MYSTERY OF THE TEXAS TWOSTEP

CHAPTER EIGHTY TWO:

GHOST TOWN

Written by Rick Archer 

LIMBO MONTH SIXTEEN
OCTOBER 1980

ON MY OWN

The name on the door said Dance Arts Unlimited.  This was my new home.  I could not have been happier.  Having been granted my freedom from Lance Stevens, the joy I felt was overwhelming.  Just to walk into Dance Arts and have one of Glen's pretty jazz dancers smile at me made all the difference in the world.  I could not believe I was finally teaching in a location where I was actually welcome. 

Dance Arts was larger than Stevens of Hollywood.  In fact, when I first saw it, I believed Glen would have trouble filling this place.  Glen and I never discussed it, but I had a strong hunch I was just as much an answer to his prayers as he was to mine.  Glen taught jazz, tap, and ballet classes.  Based on my conversations with Patsy Swayze several years ago, these classes are not huge money makers.  Typically a small space was the best a jazz teacher could afford.  I have little doubt that Glen and his partner Bill had anxious moments wondering if they had bitten off more than they could chew.

This dance studio was twice as large as Patsy Swayze's studio and three times as large as Glen's previous studio.  My guess is that Glen and Bill had taken a huge gamble when they rented this place.  They were betting they could sustain their losses until Glen more or less doubled their income.  Judging by the modest size of Glen's classes, the early returns in September had not been favorable.  Therefore my rent check came along at the perfect time.  My presence gave Glen the luxury to build his business gradually without the fear of going deeply into debt. 

Moving to Dance Arts provided me an unexpected benefit.  Glen lived for his dance company.  He held rehearsals in the late hours of the night.  My students were not allowed to watch, but I was.  That is how I learned his dance company was nothing short of phenomenal.  Not only did Glen possess boundless creativity in his choreography, he made sure his dancers never settled for less than their best.  Now that my friend Patsy Swayze had moved to Hollywood to be closer to her famous son Patrick, Glen inherited Patsy's mantle as Houston's finest choreographer.

I began teaching at Dance Arts in October.  The transition was flawless.  My students loved the place!  Dance Arts was a breath of fresh air for all of us.  Although things got a little crowded at times, everyone was glad the tension was gone.  Adapting quickly to my new location, I hit the ground running with no loss of momentum.  Rooms 2 and 3 were guaranteed to me every night.  I also had access to the large Room 1 on Fridays.  Glen even offered me Sundays if I wished.  This was more than sufficient space to grow my program.  I taught in one room every night while Bob, Victoria and Judy Price took turns teaching in the other room.

Shortly after our move, a lady student named Frances asked how I felt now that I was on my own.  I smiled.  "It feels awesome!"

Then Frances asked what I was going to call my program.  Hmm, good question.  I told Frances my program didn't have a name back at Stevens, so we probably didn't need one here either.  However, I promised I would think about it.  Unfortunately, nothing crossed my mind, so I set her question aside.  Maybe something would come to me.

Wow.  I really was on my own, wasn't I?  It was starting to sink in.  This move to Dance Arts meant Lance Stevens would never interfere with anything I did again.  What a nice thought.  I was fully in charge of my own program for the first time.  Glen could care less what I did and Victoria trusted me to handle things.  I liked being in charge.  I had never been happier in my life. 

OCTOBER 1980

TWO HOUR CLASSES

In addition to a giant improvement in morale, the move to Dance Arts paid another dividend.  What about two hour classes?  The idea came to me shortly after I moved to Dance Arts.  One night a woman named Michelle asked when I was planning to open a studio out in a Houston suburb known as Katy. 

"Probably no time soon, Michelle.  I just moved to Dance Arts.  Why do you ask?"

"You have no idea the travel involved.  Katy is 25 miles away and the traffic is miserable.  On a good day, it takes me 45 minutes to get to your studio.  But the other day, it took me over an hour to get here thanks to a car accident that jammed the freeway.  I love your classes, but I can't hack another 8 weeks of these trips."

"Good grief, Michelle, you drive 45 minutes just to get here?"

"Yes, and I'm not the only one.  I know ten people who live out in Katy that have taken classes from you.  I should know because I recruited three of them myself and they turned around and brought friends.  All the Katy people complain about the drive.  Several of them wanted to take your Intermediate class, but they hated the long drive.  Since they learned enough in the Beginner class to get by, they decided to skip Intermediate.  I hate to tell you this, but that's sort of how I feel as well."

Michelle's words were disturbing.  Maybe this long drive could help explain why attendance in my Intermediate Western classes was not as strong as I had hoped.  Maybe this distance issue was partly responsible. 

"I see your point, Michelle.  I need to get established here before considering any moves towards expansion, but give me a chance to think about this.  You just gave me an idea that might help."

I went home that night and looked at my mailing list.  I got my pencil out and charted the zip code of where everyone lived.  The greatest percentage went to the zip codes near the Galleria, Montrose, Heights, West University, and Bellaire.  That made sense.  These nearby locations were in easy driving distance of Stevens of Hollywood and Dance Arts.  However, I also noticed a lot of zip codes from distant suburbs... Katy, Cy-Fair, Woodlands, Kingwood, Channelview, Pasadena, Clear Lake, Friendswood, Pearland, Sugarland. 

I had never given this distance aspect any thought.  However Michelle's timely fuss set me to thinking.  Many students were facing long drives to and from the studio.  Who wants to dedicate two hours of travel for a one-hour class?  Why not make my classes two hours long?  This idea had crossed my mind before, but I was reluctant to approach Stevens for permission.  However, now that I had control of my own schedule, this was the perfect time for a change.  One week later I ran across Michelle again.  Ah, just the person I wanted to see.

"Hey, Michelle, what if I made my classes two hours each night?  Would that make a difference?"

"Do you mean run your classes from 7-9 pm?  Would that mean your typical class would be over in one month?"

I nodded.  When Michelle started to smile, I knew I had found a winner.

"That's a great idea!  I could come here straight from work which is close to your new location.  I could relax in the lounge for a bit, take your class, then go dancing afterwards at 9 pm.  By the time I finished dancing, the freeway would be clear and I could zip home."

Music to my ears.  That was exactly what I wanted to hear.  It made perfect sense to change my format.  Not only was it more convenient, the thought that people could progress twice as fast had a powerful marketing ring to it.  They could take a Beginning and an Intermediate course back to back in two months rather than four months.  Doubling the length of my classes per night would also get them ready to dance in the clubs sooner, another valuable selling point.  Even more important, for people living in outlying areas, it would make their long trips to the studio twice as valuable.  They could dedicate their entire evening to dancing. 

This decision was the closest thing to a no-brainer imaginable.  Now that I controlled two rooms per night without interference, I was free to make an important change in my dance class format.  When I accepted Ted Weisgal's offer to teach for Leisure Learning three weeks earlier, he had asked me to submit a schedule for January.  I called Ted at his office and asked if it was too late to change the studio's teaching format from 8 weeks of one-hour classes to 4 weeks of two-hour classes. 

Ted replied, "Don't worry, we have plenty of time to make the switch for January.  Incidentally, that's a clever move.  Makes sense."

I liked Ted's compliment.  A clever move, eh?  If I wasn't so modest, I might even call it brilliant.  Sure enough, when I made the announcement I was switching the class format in January, the change was met with universal applause.  Normally any change brings at least a few complaints, but not this one.  Everyone liked the idea of a one-month class format.

You know what?  I liked being in charge!  I liked it a lot.  Now if I could just think of a name for my new dance studio.

OCTOBER 1980

GHOST TOWN

Three years of hostility at Stevens of Hollywood had turned me into a nervous wreck.  I had so many bad memories I vowed never to return.  I thought back to the reasons for the blowup.  No doubt the rift began the day Stevens gave me permission to rent a room from him.  Letting me work for myself was the worst business decision Stevens ever made.  What man would rather work for another farmer when he could till his own land and make more money in the process? 

I asked myself what I would do if the tables were turned.  I decided I would never allow a dance instructor to work for himself under my own roof.  I imagined he or she would behave the same way I had... take every student he could and funnel them to his own classes.  Why on earth would I allow my own instructor to compete with me when I was paying rent, utilities, and insurance?  That was akin to business suicide!  I was the one who had taken the risks to get this far, so I was entitled to the benefits.  Now that I was in control of my own program, I vowed I would not tolerate divided loyalties.  My time at Stevens of Hollywood had taught me this valuable lesson. 

Lance Stevens had first given me permission to rent rooms from him in July 1978.  The consequence of his decision had begun that September.  My eviction came two years later.  I was incredulous.  Lance Stevens had TWO YEARS to evaluate the consequences of his decision.  Not once had he spoken to me about the imbalance.  First my Disco classes had swollen to preposterous sizes.  He should have learned his lesson then.  But no, the same thing happened again with Western classes.   I was making money hand over fist all the while paying a paltry $15 an hour in rent.  What kind of fool allows a business competitor to amass an empire under their own nose?  The entire situation was inconceivable.

Since Lance Stevens never spoke to me, I had no idea if he ever realized the magnitude of his mistake to let me teach for myself.  I am sure he grasped the ramifications at some point.  However, if he was too dense to figure it out on his own, he had a smart wife.  Through the grapevine I heard that Cliann bad-mouthed his lousy business sense to anyone who would listen.  That was one rumor I believed.

I also wondered if Stevens had fully analyzed the consequences of firing me ahead of time.  As far as incredibly dumb moves go, Stevens' decision to evict me was so foolhardy it ranked a close second behind Victoria's Doorstep Night.  When he threw me out, one newsletter to my mailing list was all it took to evacuate the place.  Playing a game known as 'Follow the Leader', 500 students joined me at Dance Arts.  I had predicted my students would follow en masse, so it was rewarding to see I was right.  Students are loyal to their teacher, not to the name on the door.  These people could care less about Stevens of Hollywood.  They wanted to go wherever their teacher and their friends were.

Stevens was left with his 100 or so students if that many.  Bitter at the way things had turned out, he proceeded to alienate many of those students as well.  During October I had three students who took classes at both places.  One of them was Dorothy Piazzos, my long-time friend and occasional spy.  She took a Ballroom class from Stevens on one night and a western class from me on another.  Dorothy reported that Stevens went into a serious downward spiral once my group was gone.

The Exodus led to one consequence Stevens had not anticipated.  It wasn't like my Western students and Stevens' Ballroom students mixed that much.  However, the older Ballroom students had always enjoyed our enthusiasm and laughter.  We brought a definite spark to the building. 

Now that the energy had been sucked out of the building, the Ballroom students felt 'Left Behind'.  They say a crowd creates a crowd, but the opposite is true as well.  With 85% of the people gone, Stevens of Hollywood was about as cheerful as a funeral parlor.  Once the 'Left Behinds' saw how empty the place was, they wondered why we left so suddenly.  The remaining students began to ask Stevens what had gone wrong.  Consumed with bitterness, Stevens complained about all the terrible things I had done on a nightly basis. 

Dorothy shook her head in disgust.

"Naturally people asked what happened to you.  Where did everybody go?  Lance was proud of himself.  He loved telling them he had kicked you out.  He defended his decision by going on and on about your bad attitude, how you were a miserable teacher, how you couldn't dance a lick.  When someone asked what you did wrong, he told them how you insulted him after he tried to promote his Whip class.  He said you were too big for your britches.  Those were his exact words. 

Unfortunately for Lance, several of his own students had witnessed what he and Cliann had done.  After they passed the word, public sentiment turned against him.  In front of a group, one of his long-time Ballroom students told Lance he was insane to chase that energetic group away.  When Lance heard that, he turned so red I thought he would pop a blood vessel.  It was not a pretty sight. 

From that point on, Lance could not stop complaining about you.  Tired of his rants, several students decided to leave and look for a friendlier Ballroom instructor.  I hate to say it, but these days his studio looks like a Ghost Town."

I frowned.  Stevens had no one to blame but himself.  With one snap of his fingers, Stevens had sent 500 students walking out the door, taking my rent check with them.  Overnight, Stevens had turned his studio into a deserted facility.  Did I feel sorry for Stevens?  No.  He got what he deserved. 

In my defense I tried several times to sit down and work out a solution.  As an example, one day after he kicked me out, I apologized to Stevens and asked for a second chance.  I told him I wanted to stay, then asked if there was any way we could work this out.  Lance Stevens briefly considered it, but instead he sniffed with contempt, barked "Two weeks" and walked away.  

Stevens wanted to hurt me and hurt my program.  If I were to guess, he was amazed to see me make such a clean getaway.  Stevens took his shot and missed.  Oh, well, too bad for him.  Thanks to Glen, I never looked back.