a real dance floor.  But at this point I was gun shy when it came to mixing women and dance.  I wasn't ready yet.
 

This passage made a big impression on me. 

I fully intended to make the dance floor my "Turf" someday, but so far I had not improved enough to think I belonged on a dance floor.  When I finally got out there, I wanted to impress a woman, not make her regret going out on the floor with for me.  The memory of how the River Oaks ladies had snickered at my dancing still burned. 

Every time I thought of those women, I got angry.  I vowed that someday I would a great dancer. If I saw someone I was interested in, I would not hesitate for a moment to go ask her to dance.  I intended to be ready the next time a special woman entered my life.  If she turned me down, I would be certain it had nothing to do with my dancing. The dance floor would be my stronghold. 

In a way, I suppose I took the book too seriously.  I was so worried about being excellent that I found myself caught in a self-defeating strategy.  I wanted to be a good dancer when I got out on the floor, but how was I going to become a good dancer if I didn't have the guts to ask someone to dance with me?

I had to find a way a past this roadblock. 

Once I was strong enough to move out of the Allen and Polly Clark's home in July 1974, I decided to move back to the Montrose area because it was the neighborhood I was used to.  I was in for a surprise.

Gays had always lived in the Montrose area, but they kept a low profile during my teenage years.  That changed in the early 70s. Once I moved into my new apartment, I soon found out that the Montrose area had become a gay mecca during in the six years I had been away.  Every day I was surrounded by gay men who lived in the same apartment complex as me.  They were a little weird sometimes, but I was getting used to their ways. We got along fine.

And as far as Charles was concerned, I outweighed him by a hundred pounds.  What was he going to do to me?

This period marked the first time in my life where I was living outside the protective walls of a school or college.  Exposed to the Real World, I was starting to learn things about people.  As part of my job investigating child neglect in some of the poorest parts of the city, I had to visit some pretty rough places.  One day I might be in a Hispanic home, the next day in a Black home, the next day in a blue collar Anglo home, the next day an Asian home.  At night I played basketball with Jewish men over at the Jewish Community Center.  And now my entire neighborhood was gay.  

I was getting a serious ethnic education on all fronts.  In the process, I was beginning to grow up. 

I was still very lonely.  However I would not be ready to date again until I conquered some demons.   An old Hindu proverb says that the Master will appear when the pupil is ready.  The proverb also hints you may not recognize him (or her) when you first see him.

In Charles, I had met my teacher.  Little did I suspect that my new friend would be the person who would take me the rest of the way to my goal.

Actually there was a lot of give and take.  One day Charles would be talking about his relationship with his boyfriend Jim or his risky triangle relationship that included both Jim and Charles' beautiful roommate Mary.  The next day it would be my turn so I would talk about Jan, the one who done me wrong, or spin another tale of some half-brain stunt that contributed to getting me thrown out of graduate school. 

Charles Estes was the man who brought me out of my shell once and for all.  I told Charles about the entire year at Colorado State.  It felt so good to finally get those stories off my chest!   One day a funny thing happened.  I was going on and on about how mad I got when Dr. Suinn would chew me out in front of the class.  Suddenly I stopped in mid-sentence and stared at him.  Charles was listening so intently that I had started to talk about painful things that had been bottled up much too long.  In that moment I suddenly realized that Charles possessed the exact 'people skills' that my professors had accused me of lacking.  Now I finally knew what they were talking about.  If I had possessed just one-tenth of his talent, I probably would have stayed in graduate school.  Charles was the closest thing to a natural therapist I have ever met.

Nor did Charles ever judge me.  He never criticized me at all.  What he did do was make me think.  Every time I would finish a story, Charles would say, "Well, knowing what you know now, how would you have handled the situation if it came up again?"

Charles was brilliant as helped me work through my problems with Jan. 

One day I told Charles about Jan's infamous 'cramps' excuse.  

I explained to Charles that obviously Jan's ex-boyfriend Kevin had re-entered the picture at this point.  All sorts of odd things had begun to happen. 

For example, one Saturday afternoon I was in my office studying when Jan showed up out of nowhere.  She said she had accidentally run into Kevin at the CSU football game that day and he had said a bunch of things that hurt her feelings. So after the game, she came to me for sympathy.  I thought it odd that in a stadium of 50,000 people she would run into Kevin, but I gave her the benefit of the doubt.

Another time Jan was having a garage sale in preparation for her move back home to Portland.  I offered to come by and help, but Jan politely refused because her friend Teresa was going to help, but Teresa was a lesbian and very uncomfortable around men.  That was just another example of the odd excuses that Jan tossed at me that I should have challenged.

But the best story of all was the Cramps Excuse.  One day, we had a special all-day Saturday trip into the mountains planned.  The Rocky Mountains were just a stone's throw from CSU, which was situated in the foothills on the eastern slope.  We drove to Rocky Mountain National Park, did some hiking, gazed in awe at the majestic snow-capped mountains, ate some lunch, and generally had a great time.  As we drove back, the plan was dinner and movie.  It was getting dark as we reached to edge of Fort Collins around 6 pm.

Suddenly Jan doubled over in excruciating pain.  She could barely breathe.  Jan whispered between gasps that it was a lifelong curse - menstrual cramps.  She said she had suffered from these sudden attacks all her life.  The only thing she could do was take a pill and go straight to bed.  So I drove her home.  She said it was better if I didn't come in.  She planned to be unconscious as soon as possible.  That was the end of our day.

With me out of the picture, now her Saturday night was free.  So you make the call.  Bad coincidence or well-executed lie?  I don't know what the truth was, but when I laid this incident out side by side with a dozen other odd coincidences, I would put my money that she lied to me.  I remember two things.  First, Jan had been in perfect health and great cheer the entire day.  Second, I had a huge knot in my gut that I couldn't explain. 

When I finished, Charles smiled at me.  He said my mistake had been to ignore the pain in my guts.  He said I had spent all my life trying to use my brains to solve every problem, but that I should learn to pay better attention to my feelings.  He said that 'instincts' are the soul's early warning system. 

He added I wouldn't have gotten hurt nearly as much if I had not deliberately overridden my own natural defense against deceit.  I continued to trust Jan even though my guts were screaming something was wrong.  Listen to your feelings!

Charles asked what I would do if I had another shot at it.  I said I would tell Jan I would be back by at 8 pm to check on her and see how she reacted.  Or perhaps I would drive away and drive back.  But then I stopped and looked at Charles.  I said, "You know what, Charles, I did not even have a clue that Kevin was hiding in the shadows.  All I knew was that when all these strange things started to happen, I did not understand what was going on. I had no previous experience with lying in my life.  What would you have done?"

Charles said that he had a theory on coincidences. One time is an incident, two times is a coincidence.  Three times is a pattern, a very dangerous sign.

Jan had now entered the "Pattern Phase", but rather than back off, I hung on out of blind faith.  He said you have to trust the one you love, but not 'blindly'.  They should earn that trust!

Charles continued.  He said my mistake was to let my feelings go too far for this girl without enough collateral commitment on her part.  He said emotions should be like playing cards.  You always have to take some risks when your heart is concerned, but that doesn't mean you have to gamble foolishly.  When things look good, gamble a lot, but when things don't look good, gamble a little.  He said by continuing to care so much in the face of all those weird things that went wrong, I had taken too big of a chance. 

One day Charles said something that really hurt.  He told me I needed to learn how to make people respect me.  He said you can never force someone to like you, but you can always be sure they at least respect you.  He told me I had lost Jan because I had not stood up to her when I suspected she was lying.  That put me in a position of weakness and she lost respect for me.  That's how I lost the game.  No one can love someone they don't respect.  Instead, I should have acted on my misgivings immediately.  I should have confronted Jan on each issue that brought up that sick feeling in my belly.  It would have been much tougher for her to lie to me this way.

He added one more thing.  Even if I had confronted Jan, I might have lost her anyway.  He repeated that love always involves risk. The other man might have been the better choice for her.  However if she did choose Kevin over me, I could at least hold my head high because I stood up for myself.  Instead I lost my self-respect.  She had been gone for nearly a year now, but I still didn't have my self-respect back.  This was where the real damage lay.  In relationships, you have to maintain your self-respect above all else.

He added that healthy love is based on a balance of power.    The moment you 'need' someone so badly that you look the other way, you are in big trouble.  You have become the underdog.  You have given them permission to use you as a doormat.

That one stung.  As they say, 'the shoe fit'.

I burned for a long time as I processed his words.  I knew he was right.  Once I calmed down, I made a silent vow right there to never let anyone, man or woman, walk on me like that again. 

This was a powerful lesson.  Ever since, I have always insisted on the truth in every relationship.  As long as I think the other person is honest with me, we are cool.  But when someone seems evasive, I back off.  In other words, I gamble a little but not a lot. 

Charles had become my mentor.  I took his suggestions to heart because I trusted the man's judgment completely.   It didn't matter that he was gay.  He knew more about relationships than any person I had ever talked to.  Slowly, my biggest fears started to dissipate.  For the first time in my life, I felt like I had a handle on how to play the game.  I don't know who wrote the Book of Love, but Charles might have written some of the chapters.

I'm sure you're curious so I will answer the question.  Yes, one day Charles propositioned me.  He invited me to come over to his house that night and share his bed.  We would keep our clothes on and just cuddle.  Nothing else, promise!

I laughed and hurt Charles' feelings in the process.  He said, "What's so funny?"

I replied, "Between you and David, I see that you gay guys don't use any better lines than straight guys use on women!  You're terrible!" 

Charles laughed too.  Thank goodness it broke the tension.  The subject never came up again. 
 

For over a month now I had been stuck in the mud.  My Saturday dance lessons with David and my nightly dance ritual in front of the mirror were not working their magic any longer.  I didn't see any improvement at all.  I knew what the solution was - go out to a club and ask a girl to dance - but my phobia about rejection blocked any chance of that happening.

Charles succeeded in getting me over this hurdle by playing a simple yet clever trick on me.

One day in late November 1974, Charles invited me to come to a party at his house that coming Saturday.   I frowned.  He knew I wasn't gay.  What kind of fun would that be?  Charles quickly reassured me there would be lots of women there in addition to his gay friends.  Women?  Really?  I relaxed a little and said okay, I would be there.  I certainly had no other social opportunities to choose from.  Going to a party sure beat staying at home on a Saturday night.  Plus there would be girls!  

It wasn't till I arrived at the party that I realized Charles had the sense not to tell me the women were lesbians.  Silly me.  I was so lonely I just went ahead and believed whatever I wanted to believe.  Well, now that I was here, I might as well make the best of it.

The house was packed.  I discovered that Charles was extremely popular in his world.  Now that I thought about it, I shouldn't be surprised.  Using his natural warmth, he was an excellent host.  Charles made everyone feel welcome.  As usual, I was pretty envious of his people skills.  I took notes.  Maybe someday I would be as outgoing as he was.

At Casa Charles, the dance music was playing from the start.  Gloria Gaynor was the most popular singer at the time and Van McCoy's "Do the Hustle" had just come out.  Lots of people were dancing.  I was mesmerized.  I sat down on the couch nearest the dancing and watched. And watched. And watched. This was ridiculous, I thought to myself.  Here I had been taking lessons for three months, yet not once did I have the guts to dance in public.  I reminded myself I didn't know any of these people.

Despite my triumph, I found out I wasn't completely cured.  A little while later, the group got up to dance the famous line dance known as the Four Corners. A couple people were trying to show some of the guests how to do it.  I got up and tried a couple steps, then sat back down in frustration.  Too complicated.  Of course you know and I know the Four Corners is the easiest line dance in the history of mankind, but I was still terrified of looking foolish in case I couldn't figure it out.  The scorn of the River Oaks Seven came to mind.  I did not want anyone laughing at me. 

Still, overall, the night had been a success. I managed to dance a couple more times before the night was out and this time I did the asking.  I even branched out into a couple more moves.  Best of all, I had fun.

Right before I left, something caught my eye.  I noticed that Charles and the lady who had asked me dance were whooping and hollering in the kitchen.  I waved goodbye to Charles and noticed there was something odd in his expression.  He looked like he had just gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar.  Hmm. 

Acting as my People Skills Coach, Charles had taught me to confront people about misgivings.  So the next Monday I marched into his office and got Charles to confess he had put the woman up to it.  He said he had been watching me rooted to my seat all night.  He was getting sick of seeing me sit there, so he decided to take things into his own hands.  I forgave him quickly and we both laughed.  In reality, he had done me a huge favor.  There was no way I was going to leave that couch otherwise.  Although I came into his office prepared to chew him out for being so sneaky, I ended up thanking him profusely for his timely intervention.  My whole night had improved as a result.

The party at Charles' house had given me something else to think about.  That night I had seen a feature of the gay world I had not previously been aware of.  Like Charles had predicted, there were actually plenty of women at his party.  At first I reacted to the two or three women who were obviously lesbians.  But after that I wasn't so sure.  Quite a few women at the party didn't seem like they were lesbian.   For example, when I asked a couple of the women to dance, they reacted just like a girl would react to a man - they smiled and looked pleased to be asked.

Charles and I talked about it for a while.  He confirmed my suspicions.  Yes, those two women I mentioned were straight.  He explained that some women were just as terrified of men as I was terrified of women.  That surprised me.  I couldn't imagine anyone being more scared of the opposite sex than me!

He said these women enjoyed socializing with gay men for several reasons.  First, the gay men did not threaten them.  Second, a lot of gay men were practically 'girls' themselves.  When they got together, it was Cindy Lauper time - Girls just want to have fun.  The women appreciated having a fun social outlet where they would not feel threatened. 

Charles told me gays have nicknames for these women: Fag Hags, Fruit Flies, (Dance) Floor Whores.  

So what was I?  I asked Charles what gays called straight guys who hung out with gay men.  Charles shook his head.  He couldn't think of a name.  He said he had never heard of it happening before. 

I frowned.  What was I doing here?   Despite my discomfort with this strange world, I stuck around because I had made a discovery - I was not scared to ask the women in Charles' Circle of Friends to dance. 

As cruel as the nicknames were, the truth