INTRODUCTION

My dance career has been charmed. Just months before Saturday Night Fever had come out, by an odd coincidence I had just begun to teach Disco. As a result I was one of the first Disco instructors in all of Houston even though I barely knew what I was doing. I may have been green, but I grew into my job. 

Now miraculously in spite of my terrible attitude, with Urban Cowboy I had repeated my earlier magic. Without any intention or foresight on my part, once again I was miraculously in the right place at the right time as practically the first Western dance teacher in Houston.

And as before with Disco, I barely knew what I was doing, but I was willing to learn.

The students started to line up the moment Urban Cowboy came out, the TGIS students started rolling in, and my Western class listings appeared in the Class Factory. Things were looking very good indeed except for one thing...

I still barely knew how to Western dance.  I was literally One Step, not Two Step, ahead of my students. One Mis-Step and the word would be out what a fraud I was.

Worst of all, I nursed a secret fear that what I was teaching had little or no relationship to what was ACTUALLY BEING DANCED in the Western dance clubs.

I had no idea if what I was teaching was right because I didn't have the guts to go look. Meanwhile I was scared to death I would be exposed as a scam artist. What if Joanne had shown me something crazy?  What I was teaching was based on her word. What if she was confused, a very real possibility?

Yes, I was actually stupid enough to start teaching the Meyerland Club, Class Factory and TGIS Western class before I had even visited a Western club. 

Then one night my students cornered me into going Western dancing with them whether I liked it or not.  They would not take "NO" for an answer.

Would I finally be exposed as the fraud I truly was - the western dance teacher who couldn't western dance?  This ridiculous mistake led to one of the scariest moments in my dance career.  

Yes, it is sad but true - over a quarter of a century ago, the future owner of Houston's largest Country-Western dance studio faked his way through his first three months of teaching.  I began to teach Western Dance classes long before I had actually ever gone Western dancing in a club.

So how you ask did I managed to put the cart in front of the horse??  Good question.

One reason I didn’t go western dancing was my bitterness towards all things "Country".

I am not going to lie about it. I received my education at a Houston prep school. The bias against the country lifestyle was huge. The University of Texas was "In", Texas A&M was "out".  Aggie jokes were the rule of the day. The stereotype of Jed Clampett and the Beverly Hillbillies lingered in my mind. Longhorns were slick, Aggies were hick.  Please forgive my prejudice.  I was the product of my environment.

Furthermore, not only did I hate Western music, but I blamed Urban Cowboy and everything associated with it for killing my first love. The Western lifestyle was guilty of murdering the one thing I truly loved -  Disco Dancing! 

Disco had been my passion for 5 years!  I had loved Disco dancing long before Saturday Night Fever ever arrived.  Even though I was now making good money teaching Western dancing, that wasn’t enough reason for me to want to actually go dance it.  No more Latin Hustle. No more Donna Summer music. Disco was Sexy, Country was Boring.  I had one BIG chip on my shoulder.  I had the worst attitude imaginable and here I was the best known western teacher in the city. Go figure. Talk about irony.

The second reason I didn't want to go dancing in the western clubs was my fear of looking clumsy in front of my students. I could tell I was a better Western dancer than my own students were, but I had no idea how good the people in the clubs were.  Wouldn't it be nice to "Practice ahead of time" when no one was looking?  The truth is I had my chances to go Western dancing (people invited me to go with them all the time), but the chip on my shoulder prevented me from going on a much-needed scouting mission. Big mistake. 

The third reason was the most serious. I carried the deep-seated fear I could be unmasked as a total fraud. You see, even before the Meyerland Club job had ended, I had accepted a second Western teaching job. Some of my Disco students at Stevens had approached me to teach Western to them. Since I had a month of experience under my belt from the Meyerland Club, I said okay.

One night my students said they were going Western dancing right after class. Did I want to come with them?  "No No No", is what I thought. "Gosh, I would love to, but I already have plans," is what I said. Then they asked if I could show them how to Waltz. This I could do. I taught them a well-known Ballroom Waltz move known as the "Box Step".  

A Waltz is a Waltz, right?  Wrong.  That's my point. I was completely ignorant.

Next week marked the start of December. As I noticed the Waltz students stroll into class, a dangerous thought crossed my mind. I should have known better, but with a morbid, albeit self-destructive curiosity, I asked them how their Waltz worked.  Frowns crossed their faces. They said it worked fine until everyone began to run them over.  Oh?  My brow furrowed.  Yes, they said, the people were so rude, they would just run them over. No one actually danced in one spot, they said. They moved around the floor. And, by the way, could I show them the Traveling Waltz?

It was this very moment I remembered the story about 'The Great Imposter'.  Would everyone now discover I barely knew what I was doing??

Uncomfortable comparisons to this miserable fraud darted through my mind’s eye. This was a test. My students were starting to get suspicious. Fortunately, I remembered that the Ballroom Waltz also had a Traveling Step, so I showed them that. This bought me some time, but not as much as I needed.

I had the vague feeling that they were on to me.  My paranoia began to kick in.

It didn't help my confidence any that before class I noticed the couple split up and visit with different members of the class.  They were clearly networking, but I had no way of knowing what they were saying.

Throughout the evening I noticed the couple watching me. A terrible case of paranoia was setting in. Why were they watching me??

The Trap was Sprung. Would the Charlatan be exposed??

Since we all left at the same time, by coincidence two students followed me over there. Or was it coincidence?  My dread that they were deliberately following me ratcheted up my paranoia to new heights.  Were they behind me to see if I would try to chicken out?  If so, they were smart because that was EXACTLY WHAT I WANTED TO DO.

I wanted to turn and drive home.  But I didn't dare. Twenty witnesses were there to testify I had given my word I would go.

It was longest drive of my entire life. My head was spinning with anxieties. 

Showdown at the Cowboy Corral!!  Is this the night Rick will be exposed?  Will he be the worst dancer in the entire club?  Will he be seen doing the Polka to a Twostep?  Is there any chance he can practice his dancing without anyone watching?  Of course not.  And will he be exposed as the total fraud he is? 

I was sick to my stomach with nerves by the time we got there. My terror of exposure was overwhelming, but I forced myself to enter the club. I avoided my students. In a way, I was actually glad to be there. I was very curious to see what an Western club was like.

But that didn't mean I was in any hurry to dance. There was no way I was going to get out there without at least seeing if the dancing on the floor resembled the dancing I taught at the studio. For some time now I had been haunted by the nagging feeling that my style and their style were not the same.  

I had to make a move. I looked around and located the sweetest, most sympathetic woman in my class. Her name was Sally. She was 20 years older than me and not the best dancer in the class.  She was not even remotely threatening to me which made her the perfect choice for my first dance.  She sure saved my butt.  

Before I got out on the floor, I used the old trick of waiting to see which dance everyone else was doing before getting on the floor.  No one had taught me this trick, but it occurred to me right off the bat. The footwork looked very much like a Polka, but who knows what it really was?  All I remember was I was unsure of my Twostep, so it was going to be Polka or nothing.

My dancing was stiff and mechanical as the first-time jitters struck, but thank goodness what I was teaching worked enough to fake my way through the song. Whatever it was Joanne and I had cooked up was close enough. I doubt seriously I was even remotely near the beat, but who was counting? 

My shoulders sagged with relief as I realized once again I had lucked out of a tight spot. I seemed to have the nine lives of a cat. This however had been a close call.  

Now I noticed the other women in the group were lining up to dance with me.  This included the younger women who were good dancers.  I had noticed these women had danced with other men in the club. I worried that by comparison they would be able to recognize how bad I was.

Uh oh. Maybe I wasn't out of the woods after all.  Sure enough, the Suspicious Couple were still watching me. No, I wasn't out of the woods yet.

As a way to avoid the other women who might expose me, I just stayed out on the floor with the Unknown Brave Dancer.  Another song played. Then another. To my surprise, the thought crossed my mind that the music was not nearly as bad as I expected it would be.  But I was concentrating too much on counting '123 456' over and over in my head to give it more than a passing thought.

I continued to dance. The floor became my sanctuary in the arms of my guardian angel.  That's when I realized how drunk I was.  Who cared?

Ordinarily I don't recommend drinking too much because a man needs to remember leads, footwork, and patterns. However on this occasion my 3 beers turned out to be a blessing because it shut my fear-crazed brain down completely. Then something amazing happened -  For the first time in life I realized I actually could hear the beat of the music!!  

It was a song called "Right or Wrong" sung by Roseanne Cash. And you know what?  I was astonished at how pretty the music was to listen to.  This was the moment I realized for the first time that not all Western music sounded like Willie/Waylon/Merle. The music being played in the club was rhythmic and very danceable.   

Joanne Wilson's music had been "old Country", also referred to at times as "Outlaw Country".  This was "new Country" music.  I was enjoying listening to a lot of the music I was hearing. Plus this Cowboy place wasn't so bad. Located just blocks from the Galleria, the women were damn good-looking, the place was expensively decorated and furnished, and the music was energetic. It was a far cry from the dump I had visited with Joanne back six months earlier (Joanne's Country Club) 

When I had practiced with Joanne, not once had I ever listened to the music. But tonight after the fifth song, I started to feel the beat.  Soon after this discovery I realized for the first time how the music fit the steps. Now that I was connected to the music, the dancing was actually starting to be fun!  Amazing.

Then the DJ played a song called "Couldn't do Nothing Right". I had to laugh. How appropriate!  It became my theme song for the evening. I noticed some of that huge chip on my shoulder was starting to dissolve. I liked a lot of this music!

I kept dancing. Round and round and round we went. One lap after another with my wonderful Sally. She was actually dancing better too!  The practice was helping her too. All kinds of discoveries!!  

Then I noticed that as I practiced, the more I found I could forget about my footwork. My footwork was becoming automatic.  Since I didn't have to think about my feet, for lack of anything else to do I started to hear the words to the songs as well!  Imagine that. I was listening to the words to Country-Western music.  Like most bigotry, my prejudice had been fueled by ignorance.

Now I heard "The Devil Went Down to Georgia" playing. This was an up-tempo tune that actually got my blood moving. It wasn’t Disco, but it wasn’t bad either. I made yet another discovery. Joanne's taste in Western music had been at the opposite end of the spectrum from mine. She liked the twang; I liked what this place was playing. My guess is the DJ knew his Galleria-area clientele would prefer a different sound than perhaps the Gilley's crowd would. At any rate, I liked this music!! 

This might just work out after all. There was hope.

Before the night was through I danced with all the girls in my class, young and old.  I was no superstar out there, but I was good enough to make believers out of them. Yes, I had made a narrow escape. I would live to dance another day.

MY BIG DISCOVERY

I was overwhelmed by the number of discoveries I had made during this evening of adventure, but the next day I received one more benefit from my big night at the Western Club.  

As you can imagine, I awoke the next morning with a bad hangover.  Trying to shake it off, I took my two dogs Emily and Sissy out for a walk. I was still half-asleep. About halfway through the walk I woke up enough to notice myself doing an odd skip along the sidewalk. Ordinarily I don't 'skip' when I take walks, but for some reason I just couldn’t help doing it because it felt so good! !  

I decided to analyze my "Skip Step".  I made two more interesting discoveries.  

First I noticed I was starting my shuffle on the quick instead of the slow.  That was odd, I thought, since the Twostep I had learned from Joanne started on the Slow.  Now it seemed easier to start the Twostep on the Quick. 

Second, previously I had always paused after the Quicks.

This won't be easy to explain, but I will try anyway.

Although I didn't know it, I had never learned to dance the Twostep properly. In my brain I danced two Slows, then two Quicks. After the two Slows, I would hesitate and after the two Quicks I would hesitate again. One of these "hesitations" was incorrect which explained why I was always losing the beat. This was of course wrong, but remember I had no instructor to correct me.

The dancing from the previous night had actually removed that unnecessary hesitation. 

The important lesson I gained from this experience is that good dance teaching need only get you close, then practice will fill in the gaps.

When it comes to dancing, Practice does make Perfect. 
 

In Chapter Four of the History of Western Swing, learn how an entire city went stark raving nuts over a movie.  Click here to learn the often hilarious, sometimes dark effects Urban Cowboy had on Houston.