SUBCHAPTER 001 - INTRODUCTION

SUBCHAPTER 002 - DEATH OF A MARRIAGE

Christmas Eve, 2000.  Sunday evening.

No good deed goes unpunished, right?  A problem which originated from a good deed was the straw that ended my second marriage.

At 5 pm on Christmas Eve the phone rang.  Judy answered the phone and frowned.  Someone from the Quaker Meeting was calling to say the door to our dance studio had been left unlocked.  Judy hung up and looked at me.  The door needed to be locked. 

I was raised a Quaker.  One day in the mid-Nineties, my mother explained the Quaker Meeting was having trouble financing a new meeting house.  Ever since my parents moved to Houston in 1955, the Quaker Meeting was a collection of nomads who wandered from location to location.  Forty years had passed and the Quakers still had no place to call their own.  Recently the Quaker Meeting had located an affordable property in the Heights area of town.  However, as usual, they were badly strapped for cash.  The dream of owning their new Meeting House seemed just beyond their reach.

The kindness of people I met through the Quaker Meeting had rescued me from a very rough childhood on several occasions.  I recognized this was my chance to return the favor.  I told my mother my dance studio remained empty on Sundays until 4:30 pm.  Why not let the Quaker Meeting use my studio for free and stop paying rent at their current location? 

The Meeting accepted my offer in a flash.  By the time the Millennium rolled around, SSQQ Dance Studio had doubled as the Quaker Meeting House for several years while their new home was being built.  As it turned out, the Quakers loved the studio.  Quaker service involves quiet meditation.  They believe if one can silence their mind, they open themselves up for God's inspiration.  For that reason, the privacy and absolute silence of my dance studio was perfect for their needs. 

Although I had a real soft spot for my Quaker friends, I did not attend Sunday Meeting.  The demands of running the studio were so great that Sundays were indispensable as my only chance to get some rest.  The last thing I wanted to do was be back at the dance studio on my day off.  Knowing these people were trustworthy, I gave them a key.  This allowed me to stay home while the Meeting used the studio on Sunday morning.  Ordinarily the Quakers were gone by 1 pm, but I did not mind if they stayed longer.  In 2000 Christmas Eve and Sunday coincided.  This fortuitous pairing allowed the Quaker Meeting to spend practically the whole day at SSQQ.  There was a business meeting at 10 am and then the group held their traditional Christmas Eve candlelight service at 11 am.  Next up was a sumptuous Potluck dinner with an extended social gathering to follow.  Good tidings of comfort and joy to all!

Here on Christmas Eve, everyone was excited because their new home would soon be ready.  Naturally they stuck around longer than usual to enjoy the warmth of the moment and expectations of the future.  To be honest, I don't even know who forgot to lock the door.  What I do know is this mistake initiated a chain of events that would lead to the 'Gypsy Prophecy', one of the three most remarkable coincidences of my life.  Some say Coincidence is God's way of staying anonymous.  As my story unfolds, I will let you be the judge.

So what went wrong?  The person with the key had absent-mindedly left the premises without locking the door.  Two people who had stuck around for an extended chat made the discovery.  Uh oh.  That is what the phone call was about.  When Judy hung up the phone, she turned to me with a frown.  She said I needed to go to the studio and lock the door.

I was very irritated.  This mistake would cost me an hour on a day when I did not wish to be anywhere near the studio.  I would have to spend half an hour driving to the studio, then another half hour returning home.  I immediately began griping over the inconvenience. 

Yes, I was grouchy, but not at Judy.  This wasn't her fault.  Since the Quakers were my responsibility, it was my job to go.  However, without warning Judy abruptly walked out the door.  Shocked, I stared at my 9-year old daughter Sam who in turn stared back at me.  We were both taken aback.  After several moments of silence, Sam asked, "What is Mom so upset about?"

I shook my head.  I was just as confused as Sam.  Our words had not been heated.  I was irritated, but like I said, I wasn't angry at Judy.  Nor did I tell Judy that I expected her to drive to the studio.  My instinct said Judy's mood was much darker than the moment called for.  I was right.

One hour later, Judy returned.  She got right to the point. 

"I want a divorce."

My first marriage was short-lived, a year and a cup of coffee.  Pat was an interesting woman.  I could write a book or I could write a paragraph.  I think I will settle for the paragraph.  On paper, my first marriage was perfect.  Pat had a lot going for her.  Very attractive, very talented.  However, Pat liked to argue.  In my opinion there was nothing to argue about.  We had money, we had health, we had jobs, we had security.  We didn't drink, smoke, gamble or cheat.  So what was there to argue about?  Well, Jealousy for one.  Which was unnecessary because I only had eyes for my lovely wife.  However Pat didn't trust me.  In her mind, thanks to the countless women at the dance studio who flirted with me, it was just a matter of time.  Infuriated by the needless bickering over Pat's fear that I would stray, the tension became insurmountable.  Pat knew it was hopeless too.  One night I came home and Pat was gone. 

It was a shame this marriage failed.  Due to an incident in my past, I was strongly opposed to cheating.  My father had an affair with the office secretary when I was eight.  Desperate to marry the woman, he insisted on a divorce.  Mom said no.  The ensuing year of arguments drove me crazy.  I was so upset that my performance in the 4th Grade was abysmal.  My father was really angry at me.  Since he was a genius, how was it possible to have such a stupid son?  They took me to a psychiatrist to have me tested.  The psychiatrist suggested a very unusual solution... put the kid in a private school where he will be challenged.  My father flipped out.  No way he was going to spend that kind of money!  Besides, if I could barely pass 4th Grade in public school, I was sure to flunk out at St. John's, the toughest school in the city.  Forget it.

After arguing with my father for a year, my mother finally gave in.  If my father would pay the expensive St. John's tuition for three years, he could have his divorce.  He immediately forgot I existed.  I only saw the man four hours a year for the next nine years.  I had lost a father in return for a good education.  In a way, I lost my mother too.  She became a nervous wreck who couldn't hold a job.  At age 9 I was forced to begin raising myself.  I didn't do very well. 

Here is my point.  My father's affair turned me into an emotional cripple.  Still bitter about the affair that ruined my childhood, I swore I would never do something like that to Pat.  But she wouldn't listen, choosing instead to nag constantly.  I appeased her at first, but then I grew a backbone.  It is one thing to make a mistake and be punished, but I refused to tolerate these ceaseless tongue-lashings for something I didn't even do.  Since neither of us was willing to bend, the only solution was to give up and move on.

Five years later, I married Judy.  During our ten year relationship, we raised our precocious daughter Sam and built SSQQ into a behemoth.  Judy played a huge role in the studio's phenomenal growth.  Thanks to her work with the Swing, Salsa and Ballroom programs, SSQQ was teeming.  1,400 students streamed through our doors every week.  This amazing total is why I believe we had become the largest independent dance studio in the country. 

I was proud of Judy.  She had personally built the SSQQ Swing program into something special.  We had been recognized two years in a row as the finest Swing program in Houston.  One would think with this kind of success, we would be happy.  Unfortunately, there was a fatal rift in our marriage that never healed.  The problem started in 1998 when I fired a talented Swing instructor named Carnell.  I discovered he was teaching at a competing dance studio behind our back.  Even worse, Carnell had the nerve to openly persuade SSQQ students to come check out his class at the other studio.  Carnell knew full well I had a rule against teaching for other studios.  I had never encountered a more serious case of disloyalty.

Carnell created a major scandal by accusing us of discrimination.  Making his claims in a very public way, I was incensed.  He knew quite well the reason I dismissed him was treachery, not race.  This had nothing to do with skin color.  I would later fire a white country-western instructor for the same reason.  With vicious rumors flying throughout the Swing Community, something had to be done to restore our reputation.  Since none of the students at SSQQ knew the true story, I decided to write an article to explain the situation.  To my dismay, Judy said no.  Do not say a word!  Judy was extremely upset by the meanness emanating from the scandal and feared the added publicity would make things worse.  I hate to say it, but Judy was right.  It would definitely get worse before it got better.  However, we had to fight back!  To say nothing would allow this lie to remain unchallenged. 

While Judy and I argued over which direction to take, Sam was hiding in her room and crying.  When I realized how upset Sam was, I was mortified.  Oh my God, I was subjecting Sam to the same horror my parents had inflicted on me.  There were many nights I fell asleep crying out of fear and insecurity.  Still haunted by those memories, I had vowed never to put Sam through this kind of nightmare.  So much for good intentions.  Ashamed of myself, I gave in to Judy's wish and restored a semblance of peace.  What choice did I have?  Judy had created the Swing program, so I felt she deserved the final say.  But that doesn't mean I agreed with her.  Judy and I were now a house divided.  Making matters worse, the fall-out from the scandal spread like poison.  Over the next two years, we lost half our Swing students to the competing program.  Although Judy's new Salsa program more than covered the loss, I was unable to forgive. 

Judy was a good person, a good mother and a good business partner.  Despite our bone of contention, Judy deserved much credit for the studio's success.  She had worked so hard to build the studio, how could I not feel gratitude?  However, try as I might, I could not accept her decision to allow this traitor to damage our reputation and our studio.  During the ensuing Ice Age, we slowly drifted apart.  Neither of us were particularly happy, but the relationship was amicable.  Since I was a 'stick together for the good of the child' type, divorce was not on my mind.  However, the moment Judy asked for the divorce, I instinctively realized she was right.  This wound would never heal. 

"Okay, Judy, I will agree to the divorce if I can have joint custody of our daughter."

Judy nodded her assent.  "That seems fair."

I had wanted to be a better father to Sam than my own father had been to me, but so much for wishful thinking.  It broke my heart to know Sam would suffer the same consequences of a broken home as I had.  Overwhelmed by an all-encompassing sense of failure, I needed to be alone to lick my wounds.  So I grabbed my keys and drove to the studio for sanctuary.  As I unlocked the front door, it crossed my mind that if I had driven here at 5 pm like I should have, I would still be married.  Talk about irony! 

Tonight I would spend Christmas Eve alone in this empty building.  Not my idea of fun.  With nothing to do, I had plenty of time for reflection.  I'm not sure sitting here in the gloom was a good idea.  Christmas had been a time of many bitter moments during my childhood.  Sure enough, throughout the night the ghosts of Christmas Past dropped by to haunt me.  Gee, now I can add the memory of getting divorced on Christmas to my growing list of Holiday Horrors.

There is no way to wallpaper a divorce and disguise the ugliness.  As I sat alone in the dark, I could not recall feeling more miserable.  Not only had I failed in two marriages, I had let my daughter down.  So much for that good old Christmas Spirit. 

SUBCHAPTER 003 - SKI TRIP REVELATION

January 2001

Despite my intense depression, life must go on.  As word of my separation made its way through the grapevine, one day in early January my friend Tom Easley gave me a call.  Tom and I went all the way back to the days of the Winchester Club in 1981.  Tom loved the studio so much that over the years he had made the place his second home.  Tom met his wife Margaret at the studio in 1987.  They were married the same year. 

Tom got right to the point.  "Hey, Rick, I need a favor.  I want to go skiing at Lake Tahoe with the gang, but I need a roommate on short notice.  I heard a rumor you might be available."

"What about Margaret?"

"Margaret doesn't want to go this year.  Why don't you come with me instead?"

Tom's invitation to go skiing was a real blessing.  I needed to get out of town and nurse my wounds.  How funny that Tom should come to my rescue again.  Tom had been there to save me when my marriage to Pat broke up in 1986.

Although I was the only newcomer on the ski trip, I was hardly a stranger.  In fact, I was the Founding Father.  Half the people in this group of 40 had participated in the annual ski trips I organized back in the Eighties.  After I handed off the responsibility in 1988, the ski group had continued their January ski tradition all the way to the present. 

As I looked around, I was amazed at all the familiar faces.  Virtually everyone had either met at the studio or joined the group through the invitation of someone from SSQQ.  Tom and Margaret had met at the studio.  The same could be said for Charlie and Beverly Roberts, Gary and Linda Kryzwicki, Doug and Sharon Hollingsworth, Irving and Sharon Carter.  Five SSQQ marriages on this trip!   And my divorce.  But let's not think about that.  Instead I concentrated on the good will I created back in the Eighties. 

Thanks to good times and shared adventures, over the years this tight-knit group had formed deep and lasting friendships.  Why wait for January?  They saw each other year-round at dance parties, birthday parties, and holidays.  I noted with quiet satisfaction that my days as 'Leader of the Pack' had been responsible for helping this group connect. 

The roll call didn't stop with the married couples.  Ted Jones, Margie Saibara, Dan Taft, Ken Schmetter, Michele Collins, Tom Edens, and Jim Ponder had originally met at the studio.  Sad to say, during the Nineties, I had lost touch with most of these people.  Now I was reminded how much they cared about one another.  It gave me goosebumps to observe how happy they were to reunite here in Lake Tahoe.  Grateful to be invited back into the fold, their warmth helped soothe my wounds considerably.  I could not help but notice how this trip had turned into the SSQQ version of the Big Chill. 

I dealt with a lot of strange emotions.  For starters, I realized how much I missed these people.  However, Sam had been too young to ski, so I lost had touch during the Nineties. 

Thank goodness my friends kept this tradition going without me.  Every day I skied with friends who had met through SSQQ.  It was just like old times.  The week I spent with the group was a definite shot in the arm because it restored some of my pride.  Every day I focused on the immense good will created by the dance studio over the years. 

I also got in touch with a lot of regret.  The close ties I helped create back in the Eighties were less evident at SSQQ in the Nineties.  I had no one to blame but myself.  Back when I was single during the Eighties, I had used my freedom to organize activities.  However, once I married Judy, I lost my edge and withdrew.  I preferred to spend my free time with Judy and Sam than go dancing with the gang.

I wondered if there was a way to instill this kind of spirit to the current generation at the studio.  Now that I was free again, maybe there was something I could do to bring the Magic of the Eighties into the new Millennium.

SUBCHAPTER 004 - HOW IT ALL STARTED

Rick Archer's Note:   For the Gypsy Prophecy to make better sense, it would help to know the background on how my dance career started.  Here are the six key events. 

The first event took place in 1964.  I was 13 when an overnight onset of acne turned my life into sheer hell.  The attack was caused by an infection that entered my lymph gland system.  When I awoke, my face was burning and felt swollen.  The moment I looked in the mirror, I screamed.  I had gone to bed as a reasonably attractive young man only to become a monster.  This was the single most terrible moment of my life.  Without warning, I had been transformed into a hideous leper.  After the acne led to permanent scarring, this ongoing nightmare changed the direction of my life in a very sinister way.  Appalled by my appearance, this was the start of my 20 year Epic Losing Streak around women.  I do not exaggerate.  Twenty years.

The second event took place in 1968, my Senior year at St. John's, a private school in Houston.  Due to my disfigurement, I had turned into a serious discipline problem.  Moody, sullen, hostile, no one could tell me what to do, no one could reach me.  For the past two years, I had engaged in weekly arguments with Mr. Murphy, Dean of the Upper School.  We fought over rules I didn't care for such as the length of my hair, running in the hall, late to class, out of uniform, etc.  Most of all we argued about my surly attitude and lack of respect for him.  Mr. Murphy was disgusted.  Due to my mother's inability to keep a job, I had been granted a full scholarship.  Mr. Murphy had a hard time accepting the worst kid in the school was attending for free.  Looking back, I can definitely see his point.  On the eve of graduation, Mr. Murphy pulled me aside.  Staring darts at me, he delivered the sternest lecture of my life.

"Your continued insolence is disgraceful.  You think disobeying me is amusing, but I have something to tell you.  You have brought dishonor to this school.  Your continued disregard for the rules is unforgivable.  Let me add your ongoing impertinence towards me has demonstrated a total lack of respect for my authority. 

If I had my way, you would have had your scholarship revoked long ago.  You don't deserve it.  In my opinion, you should have been sent packing years ago.  You do not belong here at this school.  Your lack of discipline makes it clear that you do not respect the gift that has been given.  You should be ashamed of yourself for your glaring absence of gratitude.

Mark my words, I predict you will one day regret you failed to learn your lesson.  You will leave here thinking you are too superior to follow the rules, but I have news for you.  Someday you will learn the hard way that you are not as clever as you think.  You will argue with the wrong person and it will cost you more dearly than you can ever imagine.  At that time, you will remember me."

Murphy's warning struck home.  I was so shaken by his venom, for the first time all year I did not talk back.  Instead I watched in subdued fear as he stomped off.  As time went by, I would think often about his dire prediction.  I referred to it as 'Murphy's Curse'.

The third event was my 1970 Magical Mystery Tour.  Due to my disfigurement, I did not date in high school.  How could I?  It took two years for the acne to go away and then came the facial scars.  It broke my heart to realize I was stuck with these scars for life.  Besides, I was a nobody at this school, the Invisible Man.  Feeling socially inferior at my rich kid's school, what was the point of asking my beautiful classmates for a date?  Unless it was Be Kind to Vermin Week, all I would do was embarrass myself further. 

Deciding it was easier to wait for college, this was start of the Epic Losing Streak.  With a fresh start, I figured I would make up for lost time.  Unfortunately, things did not go well during my Freshman year dating project.  I failed miserably.  In hindsight, what did I expect?  I was four years behind these college girls in social development.  The bitter end came when I got my heart broken in an unusually cruel way by the girl I had a major crush on.  Too afraid to go anywhere near a girl for fear of getting hurt again, I turned into a hermit for the next year and a half.  As my loneliness mounted, I slipped deep into depression.  Late in my Sophomore year, in desperation I visited the local Quaker Meeting.  These people were so kind to me, I found the spark I needed to carry on.  In addition, a mysterious door opened.  At the suggestion of a Quaker man who befriended me, I began a spiritual search that would last two years.  In particular, I was preoccupied with the concept of Fate.  After a great deal of reading and thought, the result was the development of a firm belief in God and an equally firm belief in the existence of Fate. 

The fourth key event took place in Graduate School, 1973-1974.  The Magical Mystery Tour had turned my life around for the better.  Although the Epic Losing Streak was still present, at least my attitude had improved.  I wasn't quite the angry young man anymore.  In fact, my research had led to a desire to make the world a better place.  Infused with a desire to help other people like my Quaker friend had helped me, I decided to become a therapist.  I studied hard, graduated with honors and was accepted into graduate school at Colorado State University.

And what about Murphy's Curse?  Although Mr. Murphy had predicted my downfall, I sailed through college at Johns Hopkins without the slightest disciplinary problem.  To my great relief, I had proven Murphy was wrong.  Ha ha ha.  It felt good to have the last laugh. 

In hindsight, I should not have laughed so soon.  I entered graduate school feeling pretty darn sure of myself.  I was the star of the incoming group of graduate students.  I had a full scholarship, I had the highest grades and I had graduated from the most prestigious university.  I was young, I was bold, and I intended to show my professors how smart I was.

Dr. Fujimoto took an instant dislike to me.  Head of the Clinical Psychology Department, he put a bull's eye on my back and tore me to shreds with his withering criticism.  So what was my fatal flaw?  I couldn't seem to keep my big mouth shut.  The harder I tried to defend my ideas, the more he put me down.  This was a battle I could not win, but I was too stupid to figure that out until it was too late.  Dr. Fujimoto made sure to throw me out at the first opportunity.

Murphy's Curse had finally struck.  And my Epic Losing Streak had reached Year Ten.

The fifth event was the 1974 Dance Class from Hell.  After being unceremoniously tossed from graduate school, my arrogance was a thing of the past.  I returned to Houston stripped of all confidence.  After finding a thankless job investigating child abuse, I vowed to do something about my acute loneliness.  In the past, whenever something went wrong, I gave up all hope of women till the next stage of my life.  If I can get a scholarship to college, I will begin dating then.  If I can get a scholarship to graduate school, I will begin dating then.  Well, I did date in graduate school.  However, I failed again just as badly as I had back in college.  Ordinarily I would have turned back into a hermit again, but there was no next stage to wait for.  The time to solve my legendary problems with women was now.  To be perfectly honest, I wondered if there was some sort of Curse, some sort of black cloud hanging over my head.  Shaking off my tendency towards superstition, I refused to avoid this problem like I had in the past.  Always the bookworm, for one dollar I purchased a used paperback on how to meet girls.  The first suggestion was to walk up and talk to them.  That was out of the question.  I was so afraid of women at this point, I was afraid to even approach them, much less speak up.  I wouldn't even know where to start.

The second suggestion was learn to cook.  Invite a girl over for a meal and good things were sure to happen.  This too was out of the question.  If it didn't involve peanut butter and jelly, I was out of luck.  So that left the third suggestion.  Take a dance class. 

I got goosebumps when I read this.  I had a strong instinct which insisted this was the solution to my problems.  They say that Instinct is the Voice of God.  There may be truth to that.  Considering I was already at my wit's end, I seized on this idea like someone had just thrown a life ring to a drowning man.  A modicum of dance skill might just be what I needed to overcome my Epic Losing Streak. 

Unfortunately, my first dance class was something out of Carrie, the friendless misfit who was bullied into pathos.  My problems started immediately.  Moments after I began my first dance class, I was confronted with the humiliating discovery that I was beyond mediocre as a dancer.  I was terrible, worst of the worst.  As if this wasn't bad enough, I was suddenly confronted by demons from my past. 

The seven other students in the room were well-dressed older women straight from Houston's society pages.  The River Oaks Seven oozed superiority.  They also oozed contempt.  They spent the hour glowering at my dancing in disgust.  Their merciless disdain made my maddening struggle so much more difficult. 

To understand my dilemma better, the River Oaks Seven symbolized tormentors from my past.  Back at St. John's, 50 or so mothers would congregate daily in the SJS Commons Room for afternoon tea and ambitious social climbing.  These socialites would take one look at my acne-covered face and sneer.  Since every student who attended my school was beautiful, I stuck out like a sore thumb.  My acute condition raised the question how any St. John's parent could possibly allow this disgrace to happen in the first place.  Sad to say, these women had a point.  My mother had foolishly delayed taking me to the doctor back when he could have helped. 

I could tell these socialite mothers did not think I belonged at St. John's anymore than Mr. Murphy did.  So when the River Oaks Seven began to stare at me the same way, it was High School Hell all over again.  Sick to my stomach with shame, I felt spastic and grotesque. 

Trust me, I wanted to run from that dance class just as fast as my feet would carry me.  However, just as I was about to leave, my ancient St. John's bitterness reawakened.  In order to survive the pervasive disdain at St. John's, I had developed the world's biggest chip on my shoulder.  I accepted that I was beyond inadequate socially, but academically I had few peers at St. John's.  So, yes, I did belong at St. John's.  And yes, I belonged in today's dance class no matter what these nasty snobs thought of me.  It was the return of that ancient bitterness that gave me the courage to stand up to the hostility of the seven women. 

Unfortunately, my defiance left me the moment class ended.  I had exhausted what little self-esteem I had left.  My pride was long gone thanks to Fujimoto.  On my final day, he ordered me to meet with him.  Fujimoto proceeded to explain why I had been expelled from graduate school.  During our meeting, he made it clear my tendency to argue, my narcissistic need for attention and my inability to handle criticism was at fault.  The implication was that I was too emotionally disturbed to be of any help to other people.  No doubt Mr. Murphy would have gleefully agreed with him.  I hate to say this, but I left Colorado State feeling like a complete failure as a human being.

And now the River Oaks Seven had just rubbed salt into the most sensitive wound in my psyche, my concern about my appearance.  Although I was no longer a leper, the peaks and valleys of the resulting facial scars served as a daily reminder that I wasn't particularly attractive.  This is what had bothered me the most during dance class.  To my horror, having seven beautiful women stare at my face with such merciless contempt had reanimated the trauma of my acne ordeal.  I had just spent the past hour staring at my scars in the mirror.  As Friedrich Nietzsche would say, beware of staring into the abyss; the abyss may start to stare back.  Like grinning, smirking demons, those scars taunted me with my dreaded fear of being ugly. 

As an aside to the Reader, I wasn't ugly.  In fact, I was a reasonably attractive young man.  BUT I DID NOT KNOW THAT!  What I saw in the mirror was not what other people saw.  Yes, the scars were there, but no one (but me) ever noticed them.  However, anyone familiar with human psychology will agree that perception is reality.  At this moment in my life, I believed I was so ugly that no woman could possibly fall in love with a guy whose face looked like mine.  This conviction was the root cause of the Epic Losing Streak.  So, yes, in a very real sense, I was the victim of a Curse.  I was cursed with the inability to break free of the chains of my diseased mind.

Following the Dance Class from Hell, I retreated to my car and fell to pieces right there in the parking lot.  I was just barely hanging on.  Too shaken to drive, I sat there paralyzed with despair.  This was Rock Bottom, the absolute lowest point of my life to date.  Murphy's Curse,  Fujimoto's Dismissal, the Epic Losing Streak, and now the return of my feelings of ugliness courtesy of those damn women.  Topping it off, I was baffled by my inability to master even the simplest dance step in class.  Overwhelmed with despair, I lost my temper.  Looking up in the sky, I screamed at God. 

"What in the hell is wrong with me!?  Is it really asking too much to give me a break for a change?"  

For a variety of reasons, I had thought it was God's suggestion to take this class in the first place.  I fully expected God had given me this idea as a way to solve my enduring fear of rejection.  So why would He turn around and pull the rug out from under me?  Now I was angry at God because this stupid dance idea was hopeless beyond hopeless.  How am I ever going to get a girlfriend at this rate?  One look at my scars and one look at my dancing would send any woman running in panic.  The look on the faces of the River Oaks Seven had made this perfectly clear.  Shaking my head in despair, I was more convinced than ever there really was some sort of Curse hanging over me. 

Fortunately, that is when the dam broke.  Overwhelmed with frustration, I must have cried for ten minutes, maybe longer.  I cried so hard my clothes were soaking wet by the time I finally stopped.  For a while there I sat there numbly staring out the window.  Once my composure returned, I had a very unusual thought.  During my Magical Mystery Tour, I had been obsessed with the concept of Fate.  Right now it seemed like everything that could possibly go wrong was going wrong.  It was almost like someone was deliberately stacking the deck of cards against me.  That is when it hit.  I had the strangest feeling that today's ordeal might have something to do with Fate.  My dance class experience was gruesome to say the least.  But maybe it was too gruesome.  Hmm.  Was God sending me a message? 

This is difficult to explain, but today's experience was so brutal it felt... dare I say it?... Biblical.  Today's dance class was so far beyond my realm of imagination that I became suspicious this had been some sort of spiritual test.  My next thought was even more remarkable.  I had no idea what was going on, but this class must be very important for God to put me through this kind of pain.  For a moment there I wondered if God wanted me to continue taking this dance class, but then I was filled with doubt.  Why would God want me continue after this debacle?   I had no business returning to that class.  The undeniable cruelty of those women plus my mysterious inability to perform something as simple as 'Step-Together-Step' augured poorly for any positive outcome.  And that wasn't all. 

I despised my dance teacher!  At the end of class, I stuck around to ask David to explain what I was doing wrong.  Disco Dave was more than happy to help, so my spirits were briefly elevated by finding a friend amidst the darkness.  However, when Disco Dave invited me back to his apartment for a 'private lesson', I was incredulous.  What an insult!  This guy had sized me up perfectly.  I was reeling, lonely, confused, totally out of control.  Get me alone in his home, offer me a soft drink, pop in a secret Quaalude to soften me up, and if I had one gay bone in my body I could be David's afternoon road kill.  How could things have possibly been any worse today?

I mean, think about it, this was ridiculous!  There is no way a Beginning Line Dance class should turn into an Existential Crisis.  And what were those seven socialite women doing there in the first place?  Their presence was so absurd that it actually violated my sense of Reality.  Seriously, this whole day had been non-stop Twilight Zone material.  At that moment, I shocked myself by laughing.  I know this sounds like I was losing it, but I thought it was funny to think maybe God wanted to see if He could run me off.

Hmm.  What would happen if I stuck around?  If I was willing to stick around, then maybe God had a purpose for me.  At that moment I was overcome by a sense of awe.  This time I was sure of it.  This is God's Will!  Okay, if it is that important, then I will try again.  On the spot I promised God I would continue to take dance lessons for as long as necessary to become a good dancer.  For the first time that day I began to smile.   My surprising decision made me feel so good, I felt like my Evil Spell had finally been broken.  No, I did not possess the telekinetic powers of Carrie to punish my oppressors, but I could irritate them just fine by returning to class.  After all the failure I had faced over the past year, this dance class is where I would make my stand.

Looking back, this strange, utterly bizarre decision in the parking lot was the turning point in my life.  This was my first Stepping Stone on the Comeback Trail.  However, I did not know that at the time.  All I knew was that I was playing a hunch with no guarantees.  Despite a great deal of fear, I kept my promise and returned the following week.  It wasn't easy, but I held my ground and refused to let those seven women chase me off.  That which doesn't kill you makes you stronger.  Maybe so, but my progress was glacial at best.  I never quite figured out why I could have precise footwork at basketball, but it took me forever to learn the most fundamental dance step.  What God had failed to explain was it would take a miracle to teach me how to dance.  One year later, no girlfriend and I still couldn't dance.  Two years later, no girlfriend and little improvement.  Three years later, my dancing was finally tolerable, but still no girlfriend.  Three years is a long time to do something strictly on a hunch that had never been confirmed.  I shook my head in frustration.  With the Epic Losing Streak at 13 years and no girlfriend in sight, what exactly was the point of taking these stupid dance classes?!?

I wanted to quit, but I had made a promise to God and I intended to keep it.  I am glad I did.  Something very special happened in the summer of 1977.  I had been taking lessons so long, my dance teacher Rosalyn had turned into a friend.  One day after class Rosalyn told me she wanted to take the summer off from teaching.  Would I mind taking her place?  I knew why she asked me.  Having repeated her class three times, I was the only one who could fill in on short notice.  I had my doubts, but when she begged me to do it, I shrugged and said okay.  To my surprise, totally by accident, I had just become a dance teacher.  This was my Second Stepping Stone.

I have a question for the Reader.  How many people do you know who requires three years of dance classes to become at best an average dancer?  How is it possible to take three years of dance classes in hopes of meeting a girl and still come up empty?  Wouldn't an ordinary guy say this is bullshit and try something else?  Most of all, who is retarded enough to actually believe God wants him to do this? 

On the other hand, look what just happened!  Out of nowhere, I had just been handed a humble part-time job teaching the Hustle to a group of beginners.  I had the eeriest feeling that something very unusual was going on here.  Was it possible there had been a point to all those aimless dance classes after all?  Since there was no way to know for sure, I filed the thought away for future reference and got to work.  As a dancer I wasn't much better than my students, but at least I knew Rosalyn's patterns well enough to explain a simple line dance.  This was the summer I learned the guiding principle of my dance career... Fake it till you Make it.  I didn't have to be a great dancer, I just had to know a little bit more than the people I was teaching.  That much I could do. 

My students liked me and I had fun, so I was sad when Rosalyn returned in September to reclaim her class.  To my surprise, another door opened in October.  I decided to take a non-disco Whip class at a dance studio called Stevens of Hollywood.  Since I started three weeks late, an older lady named Dorothy was assigned to dance with me.  She was impressed when I caught up, so I said I had once taught a Disco class and the steps were familiar.  Dorothy must have said something.  At the end of the class, Mr. Stevens, the owner came over and said his Disco teacher had just quit.  Do I want the job?  Sure!  As I drove home, I thought this was kind of weird.  Without any sort of interview, this man had just hired a total stranger.  He had no idea whether I was any good or not.  In fact, Stevens didn't even ask for a phone number.  All he said was show up tomorrow night. 

I soon learned why the owner could have cared less.  My new class had ten line dance students who greeted me with the same enthusiasm as a homeless man.  I wish I could report I lit a fire under these people, but such was not the case.  Each week one less student showed up.  Given their listless attitude, I would have never guessed this job was my third Stepping Stone.   When I had all of five people show up for my last line dance class in December, I was very depressed.  For some time now I had sensed that interest in Disco was fading.  Rosalyn agreed.  She had been bored for some time.  As the attendance in her classes dwindled, she lost interest and quit.  Who could blame her?  After all, neither of us were doing it for the money.  When the party's over, turn out the lights.

My fourth Stepping Stone took place in January 1978.  Not many people know this, but if Saturday Night Fever had not come along when it did, Disco would have gone the way of the dinosaurs in 1978.  Given the dreary ending to my final class in December, imagine my shock when I was mobbed the following month by 200 new students.  Practically overnight, Saturday Night Fever had created an intense surge of interest in Disco dancing. 

Not only that, for some reason, here in January I seemed to be the most popular teacher in the city.  This made little sense because I had zero reputation.  However, they say don't look a gift horse in the mouth unless it's the Trojan Horse.  I accepted my instant popularity as a sign that Stevens of Hollywood must be a lot more famous than I previously realized. 

Thanks to Saturday Night Fever, my dance career escalated like an avalanche all year long.  I was beyond thrilled.  Now convinced this is what I was meant to do all along, I wanted to teach dance for the rest of my life.  This was the moment the Magic Carpet Ride soared into the sky. 

SUBCHAPTER 005 - EPILOGUE

TWO MOUNTAINS

001