Introduction: The Man Who Fell From Grace

Here is a mystery for you.  Long-time readers of the SSQQ Newsletter and the SSQQ Web Site know I love to write about every imaginable event that ever has occurred during the studio's long 30 year history.  A quick glance at my list of topics reveals stories about mud volleyball, broken toilets, balloon racing, Sadie Hawkins races, plus many other random and trivial events, humorous perhaps, but definitely not very important. 

The story of Glen Hunsucker is at best the 100th story I have written.  So ask yourself this question -  Given that Rick Archer writes about everything, why would he delay telling the story of the man who was the single most important influence in his career?   
Good question.  By all rights, Glen's story should have been the first story, not the hundredth.  The reason I have avoided writing about this episode in my life is that I have mixed feelings.  While you will read again and again of my admiration and gratitude, this story contains a great deal of bitterness and pain as well.  It was my constant uncertainty over the correct path to take that explains the delay.   I always wanted this story to be a tribute.

But starting in 1984, the events in our relationship took a dark turn.  Telling this story means revealing controversy and tragedy that I have never completely come to grips with.  Unlike many of my stories which include elements of humor and irony, my story of Glen Hunsucker is mostly one of pain and unresolved feelings.  I wanted to tell the world about Glen's great ability.  Like everyone else, I also wanted to protect his reputation. 

But after all the other stories I have told about this studio, it didn't make any sense to start making up tales now or covering things up.  If my word is to retain its credibility, I have to tell the whole story, warts and all.  I either tell the story correctly or I don't tell it at all.  

In 2003, I decided it was finally time to write the story about this man who was so pivotal in my dance career.  One word of caution - many people think this is a story about Glen Hunsucker.  That is only partially correct.   This is really the story of how I got started in the dance business and the contributions that Glen made along the way.  Please keep that in mind. 

One on One

After Cindy moved on to other adventures, l thought about finding another dance partner.  Finally I decided to continue the private lessons with Glen all by myself.  

For one thing, at this point the Saturday Night Fever-inspired Disco Era was over and the Urban Cowboy-inspired Western Era was in full swing.  Now that Disco had bit the dust, I didn't have much need for a dance partner any more.

I thought it made more sense to concentrate on improving my own dancing and learn more about the different dances such as Ballroom dancing and Whip. 

Glen was an excellent teacher. Not only did he teach me the steps and the rhythm to all the important dances, he helped me improve how I looked when I danced. This is the mark of an excellent dance teacher. Most instructors can give you the facts and figures to each dance, but only the really good ones can impart style and grace. In my case I initially moved with the fluidity of a dump truck stuck in reverse, but with his help over time even I was able to learn how to make my steps smaller and improve my balance significantly. 

I took lessons from Glen twice a week for six years.  Glen taught me the Whip, the Latin Hustle, West Coast Swing, Acrobatics, Tango, Cha Cha, Waltz, Foxtrot, Samba (I was a failure at Samba), and East Coast Swing.  In addition I also took two  group lessons a week from Glen in Jazz dancing. 

About the only thing Glen didn't teach me was Western (which he hated), but once in a while he even offered to help me with C&W too if I was trying to figure out a pattern and asked nicely enough.  The standing joke was he would help as long as I promised not to turn on the music. 

95% of the time Glen danced the "follow" part while I danced the "lead".  Watching us dance must have been a pretty strange sight since we were both tall athletic men with large shoulders and tapered muscular bodies. By coincidence, we even developed prematurely gray hair at the same time.  We were so similar in age, size, build and appearance that I was asked if I was his brother or related to Glen on more than one occasion.  

Since we were well-matched, I was even mistaken for his boyfriend once or twice.  During our very first solo lesson, I was worried about dancing alone with another man, but by the end of the first hour I got over it. I never gave it another thought.  One advantage from my years of dancing with Glen is that I became completely de-sensitized to dancing with men. 

My students ask me from time to time how I feel about dancing with men in class. They are surprised to find I don't enjoy it much for two reasons. First I don't enjoy getting knocked off balance or forced to dance off the beat.  However my main concern is the obvious discomfort it creates for my male partners.  Although I may be used to dancing with men, my male students clearly aren't.

I don't enjoy putting these men ill at ease, but I will do it anyway if there are too many men in the class.  I always laugh at their surprise. The first thing they say, "Gosh, you're easier to dance with than the girls are!"  What they discover is that even though I weight 200 pounds, I weigh less to dance with than a 110 pound woman who is off balance. They don't have to move me; I move myself. 

I soon noticed a huge benefit of dancing with Glen alone - I learned to lead phenomenally well.  If I made a mistake, Glen would immediately show me what I had done wrong.  When you watch students dance, you often have to guess what went wrong.  But by dancing with Glen he could tell me exactly what I needed to do to correct the problem.

Although there were many benefits to learning to dance with the finest male dancer in all of Houston, there was one very peculiar disadvantage - I became the most feared man in Houston on the Whip dance floor. 

Today I am considered a gentleman on the dance floor as well as a "gentle" man.  That was certainly not true when I first started.  As always, I had to learn things the hard way.  For a while there, women would run in terror whenever they thought I was coming to ask them to dance.

I had originally learned the Whip back in 1977, but had abandoned this dance for the Latin Hustle when Disco came along.  It was now 1982.   Disco was dead and I had mastered Western, so I needed a new hill to climb. I asked Glen to help me pick back up where I had left off with the Whip.  

For about a year Glen was the only person I ever danced the Whip with.  Country-Western was big at the time and I still preferred to dance the Hustle if by chance a disco song was played.  But Lance Stevens had made a big deal about the Whip and I was still curious to learn more.  During my private lessons, month after month I practiced my Whip dancing in secret with Glen. 

This had two consequences. 

First, my leads became very strong.  Let's face it, Glen was a phenomenal dancer and very light on his feet, but he still weighed 180 pounds.  I had to learn how to use my strength to move him.  He taught me how to put my 'follow' exactly where I wanted him/her to go.  If that meant using my shoulders to make it happen, well, then that's what I did.  I was taught to be firm. Second, I learned to help when needed.  Glen was a gifted turner.  If a song was fast, he just turned a little faster and kept up with the beat.  No song was too fast for him.  Once in a while he encouraged me to use a little more speed in my lead to help him stay on the beat.  Throw more wood on the fire!  I learned that no matter how much power I used, he could handle it.  Glen was faster than a speeding bullet when he turned.

One day in 1983 I decided I was ready to dance the Whip in the Real World with Real Women.  Back in those days I was reluctant to learn how to dance the traditional way, i.e. by getting out on the floor and making mistakes. My self-esteem with women was so poor I couldn't bear to screw up leads and patterns for fear my partner would laugh at me. 

It was my dream to learn my lessons in private, then suddenly appear on the scene already wonderful.  This strange attitude explained why I appeared on the Houston Whip scene out of nowhere.  Everyone asked me how I had learned to dance the Whip so fast.  Most good Whip dancers take years to develop.  I lied and said I was a fast learner.  How pathetic.  Why not just tell the truth?  In reality I had been dancing Whip with Glen completely out of sight for a year.

This meant in a sense I was a "Whip Bubble Boy".  I only knew how to dance with one person!!  And not just any person either - at the time Glen was likely the best dancer in the city.  I had learned to dance with Apollo and now I prepared to dance among the mortals.  Boy, was I in for a surprise!

The first time I got out on the floor, I nearly sent my lady partner through the roof with my leads!!  I had learned to pull and push a "woman" who weighed 180 pounds and now these 110 pound women were in for the terror ride of their lives. Yes, I admit I was a beast that first night, sort of a Hulk Learns To Dance episode. It might have been funny to watch from the sidelines, but I definitely hurt or frightened many women who danced with me with my power.  Fortunately I realized my first mistake.  As I practiced, I began to adjust my leads to the size of my partner.  It took me longer to overcome my second problem.  I was using too much power on spins, but I wasn't aware how much women disliked what I was doing.  I quickly discovered no woman I ever danced with could turn as fast as Glen did, a fact which increased his already Mythic status in my eyes.  And since Glen had encouraged me to use force to help him catch the beat, I assumed this was okay for all women as well.   Having trouble turning fast enough?  Here, let me help you turn faster!!  That's when I would pump up the volume.

I had no idea what a brute I was.  I was simply dancing the way that Glen had taught me.

No matter how fast the song, my dance partners ALWAYS ended on the beat whether they liked it or not. I had been taught this was the way it was meant to be.  My partners quickly became terrified.  Women are always complaining to me in class that men are clueless as to their strength on the dance floor.  Well, let me raise my hand.  Guilty as charged.  I was dancing like a Beast and never even realized it.

I was a big, powerful, 6 foot tall, 200 pound lean mean dance machine.  If I wanted to turn a woman faster, I could. And did. I just cranked up the juice to spin her as fast as needed.  Every woman I danced with may have finished their turns right on the beat, but what I didn't realize was their eyeballs were also spinning around in the sockets.  Ladies began to dart for the restroom when I came walking to their table.  I was really getting a complex!!

Finally one night a woman named Linda stopped in mid-song and said, "Slow Down!!"  Linda told me point-blank on the floor to ease up. I stared at her in confusion. What do you mean?  

She said I was just too powerful and that she didn't appreciate being man-handled. I was turning her faster than she wanted to turn.  It just wasn't any fun being muscled like that. 

Normally I would get defensive with this sort of tongue lashing.  But I was actually grateful.  Linda had just cleared up all the mystery!  In a flash, I understood what she was talking about and why women had been so reluctant to dance with me.

Glen wanted the muscle, but all women preferred I be gentle.  Aha.  As usual, another important lesson learned the hard way.  Did any lesson in Dance ever come easy to me?  No. 

What I learned from this experience is when to use power and when not to.  It turns out if a woman turns well, she doesn't need much power.  If a women doesn't turn well, then power makes her lose her balance.  The woman will tense up her arms and body in self-defense.  The power only makes her worse.  Therefore, power is rarely of much use on the dance floor.

The ONLY time power is justified is when the woman can turn well, but the music is so fast that she WANTS you to turn her faster (just like Glen asked me to do).  But social dancing is no place to use power.  Let her turn at her own speed and burn an extra beat.  Who cares if her turn takes a little longer as long as she feels safe.  No woman ever thanked me for muscling her on the dance floor. 

By the way, I hope any of you men reading this story will take a moment to examine your own dancing for signs of unintentional uses of power.  Wouldn't it be nice if you could bypass the kind of embarrassment I went through?
 

One day during our lessons, I noticed something unusual about dancing with Glen.  It bothered me that he never seemed to be out of breath and he never showed any sign of sweat.  Glen was always dry as a whistle. No moisture, no glistening, no dampening of his shirt.  I don't sweat much either as a rule, but his workouts were an ordeal for me.  By the end of the lesson, I would be exhausted.  Furthermore my shirt would be soaked through and through by the end of an hour.  I looked like the Sweat Monster. Finally I got up the nerve to ask Glen about the mystery of the missing perspiration.  Did he have sweat glands or not?

Glen laughed. He said the reason he didn't sweat as much as I did was due to his balance. Since his body had already mastered the secrets of every move he taught, his body moved in precise, efficient, energy-saving ways. On the other hand, because I was learning, my body was constantly wasting extra energy correcting my mistakes.  In other words, even though we were dancing the same moves, I was working a lot harder than he was.

I thought this was one of the most interesting observations Glen ever made. I thought about Glen's Sweat Theory for several weeks.  Then one night in a Western class I noticed that every guy in the room was soaking wet while I was completely dry.  Interesting.  I had been dancing just as much as the rest of them.  One of the women even pointed this out.  That was when I realized that Glen was absolutely correct.

Glen may have been brilliant, but he definitely had his sarcastic side too.  One day I was having a particularly hard time combining some tricky footwork with precise leads. I had been knocking Glen off balance all day long with this move.  Finally towards the end of our hour, he went over to put the music on.  This surprised me because typically he played the music as a reward only when I had thoroughly mastered a pattern. 

I asked Glen why the change in policy. His response was a classic. "I doubt the music can possibly make things worse."

Glen taught me a reverence for dancing on the beat. He could not tolerate any drift away from the music's cadence. If I danced off the beat, he would stop and make me start over. Or he would ask me to count the beat out loud.  It didn't take long before I developed the same attitude. If I was dancing with a student who couldn't keep the beat, it would drive me nuts.  My body had to be on the beat or it wouldn't move. I also discovered that dancing with someone who dances on the beat makes it easier to acquire a sense a sense of rhythm.  This is one huge advantage of private dance lessons over group lessons where you dance with people at your own beginner level, a sort of 'blind leading the blind' situation that prevents rapid progress.  

Glen had some interesting training methods.  One incident that comes to mind was the time I had fits learning the Compression technique in Waltz.  I have to confess I am not a natural dancer.  I learn slowly.  Nothing ever comes easily to me on the dance floor, a fact that has embarrassed me all my life.  I wish I could move gracefully without having to work at it so hard.  But if persistence is the only way I can learn, then that's what I will have to do.  Slowly but surely... that's me. In the case of the Waltz, I really struggled more than usual.  Glen had already invested two hours in previous lessons trying to teach me the intricacies of first step in Waltz.  He told me to lower my weight into my supporting leg as I simultaneously took a long reaching step with the other foot.   I wanted to transfer my weight to the foot that was moving, but the technique called for my weight to stay over the original foot.  This did not feel natural.  How are you supposed to get somewhere if you don't move your body with your step?? Exasperated, Glen went to the storage room and found a 2 by 4 board. At first I thought he was going to beat me with it. Instead he told me to get up and stand on the board.  My job was to touch the floor with one foot while remaining on the board using my weight-supporting leg. If I did it wrong, I fell off the board. This is how I finally learned how to "compress" properly.

Not satisfied that this motion was locked into my muscle memory, he put on a Waltz and told me to practice by dancing around the floor all by myself. He added with a smile I wasn't worthy yet to dance with him.  I am not sure he was kidding, by the way.

So for nearly an entire hour Glen sat and smoked cigarettes while I Waltzed by myself practicing "Compression".  I quickly developed "compression depression" over the stupidity of my ordeal. 

As I danced I thought about the scene in the Karate Kid where Ralph Macchio learns karate by practicing special painting and sanding motions.  I made a small joke to myself that maybe I was also secretly learning karate by dancing alone.

I look over in disgust.  He was talking to someone who had come in the room.  I frowned.  Half the time he wasn't even watching me.  I couldn't believe I was paying Glen $30 to sit on his butt smoking a butt for an hour. 

But you know what?  That was the day I learned how to "compress" correctly.  

So many Memories. I am eternally grateful to Glen for his masterful job of training me how to dance.

October 1977 - October 1980:  Stevens of Hollywood

TIME LINE In October 1977 I accepted a small one hour a week job teaching Disco line dances for Lance Stevens, an insignificant move at the time that would lead to stunning changes in my life soon after.  In October 1978 I met Glen Hunsucker at the Pistachio Club. In September 1979 I took a dangerous gamble that paid off, allowing me to eventually become the city's best-known Western Dance teacher. In September 1980, Glen and his business partner Bill Tucker moved their Dance Arts studio from Westbury Square over to 4803 Bissonnet, an address you might recognize as today's SSQQ location.   September 1980 was also the month I was fired from Stevens of Hollywood.  I was incredibly fortunate when Glen stepped up to offer me a spot at his new location on Bissonnet, a move that basically saved my career. By offering me this life-saving parachute, Glen's timely rescue elevated him to Hero Status in my mind.  The stories of Glen and Lance Stevens ran parallel for two years starting in October 1978 to October 1980. The only way to for me to explain the significance of Glen's help is to first explain how much trouble I was in.  Here is the story of my stay at Stevens of Hollywood.

The Stevens Years

During the entire time I had been dancing with Glen over at Dance Arts in Westbury Square I had also been working at another studio called Stevens of Hollywood.  Owned by Mr. Lance Stevens, this studio was located across the street from St. Anne's Catholic Church on Westheimer one block west of Shepherd. 

Mr. Stevens had given me my second big break when he hired me to teach Disco at his studio starting in October 1977. Saturday Night Fever released a month later. As most of you remember, this unheralded, un-hyped low-budget movie came out of nowhere to strike a nerve in the American consciousness. SNF quickly triggered a tidal wave of interest in Disco Dancing. I was basically minding my own business teaching two little Disco Line Dances per week at the time when the tidal wave came to sweep me away. Overnight Saturday Night Fever created an explosion of interest in Disco that served to hurtle me at a fever pitch into an unexpected career as a dance teacher. 

To fully appreciate the folly of my adventure you need to know that quite frankly my dance skills were about as limited as humanly possible. I was a good Disco freestyle dancer and I knew about 20 line dances. That was about the extent of my repertoire. 

I couldn't partner dance to Disco music which was a big problem since SNF had created a lot of interest in "touch dancing".  I knew nothing about Ballroom or Latin dancing.  Nor did I know any Western dancing either although it didn't matter back then since Country-Western was at most a single blip on the Houston dance radar screen. I didn't know dance acrobatics. I had no experience performing and very little experience teaching. 

I found myself in way over my head from the very start.  Overnight I had been propelled from a comfortable spot as a big duck in a very small pond to a little duck in a mighty ocean.  I had three things going for me. One, I had been learning Disco line dances for the past two years. Two, I already was in position as the Disco dance teacher when the SNF tidal wave hit at Stevens of Hollywood. Three, I was too stupid to see what I was getting myself into. 

Overnight the phone starting ringing at Stevens and students poured in out of the woodwork. Stevens would look at me and ask if I could teach another class. I would always say yes. Then he would ask me if I wanted to try an Intermediate level. I would gulp and always say yes. Teaching dance was the most fun I had ever had in my life and I intended to ride this wave as far as it would take me.

And what saved me from being exposed as a dance fraud?  Although my dance knowledge may have been limited, I was fortunate enough to at least know more than my students did.  I always tried to stay one step ahead.  Like any good surfer I knew I had to scramble to stay at the front of the wave or get drowned in the process. 

That doesn't mean it was easy. I struggled desperately for an entire year to learn how to Disco partner dance. By hanging out in clubs and watching carefully, I had been able to figure out enough on my own to develop a silly little walking dance called the "New Yorker" that was an odd cross between Merengue and Aggie Jitterbug. For the moment the New Yorker was enough to keep me barely ahead of the wave, but I remained a woefully inadequate partner dancer. 

Nor did I escape unscathed. My vast inexperience cost me dearly when I was basically ordered by Mr. Stevens to perform at the opening of a new club called The Ritz in August 1978. Trapped into performing at a level way beyond my ability, my humiliating crash and burn at the Ritz remains the single worst moment in my dance career.  Now that I think of it, this miserable moment was also the single worst moment of my life too.  I was in a lot of pain over that one.

Thank goodness Glen arrived in my life not long after the Ritz Fiasco. There is an old saying in Hindu Philosophy that the teacher will appear when the pupil is ready. I doubt the Hindus were thinking of Disco Dancing when they coined the saying, but Glen definitely made his unexpected entrance into my life at the time when he was most needed. 

The reason Glen's instruction was so important was that I had no other way to develop my dance skills. Many of my students were beginning to leave because they sensed I couldn't take them any further.  And Mr. Stevens was no help at all. Mr. Stevens hated Disco so much he never bothered to learn enough about it to help me beyond the basics.  Furthermore Mr. Stevens had no interest in training me either.  He made it clear to me right from the start he was not interested in a mentor role. He could not have cared less. Mr. Stevens kept me around because I made a lot of money for him teaching something he didn't want to fool with.

Stevens' attitude really left me hanging.  I was so insecure about my dancing, but I didn't know who to turn to!!  Here I was considering a career as a dance teacher and the only thing I knew how to do was teach a couple line dances. I knew the day would come when I would need a much better dance education that that!!

Fortunately Glen stepped in at the right time. Once I had his help, my knowledge of dance increased dramatically. I no longer had a problem staying ahead of the advances in Disco although I did have some traumatic moments when Western dancing came along 9 months later. Glen didn't know a thing about Kicker Dancing and hated it too much to learn. Fortunately I was able to learn most of what I needed to know about the Twostep and Polka on my own and Glen helped me figure out the rest. 

Glen was a marvelous ace in the hole the entire time I was at Stevens of Hollywood. Not only did he save my skin with his knowledge, he acted as a sounding board whenever I was having trouble getting along with Mr. Stevens. Unlike Stevens, Glen was quite willing to become my mentor. He counseled me in ways that transcended an ordinary teacher-student relationship, a fact that was not lost on me.  

And let me add that it was Glen's arrival into my life that gave me the final boost of confidence necessary to get up the nerve to quit my full-time day job. I knew I could count on Glen to give me the extensive training that over time would allow me to become a well-rounded, well-trained instructor.  In other words, without Glen, I would not have been willing to take the next step forward. This is one of the main reasons that I say I owe my dance career to Glen. 

Meanwhile over at Stevens of Hollywood I continued to have a lot of problems getting along with Lance Stevens.  Mr. Stevens was a grouchy guy to begin with. Thirty years my senior, Stevens and I never really clicked.  Over the years I knew him, Mr. Stevens showed me little warmth despite the fact that I made a ton of money for him.  In those days it was common to for me to teach 20 Disco classes a week with an average of 50 students. This meant I was teaching 1000 students a week at Stevens of Hollywood.  I was putting $5,000 a month into his pocket in return for a salary of $1,200.

After putting that kind of dough in his pocket, you would think he would have appreciated my help, but I can't remember one compliment the man ever gave me.  Instead Stevens often took pleasure in belittling my ability.  He loved to point out I never taught "style". And I admit he was right. You can't teach what you don't know. 

Despite my commercial success, Stevens' contempt for my limited dance skills was no secret.  Mr. Stevens let it be known I was there strictly because I helped him pay the rent. He figured once Disco was over, I would be on my way. This attitude was certainly his right.  It was the business world - Mr. Stevens was the boss, I was the employee and we left it at that.  I came, taught my classes, and left.  No hanging around at his studio. It was not a very happy place for me. 

One year into the Disco era of my life I was at a crossroad.  Despite my problems with Mr. Stevens and with my self-esteem, I was still having a lot more fun teaching dance than I was investigating child abuse.

However, a full year of working two jobs day and night had taken its toll. I was now making almost as much money teaching dance as I did as a social worker. Finally I worked up my courage and decided to try to make a living strictly as a dance teacher. I resigned from my day time social work job at the end of December 1978.  

It was a huge gamble for me at the time because leaving my day job created a huge hole in my finances. I knew I had to quickly find ways to supplement my income. 

Bill Gates credits a clever deal he made with IBM as the starting point for Microsoft.  Gates was hired by IBM to develop an operating system for a new line of personal computers they wished to market. Gates got permission to keep exclusive rights to the operating system. In simple terms, this is like Detroit making cars and having to buy a separate key for each car from Bill Gates before they can sell them.  In a nutshell, once the fledgling PC industry came on board, Bill Gates owned the key to the door of every computer manufactured.  

I was fortunate to negotiate an angle of my own that proved to be the just as important to me as MS-DOS became for Mr. Gates.  Back when I first considered leaving my day job, I asked Mr. Stevens permission to teach some group classes at his studio on my own while paying him rent for his room in return. This meant that not only would I continue to teach any class for him that he asked me to, but when I wasn't working for him, I could teach my own classes during any gaps in my schedule. Simply put, I would work for Mr. Stevens first and for myself second.

I am not sure Mr. Stevens gave this any serious thought.  Since he only asked one question and it took him about 10 seconds after that to give me permission, he couldn't have analyzed it too deeply.  On the surface, the rent for my new classes meant more money for Mr. Stevens' pocket.  Mr. Stevens asked where my students would come from.  I said I would find my own students through my Class Factory listings (a Leisure Learning predecessor). This eased his understandable concern that I wasn't planning on stealing his own students to take my classes. 

At the time Mr. Stevens had a lot of under-utilized space.  Furthermore he had another instructor named Alicia Lopez who frequently did the same thing. Teaching little classes here and there with six or seven people in them, Alicia was able to pick up some much-needed extra income to make ends meet.  I am sure Mr. Stevens assumed my suggestion would take the same path. Therefore, on the surface, this deal was a no-brainer.  Mr. Stevens gave it no more than a passing thought before he granted me his permission. 

However I don't think either of us thought through the long-term consequences of his decision. Or maybe he thought them through, but simply underestimated me. Do you blame him?  I barely knew what I doing half the time. I might fool my students, but I didn't fool him.

But what Mr. Stevens didn't know was how hungry I was to succeed.  I had been thrown out of graduate school in 1974. I had wasted four years of my life in a no-results, dead-end, hopeless job as a social worker. I considered myself a failure up to this point in my life.   But now I had discovered I had a gift for teaching.  I wasn't a great dancer, but I was a great teacher.  It felt like teaching dance was something I was born to do.  I was enthusiastic, I was funny, and I expressed myself well.  I had the ability to motivate people to practice.  My students actually improved before my very eyes.  Plus they knew I cared.  I was a popular teacher.

I was also smart enough to know exactly how far I could go without exposing my woeful lack of knowledge about dance.  Each new step I took was carefully calculated like a move on a chess board.  Every time I acquired enough new patterns, I planned another level of classes. Without any help from Mr. Stevens, I was constantly adding Intermediate this and Advanced that. When line dances began to fade, I taught free style instead. When students had learned everything there was to know about freestyle, I added partner dancing.  When they started to tap out my limited knowledge of partner dancing, then I taught them dance acrobatics.  I stayed one step ahead of the posse.

One reason the posse never caught me was my aggressive pursuit of knowledge.  I was young and full of energy. A regular Johnny Hustle, I was in the clubs every night scouting for new moves and new students.  Bringing my students along for company, this allowed me to turn my current students into my friends.  Then they made friends with other students.  This marked the all-important formation of a social program.  Dance classes became a way to hang out with friends. 

Plus I offered as many classes through the Class Factory as I could think of.  Teaching all of these Beginner classes at Stevens of Hollywood, when each class finished, I would offer an Intermediate level, then an Advanced level and so on.  At first, Mr. Stevens thoroughly enjoyed seeing his previously empty rooms now being productive.  He was making more money than he ever had in his life. 

I noticed there were still rooms empty, so I hired Cindy to teach some classes too. Now I was an employer, self-employed, plus an employee at the same time.  How weird was that?   As Stevens assumed, things were very modest at the start with six or seven people per class as he expected.

But I was pushing my program 24/7 and constantly looking for new sources of students.  My search led to an enormous break.

My biggest break of all came in June of 1980.  A lady named Linda Schuler gave me permission to teach Western dance classes for her singles organization TGIS (Thank God It's Sunday).  TGIS  was Houston's leading singles group at the time, so quite a few people assumed the name really stood for Thank God I'm Single.   This group met every Sunday morning at Memorial Drive Presbyterian Church. 

Urban Cowboy had not been released yet, but it was just around  the corner.  We all knew it was coming since the movie had been filmed here in Houston and Pasadena a year earlier.  A lot of people were asking me about Western lessons.  

Thanks to a desperate gamble back in September 1979, I was practically the only person teaching Western dance (although I didn't know it at the time).  But I didn't have any students.  That was about to change.

One Sunday I wandered over to TGIS for the first time because one of my Disco students hinted my dance classes would be just what this group needed.  I gasped when I saw how many people there were.  200...300...400... Who knows how many?  People stretched as far the eye could see.  TGIS claimed to have several thousand members.  You wouldn't get any argument from me. This group was definitely a dance teacher's land of milk and honey.  I felt like an Indian who had just located a huge herd of buffalo.  Or perhaps a prospector finding a mother lode of gold.   I had found a potential gold mine here. However there was something that baffled me.  I couldn't figure out why TGIS didn't already have a Western instructor.  Urban Cowboy had been creating a lot of interest in Western dancing in Houston for over a year now.  A year is a long time.   I asked this exact question and found out there had indeed been classes fairly recently, but the instructor had been so bad the classes fell apart. This did not sound very encouraging, but I wasn't going to give up that easily.  I asked who was in charge.  A woman named Linda Schuler was pointed out to me.  She was the acting president.  I approached her after the morning sermon was over.  I explained who I was and what I wanted to do.  Ms Schuler just looked at me for a moment.  Then she asked where I would hold the lessons and how much I would charge.  She must have liked my idea.  Ms Schuler said okay right on the spot.

I was incredulous.  Ms. Schuler did not know me from Adam. She didn't even know someone who knew me.  She didn't know if I could teach or not.  Maybe I was con artist.  I was a total stranger.  Maybe I was a crook.  No bidding necessary.  No resume needed.  No one needed to vouch for me.  No committee to propose the idea to.  No questions.  No time needed to think it over or sleep on it.  

After Linda Schuler made her snap decision, she added it sounded like fun.  She told me to create a flyer and bring it to her the following week.  She would sign it and give me permission to hand out my flyers on the premises.  Then she turned to talk to someone else who wanted a moment of her time.  And that was that.  I was knew something incredible had just happened.  I was in the right place at the right time. 

Starting the following week each Sunday morning for the next month I was at TGIS pushing my upcoming class. I promoted my class as hard as anything I ever did in my life. I put a flyer in the hand of every person willing to receive it. I answered questions patiently. I drew maps for people. I answered phone calls. As they say, I did whatever it took.  

One month later it was June 1980.  It was time for the first night of class. I had no idea how many people would show up. I was gratified to see 10 people walk in fairly early. This was a good start. Remember I was used to classes of 6 or 7 students so this indicated an immediate improvement. Then 10 more showed up. And 10 more. And 10 more.  People kept streaming in as my eyes bulged with astonishment. I ended up with 120 students!!   And every one of them were Mine, All Mine!!  At $25 a student, I was looking at a payday of $3,000. My rent was $20 an hour.  Even after I subtracted out my rent payment of $200 for a 10-week class, this left quite a chunk of money in my pocket. 

Now factor in the multiplier effect - this class went on to an Intermediate, Advanced, and Super-Advanced level. Plus referrals from the first class led to another bonanza one month later.  The eventual benefits from working with TGIS helped me create easily the largest Country-Western dance program in the city. And this reputation only helped to bring me more success.

What an incredible stroke of fortune.  I will always owe Ms. Schuler a huge debt of thanks for her trust in me.  Someday I hope she gives me the chance to repay her in some way.  This kind woman gave me the chance of a lifetime.

Once the TGIS Era began, Mr. Stevens was fit to be tied.  It was one thing for me to rent the place for six or seven people, but he had not banked on sixty or seventy... or a hundred for that mater.  My classes were enormous.  Any time Mr. Stevens walked near me, I could feel him seething with resentment and hostility towards me.

It doesn't take a lot of math skill to see what a good deal my arrangement with Mr. Stevens had turned out to be for me. Maybe "good deal" is an understatement.  Let's call it an unbelievable deal.  Based on our arrangement, every one of these students were considered mine.  All I had to do was pay him rent.

After one year using this arrangement, I now taught more classes and had more students than Mr. Stevens did.  This did not mean I was a better teacher.  Hardly.  It just meant that while he taught Cha Cha, I taught Disco.  While he taught Foxtrot, I taught Western. I had the benefit of teaching the more popular curriculum.  I was also hustling a lot harder than he was.  Mr. Stevens had already made his mark and wasn't that far from retirement.  He wasn't that interested in hitting the clubs and the singles groups for business.  Do you blame him?  Of course not.

But my sun was rising.  I had something to prove.  I intended to make a career out of this!

Mr. Stevens was disgusted.  Here was this pathetic young kid half his age who had to be worst dancer for a dance instructor he had ever seen.  I didn't have one-tenth his knowledge about dance.  Yet this miserable excuse for a dance instructor had made the biggest score imaginable while he, the master teacher and winner of many professional awards, plugged along with much smaller classes.  There were Western students all over the place.  Where was the justice?  It had to rankle him when my monthly rent check to him was larger than his payroll check to me.  After all, I was supposed to be working for him, right?

I don't blame Mr. Stevens one bit for being unhappy with this situation. If the tables were turned on me, I would be miserable. Here Mr. Stevens had been teaching for 30 years only to be forced to co-exist with some mediocre talent kid who ran a program bigger than his own.  Whenever he was grouchy... which was most of the time... and he was chewing me out for something, his pet phrase was "The name on the door doesn't say Rick of Hollywood."  He made his point loud and clear.

I knew I was crowding him, but I didn't feel guilty. I was hustling as hard as I could to expand my end of the business using permission he had given me.  This was my golden opportunity and I wasn't going to fumble it away.   I was sensitive to the problem.  I understood his resentment at how badly the agreement had backfired. I wished there was a way to even the score and find a way to work together, but Mr. Stevens was never an easy person to approach.  He was far too gruff to sit down and iron things out with.  Nevertheless, I tried several times to clear the air.  It never worked. No matter how much I bent over backwards to appease Mr. Stevens - offering to pay more rent, working more hours for him - there was nothing I could do to make such an awkward situation palatable to him. The damage to his ego was too great. I knew I was living on borrowed time.  Cliann, Stevens' wife, hated me.  Alicia Lopez, another instructor, hated me.  Stevens himself hated me.  I did not have one ally in the entire building other than the cash I put in his pocket. Mr. Stevens' pocketbook wasn't hurting, that's for sure.  Stevens of Hollywood experienced its greatest era of affluence during this time.  I may have hurt his feelings, but never his bottom line.  How long would the money be enough to keep me here? If I had a brain, I would have been looking for space of my own. However,  like an idiot I clung to this shaky situation despite warning signs of danger everywhere I turned.

Finally, in early September 1980, an incident occurred that proved to be the straw that broke the camel's back.  This was the point of no return. I was on the main dance floor teaching yet another massive TGIS class. One class had led to another.  Thanks to word of mouth, this particular group was the third incarnation of the original mega class back in June.  Without warning, Lance Stevens simply walked on the floor along with his ex-wife Cliann and interrupted me right in the middle of class. He told the students that he was the owner of the studio, that the place was named for him, that he was the "King of Whip" and that he would be starting a Whip class next week.  Now he was going to perform. Incredulous at being shoved aside in my own class, quite frankly this was the same mean arrogance that had characterized much of our relationship.

As I stood aside fuming at the discourtesy, Mr. Stevens put on a recording of "Brick House".  He then proceeded to dance a three minute Whip exhibition with Cliann Stevens.  Lance and Cliann put on an awesome show although it might have helped if they smiled.  Mr. Stevens had been one of the leading Whip dancers in Houston for a long time.  Furthermore Cliann with her awesome figure and mouth-watering hip motion was always a sight to behold.

My students clapped enthusiastically.  I completely understood. I had long admired Mr. Stevens for his Whip dancing ever since he had been my first Whip teacher two years earlier.  These guys could really dance.

But that didn't keep me from being furious that he had decided to interrupt my class without asking.  Attendance in Stevens' Whip classes had been dwindling steadily for some time.   He needed a fresh supply of students.  I suppose he figured that since it was his studio, he could do whatever he damn well pleased. 

There is a right way and a wrong way.  The right way would have been to ask permission.  I would have been more than happy to cooperate.  I would have introduced him and his wife, put in a plug for Whip dancing, yielded the floor, offer to put on the music for him, then clap the loudest before and after the performance.  But Stevens had chosen the wrong way.

I wish I had better control of my temper.  After class, I made the stupid mistake of letting my anger get the best of me.  I confronted Mr. Stevens about his unprofessional interruption of my class.  I told Stevens I would have been happy to help him if he had simply asked me ahead of time. I told him I would have introduced him myself, explained why he was there and helped promote his class. I added that with my blessings the students would likely have been more receptive as well. 

Of course doing things the right way would have made a huge difference.  I was definitely right.  Dead right.

Standing up to authority isn't always the smartest thing to do.  As you may have already gathered, sometimes my mouth has a death wish. Back in 1973-74, I had gotten myself thrown out of Graduate School with behavior similar to this.  You would think I had learned my lesson.  However, faced with this man's inexplicable rudeness, I obviously had still not learned my lesson. 

Mr. Stevens lost his temper.  He said something along the lines of "No one talks to him like that in his Studio and Maybe it was About Time for Me to Hit the Road, Jack."  He gave me two weeks.

The next day I tried as hard as I could to grovel my way back into his good graces.  I brought him a bottle of expensive wine and told him how wrong I had been to say the things I said.

That cleared the air a little.  He wasn't quite as mad at me any more.  But he did look me in the eye and say it was time to go.  He said it in a way that I completely understood.  This isn't working; this place isn't big enough for the two of us.  One of us has to go. 

Now the clock was ticking. 

The following week I did have a moment of dark pleasure when the infamous Whip class started.  Overall Stevens had maybe 10 students, far below his expectations.  In the old days he would have 30, 40 students.  It didn't help that no one was interested in Whip at the moment.   No surprise there; Country-Western was the order of the day.   I noticed only one couple from my TGIS class showed up in his class.  Mr. Stevens' nasty Whip performance hadn't done him a bit of good.  Hmm.  Served him right.  

After that class ended, Mr. Stevens was in a foul mood indeed.   Not only was interest in his favorite dance dwindling, but the poor attendance and the obvious lack of talent meant he was committed to teach a very mediocre class for the next two months.  No one wants to be obligated to teach a class with little energy.  As he walked by me, maybe I should have wiped that smug look off my face.  Mr. Stevens scowled at me and grumbled it looked like the curse I had put on his class had worked.  He reminded me I had two weeks. I was scared out of my wits.  I was angry at myself because my own mouth had created this dilemma.  I had several hundred students, but I had absolutely no idea how to run a studio on my own.  I had teaching been at Stevens of Hollywood for three years but never had to worry about the details.  The cost of renting space, putting up mirrors and putting down floors was intimidating enough.  My head was spinning thinking about all the things I would need to do.  Insurance, light bills, air-conditioning, telephone, music equipment, etc, et al, ad infinitum, ad nauseum, ad disgustum!  Nor would two weeks even remotely be enough time to make a smooth transition to some new place.  The pressure was unbearable!  What made me even angrier with myself was there had been plenty of warning.  I knew this was coming sooner or later.  I should have prepared a backup plan and gotten out of Europe before the Nazis took over! In my defense I was still a rookie in this business. Everything took me by surprise in those days.   I was in a lot of trouble.  Where was I going to go?

During my private lesson the next day I mentioned my problem to Glen. He thought about it for a while and said he had an idea.  Maybe I could move over to his place. 

I tried not to appear too anxious, but I was ready to explode with joy.  My savior!  What a break!  This was one of the happiest moments of my life.

That afternoon I got a call from Bill Tucker, Glen's business partner. Bill invited me to move over to Dance Arts and sublease their two backrooms.  How long do you think it took me to accept?  

So in October 1980 I moved my program from Stevens of Hollywood over to Dance Arts Unlimited.  My program didn't skip a beat.  My Stevens of Hollywood students loved the place!  They had the same amount of room, but best of all the tension was gone.  As one Leisure Learning class and one TGIS class after another rolled in, I adapted quickly to my new location.  

There was no loss of momentum.  I hit the ground running.  My program began to resemble an avalanche.  The next four years became the happiest times of my career.   The headaches were small and the profits were big. The rent was fair and my responsibilities were limited.  I didn't have to pay light bills, liability insurance, worry about the fire marshal, the roofing people, the air conditioners, cleaning the studio, the broken floor tiles, the broken toilets, the broken mirrors, payroll taxes, corporate taxes, etc.  Personnel problems were non-existent.  My staff was usually one or two women who worked part-time.  What a dream life!! All I had to do was show up and teach, then go out dancing afterwards, chase girls and have fun.   This is not to say I don't enjoy the modern era of the studio, but things were definitely less stressful in those days. It really helped that my relationship with Glen was terrific. Although we both taught dance, I was so relieved to find that his interests and my interests did not compete. I definitely didn't want a repeat of the tense situation at Stevens. As I had anticipated, our worlds were totally different.  Glen's main interest was teaching Jazz and building his dance company.  I taught mostly Western dancing.  This arrangement worked like a charm.

Not once did we ever compete for the same students.  Neither of us was a threat to the other.  We both wished each other complete success under the same roof. We were able to be supportive of each other.  Gone was all that stress.  I was free to develop.  And develop I did!!  Under Glen's protective umbrella, my program grew by leaps and bounds during these years.  I was happy.  My students were happy. Utilizing Glen's training and his sponsorship,  my program developed into a two-ton monster.  And I owed this phase of my success to Glen.   What a shame a snake would come along to force us out of this Eden.

About Glen

I am not sure exactly why, but Glen and I were never buddies.  Glen grew very close to the famous Whip dancer Mario Robau, another protégé of his.  It is my understanding they went out drinking and hitting the bars together. 

Despite my daily proximity I was never close to Glen.  We never went drinking or hung out together.  Nor did our paths ever cross in a night club.  His dance spots and mine were totally different.  I would go to see his company perform on many occasions, but I was never allowed into his inner circle.

Glen and I were friendly, but we were not 'friends'.  Despite our many hours alone together during lessons, he never confided in me about his career or his personal life.  I often wished I could get to know Glen better because frankly I had a bad case of hero worship, but he always kept a wall between us.   As long as I knew Glen, he made sure our relationship was student/mentor or renter/landlord.  Whatever I learned about Glen came from observation and from what people told me about him.   His personal life and business dealings stayed hidden from me.  Since I respected Glen, I never pried.  Too bad.  Maybe I should have!  As you will see, my ignorance cost me dearly further down the road. 

Glen grew up in Pasadena.  He graduated from either Pasadena High School or perhaps Dobie.  I believe he went to college at the University of Houston.  I know for sure that Glen entered a Fred Astaire Ballroom training program as one of his first steps in his dance teaching career.  One mystery I wish I knew the answer to was where he received his extensive jazz training.

At some point Glen met Bill Tucker.  Bill was at least twenty years older than Glen. They were mismatched by age and by beauty - Glen was an extremely handsome man with a muscular sculpted dancer's body - but somehow they connected.  Bill became Glen's business partner as well.  It was Bill's money and business background that set Glen up at the Westbury Square location.  When I came along in 1978, I was told that Bill and Glen were very much an item, but in all the years at Dance Arts I never saw any indication that they were anything but business partners. 

Bill Tucker may have been gruff, blunt, profane and sarcastic, but he always treated me fairly.  Although I was very intimidated by him, he really didn't push me around.  He seemed like a tough guy and someone I never wanted to cross, but I can't remember one time that Bill and I ever got into an argument.  Bill and I always got along well.

Although Bill stayed out of sight most of the time, I could tell he was running the business end. This freed Glen up for what he did best - teaching and choreography. 

Oddly enough, I don't even know when or why Bill Tucker left Dance Arts.  That's a pretty solid indication of just how much I was kept out of the loop.  Not only did Glen play things close to the vest where I was concerned, so did the people who worked for him.  Bill was replaced by two tough women, Hjortis and Karen Pons.  These women were just as secretive as Glen was.

I was always treated like an outsider.  But you know what, for the most part this was okay with me.  My attitude was if it wasn't any of my business, then it wasn't any of my business.  I had my own business to run.

Glen's star performer Connie Beth

Glen's passion was his dance company, the Glen Hunsucker Dancers.  Glen ran an extremely successful jazz dance program.  He had many talented young women and several young men as well who took his classes on a regular basis.  At the time I first met Glen in 1978, Glen had just attained a major rung in his climb to stardom.  Earlier in the Seventies, the leading jazz instructor in Houston had been Patsy Swayze, mother of Patrick Swayze... yes, the Patrick Swayze of Dirty Dancing fame.  By chance, I had taken jazz lessons from Patsy in the mid Seventies and knew her very well.  We would go get some coffee. I would listen as Patsy told me about her talented son.  Patrick was appearing in Grease on Broadway during this period.  As Patrick hit it big in Hollywood, Patsy began to lose interest in her own dance studio, the Houston Jazz Ballet Studio. Patsy got involved in Urban Cowboy, then moved to Hollywood herself.  At this point, Patsy passed her mantle onto Glen. Glen Hunsucker was now the biggest name in town when it came to the performing arts.  Many of Glen's jazz, tap, and ballet students were graduates of HSPVA, High School for the Performing and Visual Arts.  Dance Arts became the next step on the road for all the gifted dancers being turned out by HSPVA's talented dance director Mary Martha Lappe.

These young people were trying to make a career out of dance and Glen's studio was the place to be in those days.  Not only was Glen a magnificent dancer whose performing ability was admired by everyone, he was an excellent, highly respected teacher as well. 

One of Glen's strengths as a teacher was his ability to constantly criticize his dancers without alienating them. These dancers wanted to be pushed hard and that's one thing he gave them.  Glen cracked the Whip and watched with satisfaction as their skills improved under his tutelage. 

Many of the young men and women in Glen's regular jazz classes auditioned to become members of his dance company.  Watching these dancers in action resembled scenes from the movie Fame.  What a talented group of dancers they were!