On Angels and Devils and Stages Between

Contemporary Lives in Contemporary Dance

David Wood

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2013
• eBook ISBN: 9781136652578
• Topic: Media & Performing Arts
• Subtopic: Dance

The revolution that happened in the American dance world between 1932 until 1992 was as great, or even greater, than the earlier movement revolution instigated by the Ballets Russes. In his revealing book David Wood evokes this exciting period of change and describes the roles of the key creative personalities with whom he worked: Martha Graham, Doris Humphrey, Charles Weidman, Jose Limon, Hanya Holm, Alwin Nikolais, Helen Tamiris, Sophie Maslow, Jane Dudley, and William Bales. David Wood has been a key figure in the American dance world for nearly 50 years, making numerous appearances on television as an actor/dancer and in Broadway musicals. He began working with Martha Graham in 1953, as a soloist, touring the world, performing roles in all the famous productions, especially Secular Games which Graham created for him. He has his own company BARD (Bay Area Repertory Dance) which has toured the United States and Europe. The choreography of Wood's signature work, Lorca's House of B

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ON CLASSES

Every decade creates a unique quality which distinguishes that decade from those immediately surrounding it. In the early 30’s life in the United States proceeded from moment to moment at a monotonous pace. Because of the long standing economic depression, few people were motivated to attempt change. Especially in the more rural areas of the country, in contrast to the cities, there was little energy for constructive activity.

The lack of financial means caused much of the population to stagnate. People remained caught, suspended in motion. The country existed stoically, each day an identical reenactment of the previous one. It seemed both inevitable and eternal.

The only discernible movement in the entire country took place on cattle cars, long freight trains which traveled across the country from one end to the other. Along with their authorized cargoes, they carried hordes of migrants, unemployed young men and a few women, struggling merely to keep food in their mouths. Unable to work in one area of the land, they moved on to others.

I remember as a boy standing by the railroad tracks in fascination, watching the endless number of trains go by. As they crossed my vision with monotonous repetition, the shape of each car was hardly perceptible because of the human bodies covering it.

Sometimes, when the cars came to rest in the freight yards, the riders would be scraped off by the local authorities because of the evident danger which riding the freight cars involved. Sometimes the migrants would challenge the authorities even further by secretly and more dangerously riding the rods hidden underneath the moving cars.

Hobo jungles grew up on the outskirts of towns. Here the migrants camped for the night or stopped for a short while to tempt good fortune in a new locale. They built fires to cook their food, or to stave off the cold. The wild stories of the happenings that took place in these jungles lent mystery and magic to their existence.

In 1932, as a seven year old, I could hardly wait to be old enough to join the brotherhood of the road. I absorbed the romance of wanderlust that shone in the reflection of the firelight on the gleaming faces of the jungle’s inhabitants, and that was symbolized in the sparks from the fires that pierced the night atmosphere in absolute freedom.

Whether all of this had an effect in later years on my desire for seeing new places and experiencing new things, I don’t know. I am sure that the romance and freedom, as well as the danger of the hobo jungles, steered my steps toward imaginative and romantic endeavors. This reaction, however has been tempered by a more conservative point of view, making me seek a consistent direction for the path of my life.

In New York by 1932 Ruth St. Denis and Ted Shawn had reached, and even passed, the peak of their performing powers. Long before the State Department tours of the 50’s and 60’s, Denishawn had toured Asia with great success. By 1932 Martha Graham had left Denishawn, left the Greenwich Village Follies, and left the Eastman School of Music in Rochester. At Eastman, at the bidding of Rueben Mamoulian, she had isolated herself for two years, making great progress in the long process of developing her unique movement style and her own unique dance company. By 1932 even Doris Humphrey and Charles Weidman, the bastions of the Denishawn school, had left the security of this major dance company. In the same year, Hanya Holm arrived in the United States, after many years of training with the great German and Swiss artists, Mary Wigman and Emile Jaques Dalcroze. In 1932 Helen Tamiris was advocating social reform through dance. She became involved in the government sponsored Works Project Administration, breaking the ground for racial equality with the presentation of her, at the time startling, Negro Spirituals.

The artistic world in the depression years was as active and alert as the rest of the country was passive. It was a time for change. While the rest of America, in lethargy and despair, clung to the status quo, artistic America was in foment. Harold Clurman called it the “fervent years” in his book written about the Group Theatre. It was a time when artists could afford to experiment. It was a time when being hungry was a fact of life, and the only way to direct one’s energies positively was through a romantic or radical intention.

Costs were as minimal as salaries. Movies were only a dime. Busby Berkeley and the Gold diggers captured the fantasy of the country while Charlie Chaplin with his woebegone tramp captured its heart. The dime was the country’s major medium of trade. One small thin silver coin not only provided the cost of a movie, but a quart of milk, a loaf of bread, a milk shake, a hamburger, a gallon of gas or an adventurous round trip on the streetcar to the center of town and back.

Fresno, California, where I was born, was not a large city. The entire trip from the center of town to the end of the streetcar line took no more than fifteen minutes. One of the few major stops on the streetcar line was the corner of Wishon and Floradora; St. Theresa Catholic church was on the northeast corner and directly opposite, Severance’s Dancing School.

Fresno was not rural America, but its location in the center of the San Juaquin valley made agriculture, farmers, and farming the core of its existence. During the heat of the summer months swimming, sun bathing, and drinking lemonade were the major activities. For the rest of the year, people moved inside and resumed their regular routines. Neither the arts nor the sciences were the major focus in this small western town. The leisurely and conservative pace of life was primary.

Severance’s Dance Studio was a large, somewhat rectangular, two storied building. It was usually painted gray or, more accurately, it was often painted gray. The one frivolous aspect of its existence was its constant change of color from year to year. The building completely occupied its grounds so that the landscaping around it was minimal, allowing it to stand solidly and securely on the property. The outer aspect did little to convey the magic which existed within its walls. It was one of only two major dance studios in the town of approximately 60,000. The other, Polito’s Dancing School, specialized in “crass entertainment type activities” such as tap, acrobatics, and baton twirling, but Severance’s remained aloof. It trained young aspirants in the fundamentals of classical dancing with a few wild Apache adagios thrown in for variety and spice. Polito’s might be the pleasure palace of dance in Fresno, but those who were truly serious about becoming artists aligned themselves with Severance’s and never waivered in their loyalty.

The Severance family lived in the downstairs portion of the building. It consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Severance, who to a young boy seemed aged beyond belief, and three daughters: Phylis, Jane, and Harriet. Harriet, the youngest of the three, taught a good many of the dance classes, while Phylis took care of the finances and any “disruptive juvenile delinquents.”

The first floor included the living quarters, a reception room, and both women’s and men’s dressing rooms. Also, there was an atrium-like room in the front which provided a cool and welcome retreat during the hot summer days. A large stairway led directly out of the reception room and split to the right and left at a landing halfway toward the second floor. The second floor was one huge room with a bandstand located directly above the stairway. It was from there that Mrs. Sager accompanied the dance classes with the best of Tchaikovsky, Grieg, and sometimes, for a little life, an Irish jig. The bandstand was also large enough to hold a small ensemble of piano, sax and drums, which at special times played for the ballroom dance classes that were held on Friday and Saturday nights. These classes tried to teach the intricate steps of the fox trot, waltz, and even the Lambeth Walk to all desirous, teenage, social beings.

Because of the ballroom classes there were no barres along the sides of the large upstairs studio, but rather, long continuous benches were built against the walls. These were necessary as places of retreat for the “wallflowers” of the evening ballroom classes. They also accommodated mothers or little brothers, such as myself, who watched in awe their facile and graceful children or older sisters. At the opposite end of the room from the bandstand hung the only mirrors. The mirrors which because of their revealing nature, haunt every dance class. They are the mirrors which, when stared into objectively, discourage many an aspiring Pavlova because of the ruthless revelation found in reflection.

It probably discouraged my older sister, Phylis Anne, or perhaps she was discouraged by the complete physical effort that was demanded endlessly week after week. Whichever, she, in short order, renounced the life of a ballerina for more conventional youthful activities. When her place was taken by my second sister, Barbara, my mother and father soon realized that the die had been cast. Dance was to be a permanent part of the rest of our family life.

We had little extra money, certainly not enough for hiring baby sitters and so I was taken along to most of Barbara’s dance classes. For all of my pent up energy, it was the only time that I could be kept quiet and my natural exuberance contained. I either sat in rapt attention, staring at the strange happenings or, surreptitiously, I would stand on the side and, without success, try to imitate the amazing antics of whatever class was in progress.

There was never any question of my becoming an actual participant instead of an audience. For one thing my parents’ finances allowed only one child to take lessons of any kind. Even more important, a boy, and certainly a boy in that conservative city of Fresno, would never consider bringing the contempt of his friends down upon his back by enrolling in a dance class. I had already taken enough flack from my classmates at school for participating in a drama group. Much as I may have desired deep inside myself, I would not have tempted fate enough to test just how much ridicule I could withstand by being the lone male dancer in the Severance school.

But I watched. I watched with fascination. The portable barres were brought out for each class and the disciplined ritual of classical ballet began. What the exact structure of the classes was, I cannot remember, but I do remember the symmetry of movement and its lightness. The students seemed to float across the floor hardly touching it, all totally in balance except for a few miscreant souls who completely lacked an aptitude for this art form.

I remember the sweat that broke out on the brows of these lovely, young girls. I remember being surprised that women who were aesthetically involved behaved towards physical activity much the same as did the male ditch diggers who were working outside the studio. I remember repetition, endless and often boring repetition, in order to make a movement better or to make a pirouette possible.

Most of all I remember a sense of performance. Every movement seemed to have a unique quality. Now my new found interest in acting could find release in accord with my exuberant energies. Because of my fascination with this new discovery, I did not evaluate the worth of what I was seeing. I merely reacted with fervor, little knowing that those first classes at Severance’s Dancing School might have a strong influence on my future life.

In time the classes at Severance’s proved insufficient for both Barbara’s training and my viewing. For a while dance totally left the area of my daily routine while I developed more acceptable masculine activities. My only connection with Severance’s now was as a teenage ballroom enthusiast and even at that I fell more into the category as one of Phylis Severance’s juvenile delinquents rather than as an accomplished student of the fox trot.

My sister Barbara was still in high school but had moved to San Francisco to find more challenging ballet classes. Fortunately, on my mother’s side there were four essentially maiden aunts who also resided in San Francisco. They were all quite willing, if not anxious, to help with finances and to act as chaperons for their young niece. It was as close as those marvelous and generous ladies would ever come to satisfying their maternal instincts.

In San Francisco, Barbara’s first teacher was Adolph Bolm, a Russian dancer/choreographer who had played a part in the latter days of the Diaghilev era and had worked closely with Michael Fokine. In 1938 he was replaced by Willam Christensen who, although originally from Salt Lake City, had recently been teaching in Portland, Oregon. The three Christensen brothers, Willam, Lew, and Harold had already made a name for themselves in the world of dance. All three eventually became associated with the San Francisco Ballet, but Willam was the brother who originally established and developed the company.

It wasn’t until 1939, when Barbara had left the supervision of our aunts for her own apartment, that I picked up the thread of being a dance observer again. I spent part of my school vacation during the summer living with my sister in San Francisco. As a teenager I was given free rein to go where I wanted. Instead of indulging in the usual teenager’s pursuits, I was to be found every day sitting in a class or a rehearsal at the San Francisco school. Barbara attended classes and rehearsals and I followed right along with her. Again I became fascinated, possibly even more so than I had been in Fresno. My future brother-in-law, Deane Crockett, tried to persuade me to don tights and try dance first hand as a participant rather than as an observer, but I could not. It still remained for me a nonmasculine activity and I could not break through that prejudice much as I might have wished.

During many of the summers, Ballets Russes de Monte Carlo would come to San Francisco to perform at the Opera House. On these occasions they would rent the front studio from the San Francisco Ballet for their classes, extra rehearsals, or auditions. There was always a throng around the open door of their studio trying to watch the full fledged touring professionals at work. To my untrained eye the Ballet Russe dancers seemed of no greater ability than the developing San Francisco Ballet members, only more romantic in concept.

From all those watching, I would overhear constant critical analysis. This one had no elevation. That one’s extensions were turned in. Others had poor pirouettes, obscure positions or bad port de bras. I realized that there was much more to dancing than I had discovered in my obviously rose-colored-glasses state. At that time I also began to learn that jealousy was a powerful factor in the dance world. It was only a little forewarning, but a necessary bit of information for later use.

The change in the approach to dancing from Fresno to San Francisco was phenomenal. What had been a recreational approach, an approach whose reason for existence had been nothing more than to give young girls a certain amount of grace, had now been altered to professional training and development of a professional dance company.

Willam Christensen had been followed to San Francisco by many of the dancers who had studied with him in Oregon. They were combined with the San Francisco dancers who were already in training on his arrival. To my young eyes, they were miracle workers in movement. I could not help but observe their tremendous improvement from one summer to the next. Their names and faces to this day remain etched in my memory: Janet Reed, Jacquelyn Martin, Zoya Leporsky, Ronald Chetwood, Zelda Nerina, Mattlyn Gavers, Norman Thompson, Ruthie Rickman, Onna White, and Harold Lang among others. They all created a world of glamour and magic for me.

This professional approach to class was much more demanding than what I had seen at Severance’s. There was definitely an increased seriousness of intent. Also an element of desperation had appeared. At this young stage, it was still not greatly in evidence, but each individual seemed to begin the inevitable balancing of desire and reality. As time passed, if reality increased in proportion, desperation intensified.

Perception, itself, was greatly heightened both because of the demands of the teacher and because of the dancer’s own demands, clarified by the image in the mirror. The mirror and the teacher each became focal points of the class. The contest for approval of the mirror lay in the evaluation of one’s own image in reflection. The contest for approval of the teacher was much more complex as it lay not only in the abstracted image, but also in so many interwoven personal factors. The ego-self and the teacher both were ruthless. To perceive what the teacher wanted and to respond in kind, creating an ideal reflected image could satisfy both, teacher and self. This was the criterion of success and success was indeed the end result for which everyone strove.

By watching the San Francisco Ballet not only had my technical knowledge increased on an academic level, but I began to become consciously aware of the intricacies which lay underneath the surface of dance. In a masochistic way, rather than deterring my interest, it whetted my appetite for further knowledge, and perhaps even eventually some physical involvement.

In the ensuing years, along with my interest in drama, dance lurked somewhere in the back of my consciousness while college, the navy, World War II, and travel took the focus of my attention. In 1946, back at college, in graduate school, I became involved in acting once again; I decided to give theater a serious try at the end of the school year. I finished my school work in June 1947, and with trepidation headed east to New York.

The Neighborhood Playhouse School of Theater provided a secure introduction to the big city. Friends and associates became easy to acquire. The monumental task of finding my way through the theater world of this enormous metropolis was deferred for a time by my attendance at the Playhouse.

Besides this rationale for entering the drama school, one of its more exciting aspects was the requirement of taking almost daily dance classes. The classes were included as an integral part of the curriculum. It stated in all of my preparatory brochures that unless a doctor’s excuse was provided acknowledging irreparable physical disability, one was required to attend all dance classes. Obviously, from this warning, there had been problems in the past; this should have forewarned me that there were probably going to be problems in the future.

On the second day of classes our motley crew of students assembled to be viewed by Martha Graham and her assistant Marjorie Mazia. Although in 1947 Martha Graham did not have her reputation fully established, she was well known to all of us both as a powerful theatrical personality and as a figure of fear. The second year students described her as such in great length, as they, had already been lashed by her abusive tongue.

Unfortunately the Neighborhood Playhouse had not yet moved into its newly renovated building on 54th Street. Instead we were having to put up with rather cramped studios in the old building until the reconstruction work could be completed. It didn’t help that half of our class was made up of rather large muscular ex “G.I.s” who occupied more than their fair share of the available space. As veterans of World War II...

Table of contents

• Cover Page
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Dedication
• Contents
• Introduction to the Series
• List of Plates
• Acknowledgments
• Preface
• 1. On Classes
• 2. On Dance Spaces
• 3. On Living Spaces
• 4. On Employment
• 5. On Health
• 6. On Rehearsals
• 7. On Touring
• 8. On Contributing Personalities
• 9. On Major Personalities
• 10. On Marriage, Birthing and Aging
• Index