THE FIRST STEP

My idea of cooking was to make a peanut butter sandwich or heat a hot dog.  I was big on milk and cereal and milk.  Cooking was out.   This was not my strength. Nor was I interested in learning.

Reeling from my failure in Graduate School, my self-esteem was far too low to even dream of mastering the "Art of Conversation" with the Fair Sex. "Talking to women" was a deeply threatening idea at the time.

However I had actually always nurtured a secret interest in dancing.  I wouldn't mind putting my arms around a woman as long as I didn't have to think of something clever to say.  Hmm. 

I had never danced in high school. Too shy. But I watched carefully from the sidelines and WANTED to dance. I certainly envied the guys who could dance. As I said, the interest had always been there.

There was very little dancing at my college, Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore. Being a "men's school" at the time had something to do with that problem. 

And I certainly didn't dance in Graduate School.

So here I was, a grown adult man of 24 years of age, with absolutely no dance experience at all.  Now you begin to see how preposterous this story is beginning to sound.

Taking the advice of my little paperback book, one Saturday morning in July 1974 I began taking dance lessons at Dance City USA over on Richmond Avenue. (LEARNING TO DANCE) 

The initial results were not encouraging. Not only did I move with the grace of a dump truck, I got propositioned by my dance teacher to boot. I was staggered by the immensity of my challenge.

But I was too stubborn to quit.  Several times a week after work I went to dance class. After one class ended, the next month I always took the follow-up class, or repeated the one I just finished, or found a new class at another location.  Sometimes I did all three at the same time!

Due to my unfortunate need to analyze everything I was a slow learner, but my persistence was phenomenal.  For three straight years I continued my dance classes. I was determined to get better. Plus I was having fun and starting to come out of my shell.  Although I may have flunked Grad School, I had learned enough to recognize this dance stuff was pretty good self-therapy for me. (LEARNING TO DANCE)

One day in early 1977 it occurred to me I had finally reached the point where I was a fairly good dancer.  In my years since I have seen almost every one of my own students develop at a far faster clip than I did, but like the proverbial tortoise I had slowly-but-surely reached my original goals. I had finished the first rung of the ladder.

Now I began to dream of new goals.

I had always made a habit of studying how my teachers explained the material.  In fact, I studied my teachers like a hawk. All along I knew that I would absolutely love teaching my own class someday.  I hatched a simple plan.

ONE THING LEADS TO ANOTHER - THE FIRST DOOR OPENS

One night in the spring of 1977 I got up the nerve to ask Roz Lively, my dance teacher, if I could teach a new line dance to her class at the Jewish Community Center on Braeswood. She smiled and said sure.  She could have simply let me teach a line dance pattern for about ten minutes, but instead she offered to let me teach her next class for the entire night. She said she would simply watch from the background and only help if I asked for it.

So I practiced endlessly that week to prepare to TEACH MY FIRST DANCE CLASS!  I was so nervous!!   The night started well, but unfortunately 10 minutes into class someone opened the door to say there was a bomb threat.

I turned around to tell my class maybe we should leave.  I was shocked to see the room was already empty. Even as early as the 70s no one at the JCC needed to be told twice.  Fortunately there was nothing to the threat, but I suppose you could say I "bombed out" on my first try. 

It turned out my request to teach the class paid an unexpected dividend. Two months later, my teacher Roz stopped me after class and said she was going to take the summer off to travel.  Would I be interested in substitute teaching her Disco line dance course for a couple months?  By an odd coincidence, I had spent the previous week typing up a syllabus while I daydreamed about being a dance teacher.

I couldn't wait to start!  I didn't know it at the time, but my first door had just opened.

Dorothy's little whisper changed my life.

At the end of the class Mr. Stevens walked up me.  He said he had just heard I taught Disco. He added he hated Disco with a passion.  Then he asked me to show him the Worm, the hot new move of the day.  I obliged.  After several hmmmphs, he commented it was a stupid move and walked away.  I thought nothing more of it.  I was not even aware I was being interviewed. 

However, the following week Mr. Stevens came up to me again and said his Disco teacher had just quit. Would I like to take her place?  

Are you kidding?  Of course I would. I loved teaching dance!! 

This was my first "Big Break" without a doubt.

THE FOURTH DOOR OPENS - SATURDAY NIGHT FEVER

I was in the proverbial right place at the right time when Saturday Night Fever quietly opened in the theaters in November 1977.

No one could have ever predicted the impact this unheralded movie would have upon the American psyche, but it became an overnight sensation! 

At Stevens of Hollywood, the phone would not stop ringing off the hook. Everyone wanted lessons.  Since Mr. Stevens hated Disco, he would just hand each new opportunity to me and tell me to run with it.

And RUN I DID!!  In the space of just three short months I went from  teaching Disco Dancing one night a week to teaching dance every single night of the week!!

The Disco Surge hit Houston like a tidal wave. I was one busy boy!  From two one-hour classes in October, by February 1978 I was teaching 18 group classes a week (three classes, six nights a week), 20 private lessons a week, plus I went out dancing after practically every class to boot.

However I was faced with a huge problem.  I didn't really know very much about dancing when I started in October 1977.  I lived in constant fear that a student would show up who knew more about dancing than I did.  With the pace Disco was developing here in Houston, there were nights when I was learning a move at 6 pm that I was going to teach at 7... and there weren't any other patterns in the cookie jar in case I got stuck.

When Saturday Night Fever hit, all I knew how to teach were line dances. I didn't have a clue how to partner dance.  But my students insisted on learning how to Partner Dance. How was I supposed to teach them something I didn't know how to do myself?  I had to make stuff up from what I saw out on the dance floor. For several months, I stayed barely one step ahead of my students.   It was so bad that I turned to a recent invention - the VCR.  Each Thursday, a new show called "Dance Fever" came on. After class, I would race home to see if there were any new moves I could steal to use in my next Advanced Disco class!!

In the middle of 1978 when Disco Partner Dancing became the rage, my weaknesses were in great danger of being exposed.  I was constantly worried that my inexperience would prove fatal some night.  No, let's change that. I was scared out of my wits!!   

Mr. Stevens was no help at all. He had hired me for a specific reason - to teach Disco. Mr. Stevens hated Disco with a purple passion; he hated the music and he wasn't interested in the lines dances or the freestyle moves. As far as he was concerned, I was on my own. 

Plus, I was too stupid to ask around for a teacher myself. I don't know why I wasn't out there seeking help.  Looking back, I know an Angel was protecting me. I have proof: One night my Teacher magically landed in my lap to save me!  I had not even lifted a finger.

That was when the Universe came to my rescue.   In Hindu philosophy, there is a saying for those seeking a guide to help them down the Path to Enlightenment: "The Teacher will Appear when the Student is Ready."  That was EXACTLY how it happened for me.

DOOR FIVE - I MEET MY TEACHER GLEN HUNSUCKER

One night in October 1978 I was hanging out at the Pistachio Club, Houston's favorite Disco of the the moment. 

A tall, handsome man entered the floor with his pretty blonde teenage dance partner. They began dancing the most sophisticated version of the Latin Hustle I had ever seen.  Together they were poetry in motion.

What a pleasure it was to watch them dance!!  Their dancing easily eclipsed anything I had seen in Saturday Night Fever. They were incredible!!

Judging by the faces of the people around, I wasn't the only person who felt this way.  Out of respect for their excellence, all the other dancers had cleared the floor.  I don't think anyone in that building felt they had the right to be on the floor at the same time as these two. Instead everyone in the building lined the floor and clapped with enthusiasm to show their appreciation.

They were unbelievable dancers!  They danced three songs in a row, then sat down and did not dance again for the rest of the night. Their impromptu performance electrified the crowd. Everyone in the building was in awe. I was mesmerized. That was the only time in my life I had ever seen a dance floor cleared like that. Nor have I ever seen it happened since. Such a performance!

At this point in time, my business relationship with Mr. Stevens was always on shaky ground. 

Quite frankly, Mr. Stevens was in his Been There, Done That phase of his dance career. He liked the Whip and he liked Ballroom, but he hated Disco music. This is how I got my start in the first place - he didn't want to fool with it!

At this point, Mr. Stevens had developed a reputation as something of a curmudgeon. He was grouchy and sarcastic a lot of the time.  Meanwhile, I was a puppy dog - eager to please, enthusiastic, cheerful, flexible, cooperative, energetic - plus 'ambitious and hungry'. The difference between our attitudes was night and day.

Let me say something here. I am writing this story twenty-five years later. In other words, I am now in the same stage of my career today that Mr. Stevens was back then. And you know something?  Sometimes I get accused of the same sarcasm, the same brusqueness, the same arrogance, and the same grouchiness that Mr. Stevens was accused of 25 years earlier.  I am not happy to admit it, but it is the truth.

You see that picture of the Bear on the right?  I chose that Bear picture as the perfect symbolic representation of Mr. Stevens for this chapter.  Then I thought to myself, "Hmm, maybe I should tell the reader how grouchy I get sometimes."  So I clicked on a story I had written about a time I lost my temper (GRUMPY RICK).

Lo and behold the same picture of the bear popped up.  I had to laugh at the irony -
Twenty-five years later, I had become as grouchy as my mentor.  Makes you wonder.

Want to play a practical joke on me?  Walk up to me at the studio and tell me how you want a Refund for something ridiculous.  Keep a straight face.  Watch me go from zero to near-ballistic in seconds.  Watch as I puff up, then laugh and say "Gotcha, April Fool!"  Then run for your life.  Years of arguments have made me very touchy on this subject.

Hopefully you get my point - don't be too quick to criticize until you take a walk in someone else's dance shoes. Maybe Mr. Stevens was worn out then just like sometimes I get worn out now.

That said, Mr. Stevens' sarcasm and shortness definitely used to get him in trouble. For one thing, it cost him students. It cost him in other ways as well. One day in 1978, two "Doors" in a row opened for me.  Both doors were big steps in my career.

Sad to say, this time Mr. Stevens unwittingly opened both doors for me himself.  First, he opened the Door Six inadvertently with his legendary sarcasm. 

DONNA GORDON AND THE START OF A BEAUTIFUL FRIENDSHIP

One Saturday afternoon in the summer of 1978, I had just finished a private lesson. While waiting for my next lesson, I went out to the large dance floor to observe Mr. Stevens teach a small Country-Western dance class. I realized I didn't even know Country-Western dancing even existed!  I definitely didn't like the music.  

A guy was frowning because he was having trouble figuring out how do some goofy dance called Put Your Little Foot. His wife was upset because he wasn't paying attention.

Mr. Stevens commented, "Maybe you should listen to your wife more often."

A woman who was standing next to me visibly flinched at this remark. She turned to me and asked, "Is Mr. Stevens always this rude?"  I shrugged my shoulders and nodded. 

I wasn't trying to put a dagger in his back. I had told the truth - he was gruff and sarcastic.  That was his personality. Some people didn't like it, but others brushed it off.

By her expression, I could see the woman appreciated my candor. The two of us continued to watch the class. I had no idea who she was.

Then a lady stumbled during the Cotton Eye Joe.  Standing on one leg trying to 'hook-kick', she lost her balance and nearly fell. The smart move was to ignore the mistake or offer sympathy, but instead Mr. Stevens embarrassed her. He said, "Did someone trip you?  Or do you need someone to hold you up?"  So he grabbed a guy and told him to put his arm around her. "There, that should make you happy." Then he walked away. 

This comment infuriated the woman next to me.  She said, "I can't believe this guy stays in business talking to his students like that!"  I said nothing, but I knew she was right.

I guess the woman sensed that I agreed with her. She began a running conversation with me while we watched Mr. Stevens teach his class. Finally she introduced herself, "I am Donna Gordon. I own a new business called The Class Factory." 

She went on to explain that she had contacted Mr. Stevens by phone to teach this class and this was the first chance she had to evaluate him. This explained what she was doing there and why she was watching so carefully. 

I was curious about her business. I told her about dance classes I had taken from two similar organizations, the University of Houston Sundry School and Saint Thomas Courses a la Carte.  Donna was surprised I knew so much.  She explained that she had gotten Mr. Stevens' name out of the Courses a la Carte catalogue in the first place.

We discussed Mr. Stevens for a while longer. She must have liked what I said. Without warning, Donna asked, "Do you teach classes too?"  I told her I was the Disco teacher here.

Donna smiled and said, "We don't offer any Disco classes.  Would you like to teach Disco classes for the Class Factory?"  My eyes grew wide. I did not know I was being interviewed, but it didn't take long for me to answer.

You bet I would like to teach for you!!  Out of the blue, I had just been handed a source of dance students I could call "my own". It was an incredible break. 

(Editor's Note: Donna's last name is NOT Gordon.  In 2006, Donna emailed from another city to demand her name not be used in this story. Since I owed her a huge favor, I acceded to her request.)

LUCKY DOOR SEVEN: I GET PERMISSION TO TEACH MY OWN CLASSES

After Donna Gordon and I finalized our agreement, I had an idea - Why not ask Mr. Stevens permission to teach the Class Factory students in one of his side rooms and pay him rent?   In other words, the Class Factory would pay me directly and I would rent a room from him.  After Donna left, I mentioned it to him. Mr. Stevens okayed my idea on the spot. Then he walked away. I don't believe he even gave it a second thought. 

This was an enormous opening for me.  It basically meant I had the right to seek out my own students and work for myself in addition to working for Mr. Stevens.  If words like  "conflict of interest" or "have your cake and eat it too" cross your mind, I would have to agree your with in your conclusion.  This was Lucky Door Seven.  What a break!

You will never understand why Mr. Stevens would agree to this favor unless I add important background information.  At this point in my career, I was a real klutz when it came to partner dancing.  Right from the start in the Whip Class I had begun nine months earlier in September 1977, he could see I was hardly a natural dancer.

I suppose he hired me mainly because his other teacher quit and he was too lazy to bother looking any further.

After Mr. Stevens hired me, he soon discovered I was particularly slow in learning from him whenever he tried to train me.  He was not the warmest person in the world and probably did not realize how poorly I do when someone uses criticism. I did not possess a thick skin. Realizing we didn't click as teacher-student, he lost interest in helping me.  He assumed I was a slow learner which lowered his opinion of my dancing potential significantly.

One negative experience in particular - the infamous Ritz Breakdown - plus other equally pathetic dance follies led Mr. Stevens to the unmistakable conclusion that I was not meant to be a performer.

I will never forget the sight of him leaving the Ritz with his head shaking in disdain at my breakdown. It was the same look a father gives his son when he is convinced beyond the shadow of a doubt that his offspring will never ever possibly amount to much. 

Since Mr. Stevens was a dance champion many times over, his attitude towards me after the Ritz incident was that I was in way over my head. He never asked me to perform again.  That should tell you something. 

I imagine his decision to let me teach my own classes was largely influenced by the fact that he didn't take my dancing ability seriously. And I guess I can't say as I blame him.

In addition to my weak dancing skills, I lacked experience as a dance teacher. My knowledge of dancing was meager at best because I had never received any dance training in my life other than Line Dance classes. Nevertheless, here I was trying to teach classes of 50-100 students.  This was the point in my career where I was barely one step ahead of my own advanced Disco students and struggling mightily to keep it all together.

 Mr. Stevens was completely aware of my teaching problems as well. He constantly shook his head at me. "Rick, you never teach any styling!"

Obviously Mr. Stevens never once considered me a threat.  This alone explains his generosity - he agreed to let me teach my own classes because he was simply trying to help me make a living.  It was no sweat off his back.

Maybe he should have thought it through a little more. In retrospect, our agreement was so tilted in my favor that it soon created a rift between us the size of a canyon. 

Mr. Stevens might have begun regret his decision in August 1978 when my new Class Factory Disco students started flooding the place.  Things would never be the same.

From this point on, the tension continued to mount, eventually leading to his decision to send me packing a year later.

Considering the boost his favor gave to my career, I will always be in great debt to Mr. Stevens.

That said, I am sorry that Mr. Stevens later said he felt that I took advantage of him.  These were words I heard through the Grapevine via students who took classes both from him and me during the 1980s.

In one sense he would be correct - I aggressively took advantage of every opportunity that presented itself while I worked for him (including the many teaching opportunities that he gave to me because he didn't want them). 

But I do so right under his watchful eye.  Whatever I did, I did with his permission.

My only regret was that Mr. Stevens saw me as a thorn in his side rather than an asset.  This point of view I will never understand.  I brought energy to his studio.  You would think that would count for something.

CHAPTER THREE: URBAN COWBOY CREATES MY EXODUS
1979 - 1980

This is a great story. If you would you like to read it in far greater detail:  History of Western Swing

RECAP OF EVENTS TO THIS POINT

1978 had been a phenomenal year for me.  At this point, Four important "Doors" had opened.

First  I was a nobody Disco teacher with little training, little natural ability, and a following of 15 students. Suddenly thanks to Saturday Night Fever, I was sky-rocketed into the stratosphere at lightning speed to become one of the busiest dance teachers in all of Houston, Texas.

Second  I discovered I was just barely experienced enough to stay about an inch ahead of my new army of dance students.  Classes of 50-100 students seven nights a week were appearing out of nowhere, including dancers asking for training above my ability. I lived in constant fear that a student would arrive in my class who knew more than I did and expose me for a fraud.  That's when the Cosmos dropped Glen Hunsucker, the finest Disco Dance Teacher in the entire city, right in my lap.

Third  I was standing still when out of nowhere the owner of a new adult education business basically hired me on the spot. She didn't even bother to see me dance or ask for my credentials.  I had acquired a source to obtain dance students of my own without even having to ask.

Fourth  Most absurd of all, my boss had unwittingly given me permission to create a second dance studio right under his own nose.

I was minding my own business and one huge Break after another landed on my doorstep.  This story begins to read like an argument for Destiny. 

I was YOUNG and I actually did have a lot energy back in those days.

However the nightly Disco Lifestyle combined with a full-time day job had to stop. I had been burning the candle at both ends for too long.  As you can imagine, after a year of this I had become a very tired young man.

IN POKER TERMS, I GO "ALL IN"

By the end of 1978, I was worn out. I had worked two full-time jobs for an entire year.  I may have been young, but I was also human. Something had to give.  I took a hard look.

In one job, I accomplished absolutely nothing and I was depressed all the
time.  In the other job, I made people happy and received compliments all the time. In addition, I discovered a talent I had not known about before - I was an excellent teacher.  In fact, I appeared to a have a gift for it.

I had survived on only one salary before the dancing came along.  Since I was making the same salary teaching dance as I made as a social worker, I knew the dance money was sufficient to take a gamble. 

But I couldn't keep up this pace much longer. I knew it was time to see what I could accomplish if I taught dance full-time.  I had Glen to help me learn more material, Class Factory was a source of new students, I had permission to work for myself, and I had talent as a teacher. What else did I need?

In the movie Seabiscuit there is a scene where an underachieving jockey engages a championship jockey in a conversation as they ride side by side at the back of the pack. Suddenly, the champion jockey says, "Sorry, kid, there's the hole; gotta go!"  Like a lightning bolt he is off to the races.

I decided to screw up my courage and quit my day job. 

It was time for me to hit the hole and GO! 

MY NEW CAREER BEGINS WITH A VERY NASTY SURPRISE!

In January 1979 I began to teach dance for a living.  No more social work to fall back on.  At the time, this was a very big move for me. My mother would ask me, "What will you do if Disco fades?" 

My reply was always a smug, "Oh, Mom, Disco is too popular to disappear!"   Ah, such is the ignorance of youth... Little did I know Disco would be gone in seven months.

I was in for a BIG SURPRISE (and it wasn't a pleasant one either!)  I spent nearly all of 1979 wondering about the implications of a looming dark cloud known as Urban Cowboy.

If you lived in Houston, you may remember Urban Cowboy was filmed here in Houston and Pasadena during 1979.  However, with my usual lack of foresight, it had never occurred to me to anticipate any sort of repercussions.   I stuck my head in the sand and completely ignored what this might mean.  Bad move.

There were some serious bad omens.  Before the movie had even opened, during a six-month period of 1979, almost every major Disco closed one night, spent a week or two remodeling, and re-opened as a Western Dance Hall.

I was flabbergasted. And did I react swiftly to this looming crisis?  No, I did not.  Instead I sat there and mostly felt sorry for myself.                   

(Would you like to read this story in far greater detail?  History of Western Swing)

My Disco World was crumbling around me.  One by one, my favorite Discos began to close and reopen as Western clubs. 

A very popular Disco named "Mirage" became the original "San Antone Rose" on San Felipe and Voss. The "Rubaiyat" on the Southwest Freeway became "Bullwhip". "Foxhunter" became "Cowboy". "Xanadu" became "Desparado".  "Touché" became "Kickers". It was ridiculous.  On and on, ad nauseam…

Some Discos like Cooters and Elan tried to cover their bet by adding a side floor strictly for Country dance. They adopted dual identities - Discos with a Western touch. Good grief.

The move by Elan was particularly ironic because it had been featured in the big Urban Cowboy Disco scene hyped as the 'hottest Disco in Houston'.  Now just eight months after the filming they were changing their stripes like everyone else. 

DOOR EIGHT - URBAN COWBOY AND THE MEYERLAND CLUB

CAUGHT FLATFOOTED

The next part of this story is two parts audacity and two parts humor depending on your point of view. From my point of view, it is the stuff of recurring nightmares.

Throughout 1979 Western was encroaching on my turf. All I did was watch it happen.  Disco had been different. I liked Disco music from the start. I actually started learning to dance Disco in 1974 and kept improving gradually for four years until I was positioned to exploit the unexpected benefits that rained upon me when Saturday Night Fever came along.

Remember how I said "I stumbled into success"?  

This avoidance situation would be a good example of what I meant. This was a clear chance to react to a major threat by preparing for it, but I did nothing.  Why not?  Because I had a bad attitude.

Not only was I bitter that Disco was Dead, I was also furious that a lot of people seemed to have been a lot smarter anticipating the changes than I was. I hated that I never saw the switch coming until it was in front of my nose. Most of all, I couldn't stand the changes - right before my eyes my beloved hip, modern, cosmopolitan Disco Dancing was disappearing because all the venues were closing.

I was going crazy!  Dance Fever was currently one of the biggest shows on TV.  I was learning all these moves, but no one cared any more.  Around the country, Disco was as hot as ever, but here in my town,  Houston was going Kicker. 

What was I going to do?  I was an admitted bigot towards Country music, Country dancing, everything Country.

But I was also a practical young man.  A bend in the road is not the end of the road if you are willing to curve a little.

My bitterness wasn't subsiding, but paying the bills seemed important to me. I wanted to eat and I wanted to support myself.  I loved teaching dancing.  And I definitely knew I never wanted to investigate another child abuse case as long as I lived. 

Even as I stewed in my venom, I imagined teaching Twostep could not possibly be worse than seeing more child abuse. Seen in this light, Western dancing clearly seemed the lesser of two evils. 

You know the adage about the Stick and the Carrot?   While the fear of hunger and the threat of maybe getting a "Real Job" was looming over me as the Stick, I also noticed that the phone was starting to ring.  Hmm. Do I hear a Carrot calling?

"Rick, can you teach me the Texas Twostep?"   "Rick, can you teach me to Polka?"   "Rick, can you come to my singles group next week and give a Western Dance Lesson?"   The opportunities were starting to pop up.

I resisted all requests for C&W lessons until one day in September 1979 when a former Disco student called to ask me to teach an eight-week Western class at the Meyerland Club. The gig would start that weekend.  It paid two hundred bucks a night. My eyes were wide open. She had my attention.

"You do know how to teach Western, don't you?"

I lied through my teeth and assured her I did.

As I hung up the phone, I broke out in a cold sweat. I had just committed myself to teaching an eight week class that started in four days... I had never danced a lick of Country-Western in my entire life. 

It was an enormous gamble.  I was scared out of my wits-  not only did I not have a clue how to Western Dance, I didn't know anyone who could teach me.  But for $200 a night, I was willing to look around.

I phoned Glen Hunsucker, my Disco instructor. He told me for the tenth time he not only did not know how to Western Dance, he did not know anyone who did. He had said this every time I had asked him before, but I was hoping he had been kidding. He wasn't kidding.

However it puzzled me that Glen said he didn't know anyone who did. No one seemed to know any Western teachers. That seemed odd.

Lance Stevens knew something about Western dancing, but he and I were barely speaking to each other.  More about that coming up... but in the meantime I was desperate. I humbled myself and asked him for some help.  He said he was pretty busy; maybe next week. I needed the lessons before Saturday, so he was NOT an option either. 

With startling clarity I suddenly realized why people were calling me to teach them Western - There were no Country-Western dance teachers.  No one in my world had a clue!

I had figured out that Western dancing was danced by people with "Country" roots.  Disco was danced by people with "Urban" roots.  The two groups did not intersect.

Ah, now I get it.  That was the whole point of the movie!!  (Except that I hadn't seen it yet, but I had a hunch.)  A lot of good my insight did me.  I would have preferred to trade my epiphany for a Western teacher.

What was I going to do?  Even Houdini would have trouble getting out of this one.

I only had one card left to play. It was time to call the Outcast.

DOOR NINE - AN UNSUNG HEROINE COMES TO MY RESCUE

Joanne Wilson had moved to Houston from Pennsylvania in September 1978. Shy, mousy, quiet, she had one talent- she was a gifted dancer.  Joanne soon moved from dance student to become my dance assistant.

Joanne's entire social life revolved around the dance studio. However she was so shy she had trouble making friends.  Often at dances, she would sit there quietly talking to no one until someone asked her to dance. Then all eyes on the floor were drawn to her magnificent ability!

You would think she would have grown out of her shell, but small talk was simply an art she had never mastered.  Due to how lonely she was, and adding in the praise I gave her, Joanne developed a crush on me.  However I had a girlfriend so I always kept Joanne at arm's length.

Meanwhile Joanne's crush crossed the girlfriend's radar loud and clear. Like a jealous queen, the girlfriend did everything in her power to make sure the other women in the "In Crowd" shunned Joanne like a leper. She was ostracized. No one would talk to her.

Joanne eventually gave up on me and began to date a guy at the studio. Unfortunately he two-timed her and embarrassed her publicly.  Shunned by the women, humiliated by her boyfriend, and tired of waiting for a change of heart from me, Joanne decided she had had enough.

She left the studio and she left Disco as well. Joanne was officially the first person I knew to take up Western dancing.  There she was completely certain she would never see the guy who had dumped her or the women who would not be nice to her.  Western Clubs were her new sanctuary.

Fast-forward four months.  At the time that I made "The Call" to Joanne, I had not talked to her since she quit. I had no idea what kind of reception I would receive.  My heart pounded as I made that call. I had no one else to turn to. If she said 'NO', I was dead.

Fortunately I could tell by her voice on the phone that Joanne wasn't mad at me any more. But she told me she was very skeptical whether she could help or not because she didn't have the first clue how to actually "teach" Western dancing.

Then I remembered how financially strapped  she was.  I offered to split the earnings from the Meyerland Club 50-50.  Good move. This softened her reluctance dramatically. Quite frankly, I would have given her the whole share just to save my skin.

Our first meeting was pretty tense. I didn't know a Polka from a Waltz from a Twostep. I would simply tell Joanne to go put a song on.  She didn't have a clue what her footwork was much less mine. 

So I let her throw me around to the music, then I would guess at what my feet should be doing. I learned enough during our first meeting to fake my way through my first lesson at the Meyerland Club.  (By the way, this is a very good story if you want to read the long version.)

The next eight weeks was a comedy of errors, but I was the Master of Deception. Fake It till you Make It. 

And you know what?  I did figure it out. Necessity is the Mother of Invention.  And now you know the first explanation of how someone like me without a lick of previous training suddenly became one of Houston's best-known Western teachers - I had no competition and I found a way to learn before everyone else.  The Early Bird got the Worm.

DOOR TEN - A TOTAL STRANGER GIVES ME THE BREAK OF A LIFETIME!

About the time my Meyerland Club job was wrapping up (successfully I might add), one of my Disco students mentioned a Church Singles Group he belonged to known as TGIS  ("Thank God It's Sunday").  This group met each week at Memorial Drive Presbyterian Church. He said a number of his friends had been talking about learning to Western dance.  Each week after the Sundays service, he and his friends went out to have lunch together. Last week C&W lessons had been the hot topic. (Please forgive-  I regret that I don't remember what his name was; otherwise I would credit him in a flash.)

Even though Urban Cowboy would not be released for five more months, my friend suggested I go over there and approach someone about teaching western lessons.

First the Meyerland Club and now this TGIS group give me my first clues that interest in Western Dancing was starting to pick up thanks to the upcoming release of Urban Cowboy. I decided the man's suggestion seemed like a pretty good idea so I made a mental note to drop by the following Sunday.

One Sunday morning in February 1980, I visited their service.  I gasped as I saw a room of 400, 500, 600 people in attendance. The number was staggering!  In Cowboy and Indian terms, the Buffalo were plentiful!!

I picked up a brochure. It said Linda Shuler was the current leader of the group. I asked someone to point her out.  After the service was over, I went up to Linda Shuler. I introduced myself and told her what I wanted.

Ms. Shuler smiled at me and said, "Hmm, sounds like fun. Bring me a flyer next week so I can approve it."

Then she walked off as I stood there with my mouth wide-open doing a Greek statue impersonation.

I was stunned.  This woman who I had never met before in my life had just given me the break of a lifetime. The entire transaction had taken 3 minutes. The following week she initialed my flyer and told me to print it out and distribute it each week at their meetings. That transaction took two minutes.

Five minutes for one of the biggest breaks of my career.  "Right place at the right time". Does that phrase sound familiar??

I couldn't help but remember the time Donna Gordon offered me a job working for the Class Factory out of the blue. This moment felt very similar. However I smiled because this time I had made the first move. I was learning!

For the next several weeks I distributed my flyer and answered questions. The class would start in April 1980 which was two months away.

There was no Pre-registration in those days. This meant I had no real idea how many people would show up. In fact I clearly remember how nervous I was on the first night before the class began.  I kept walking around the block trying to deal with my fear that no one would show up. My worrying was needless.

I was astonished to see a class of 120 TGIS people showed up for Western lessons at Stevens of Hollywood!!

DOOR ELEVEN - EXODUS AND DELIVERANCE TO THE PROMISED LAND

If there was one person more astonished by my TGIS success, it would have to be my boss Mr. Stevens.

You may remember that the previous summer Mr. Stevens had given me permission to teach my own classes under his roof. At the time, neither of us could have foreseen consequences of this magnitude.

Unfortunately over time my success created a flaw in my business relationship with Mr. Stevens. The fact that I worked for him and worked for myself simultaneously created a massive conflict of interest. Not only did I teach for Mr. Stevens, but I taught my own classes as well.

Since the summer of 1978 I had been renting some side rooms where I taught classes and I was my own Boss.  When I was only teaching one or two classes a week in 1978 this was no big deal.

However, once I quit my social work job and aggressively began adding Intermediate and Advanced Disco classes, my program expanded quickly throughout 1979.