A Young Dancer in New York City

Being in New York City (starting at 15 years old) and being at the School of American Ballet was thrilling and exhausting. There were pressures on so many levels and I am grateful for the patterns of my youthful, effervescent self that just kept putting one foot in front of the other and tried to not think too far ahead.
Being young and being on scholarship to such a special school, was blinding enough for me to be able to put many worldly concerns on the back burner or ignore them completely.
Even with that, I had more than enough on my plate.
Being away from home for the first time was exhilarating, freeing, exciting, and terrifying. On many levels I am surprised that my father allowed it. I think it helped that he was from Brooklyn (born and raised), and we had family in the area. That allowed for my Uncle Phil to check in on me and make sure things were copesetic.
My uncle lived at that time in Manhattan, but my dear uncle was a wildly active gay man and his need to do his own thing often over road his logic.
On many levels he was a lifesaver. He picked me up at the airport and got me to the Empire Hotel across from Lincoln Center. He taught me to not open the door without asking first who it was because after all, we were in the “Big City” and I was not in Texas anymore!
But his quirks put me in complicated situations that could have been quite dangerous.
Remember that in 1976-1977 it was the time of “Son of Sam” in New York City. We had a serial killer on the loose who ended up murdering six people before he was caught. Those years were much more dangerous back then then they are now.
I tried to not think of all the negatives and the headlines in the newspapers. I felt that on many levels I was safe as I stuck pretty close to home and was not putting myself in compromising positions very often.
It was, however, New York City during some pretty dangerous years.
One time my uncle and I went out on the town, and he took me to see the sights in a very fun but confusing way.
As we continued our excursion, it was clear to me that he was high on something. My best guess was cocaine but honestly, I was so naïve that I would not know one stimulate from another at that time in my life. That evening, he was clearly highly animated. When he was like that, it was such a change for me that (at first) it seemed exciting and so very daring. Philip was nothing if not very fun and outrageous with restaurant staff. He could make everyone smile and laugh and was much like my father in being able to tell a story and captivate a room.
In fact, my father and him looked very much alike. The big difference was that my father was taller, and Philip was shorter. My father had hair and Philip was wearing a toupee at a young age.
Philip was my godfather and if he had had children, I probably would have had him as a father. He was in love with the arts and so was I.
My father felt constantly tested by me and I am sure many felt tested repeatedly by Philip as well. However, I was a very calm version comparatively.
At that time, I was young, enthusiastic, willing to be dragged along on the magical adventures of others and I wanted to have experiences that were way outside my box.
Philip was the perfect person to do all that with.
But Philip had many dark sides. Addiction topping that list in this life. Excess on all levels was a close second. His sexual promiscuity was clearly dominant and even to my naïve Texas girl self, I knew what he was up to.
One outing that we had, he got higher in a bathroom of a restaurant and came out in a highly irrational state. He got us in a cab, and then he had us tootling around the city, with him pointing out landmarks, and telling many of his stories, when all the sudden, he wanted to go to Harlem.
Now, I am surmising here but I think there were two factors, he wanted to get more drugs, and he wanted to get laid.
The next thing I knew I was in Harlem in some … not good areas.
Harlem in the late 1970’s, historically had one of the highest addiction rates in the country. Even with my youthful artistic eyes, I knew we were in an area that drug dealing was happening.
Suddenly, it was as if Philip came out of his current wildly fun state and I think he recognized that he did not want to take me where he wanted to go.
That was when he unceremoniously told me that he needed to go on to see some friends about important things but that I could walk home from here.
He dropped me off at the Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine, around 113^th Street and Columbus. He told me I could walk straight down Columbus to get home.
Stunned I get out the taxi as he waves goodbye to me and drives away.
It is 11:30 at night. It is pitch dark. I am not remotely close to where I need to be. And let’s just say walking to 72^nd Street on Columbus at night, by myself seemed a very long way.
While it probably took me 5o minutes, it was nerve wracking. I kept being accosted by men trying to get my attention, sell me drugs, or they were telling me that I was a “very pretty girl.”
I just kept my head straight, made it look like I knew exactly where I was going and that I knew what I was doing. I tried to look very “New York” savvy and disinterested. I would end up needing this technique and ability many more times while in New York and traveling the world later in my life.
To me that night, it seemed like it was a very long walk. My heart was pounding in my chest. I did not feel safe, and it was the first time I was really pissed at my uncle for putting me in such a difficult situation.
I did not know enough about the trains and buses to feel confident in trying either. I felt being on top of the ground and in the illuminated areas of the streetlights was safer. I was probably right at that hour of the night.
I made it home to the Empire Hotel without incident, but it was not for many men’s lack of trying.
In the process, I saw many prostitutes out for their nightly adventures and that also gave me quite an education in the seedier side of humanity.
A lesson, I clearly was unprepared for at 15 years old.
I got to the hotel, unlocked my door, shut the door and leaned against it just to catch my breath and get my nerves to calm down.
Being a young dancer in New York gave me a lot of stature in many subtle ways, but it also created many uncomfortable moments when men decided to try to either enroll me into a life of prostitution or ensnare me into being in relationship with them.
I got tired of pimps coming up to me in various places and asking me if I was alone or if my parents were around. I got tired of men coming up to me when I am trying to read a book or write a letter and ask me out on a date.
And some of these men were downright scary looking. Some had rotting teeth in their mouths, and the smell coming off their breath was so horrible that one could barely allow them to get close. I would pick up everything I was doing and tell them that I was late for a rehearsal to get away from them.
I learned in New York that there is a dark side to almost everything. Being in Manhattan taught me to recognize that danger lurked in every dark corner and sometimes in the clear light of day.
I marvel that my father even managed to let me go that first year. In all honesty, I imagine that he was quite terrified and concerned. And I would never tell him any of the very dangerous moments I experienced while he was alive because I knew it would have only validated his worst fears and that would have made him not allow me to be there.
I knew I had to be highly competent and grown up.
New York City taught me that life is not a box of chocolates. Or at least to know that there were rotten chocolates in that box, and one needed to be very careful what one took a bite out of.
But the excitement and joy of being in the big city superseded any of the more difficult moments.
I learned to be bold and brave. I learned to take calculated risks and know where I was going, how to get there and how to get back home safely. I learned how to read people and read their underlying intentions. I learned that people would always do what they wanted to do and that most never would take my needs or concerns into consideration, so I would have to do most things for myself.
I learned that I had to be fully responsible for my choices and actions at all times. I learned that my choices were mine alone and to never blame another for what might transpire and potentially not go my way.
Many things in my life would not go the way I planned either.
Such as my dream was to be a New York City Ballerina. Busted!
My dream was to be the next Suzanne Farrell. Also Busted!
Violette Verdy did me a huge favor and checked my ambition that second year, in a direct, kind, but honest way.
I was feeling a bit full of myself because I jumped from group 4 to group 6 instead of going from group 4 to group 5 the second year.
Evidently that was never done. And I have not heard of another dancer who had that happen.
Each year we go in and we are re-evaluated.
In that class that I was having the evaluation, I could clearly see that I was the best dancer in group 5. When suddenly I am put over to the group 6 class.
While that was very exciting, instantly I realized that I went from being the best in group 5 to being the worst dancer in group 6.
That was my first ego hit that year. But I was determined to take those classes and sessions and become the best in that class by the end of that term.
Balanchine dancers were often referred to as Greyhounds or Borzois. Both breeds are built for speed and are long legged and lanky. But Borzois are the giant part of that breed and can be double the size of a Greyhound.
I was clearly more of a Borzois!
Balanchine loved the French dancers, but he prided himself on building and bringing up Americans to make a brand-new style of dancer. He intended to create a new breed of very quick, lightning fast, long-legged, and swan-necked dancers.
The one exception to that rule was Violette Verdy. She was asked by Balanchine to dance with New York City Ballet and she was very small … more like a French Poodle. She was trained and danced with Roland Petit Ballets des Camps-Elysees. She also danced with the London Festival ballet and American Ballet theater when she was hired by Balanchine to dance with New York City Ballet.
She could handle choreography like no one I had ever seen. She lit up the stage and she made you look at her. She was a star and she and Patricia McBride were two women that I did idolize at that time. Both of them were not the stereotypical Balanchine dancer. And both were much smaller in size though they danced with a freedom and fire that electrified audiences.
I even bought a pair of Patricia McBride’s used point shoes as a memento during one performance. I kept them for years and those shoes taught me a lot about how important it was to understand how to professionally shape point shoes to our feet to make them work the best and give the best line in a performance.
I had noticed that Violette had been watching me for weeks. I did not know what it was about and honestly it made me nervous.
I wondered if I was doing something wrong.
Finally, she came up to me and without introducing herself, (everyone knew who she was), she told me that she had some advice for me and that it might be a bit hard to hear.
Stunned I looked back at her questioningly.
She said to me, “You are going to have a problem in New York City Ballet.”
I asked why?
She smiled and said, “First, what did you do last weekend?”
Confused, I said, “I went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.”

Knowingly, she smiled, “Yes, see that is a problem. I can see that in your eyes and in your dancing. You are more like me. In this school, you are supposed to eat, sleep, and breathe ballet. You have many varied artistic interests and that is not what Balanchine wants. He likes young colts with blinders on. He wants all your attention on ballet. Nothing else!”
I interjected, “But the art in this town is like nothing I have ever experienced, and I just want to explore as much of it as I can while I am here. In Texas, we do not have the opportunity to see such things!”
She smiled saying, “I agree with you. Just wait till you see places like Paris and Madrid! But you are more like a wild mustang than a thoroughbred colt. He likes to shape dancers! You want to shape yourself. You see a bigger world, and Balanchine wants you to believe he is God!”

I laughed out loud, “Oh course he is not God!”

And now she laughed, “You see … That is the problem!”
Little did I know how prophetic her words would actually be. Little did I know that it would be that tendency of mine to explore museums and haunt the places where great art was generated that would draw the great Rudolf Nureyev to me.
Little did I understand that I was … deep inside … a wild thing that did not want to be controlled by others.
Little did I know that fire that burned inside my soul and that ignited the passion of my dancing self would be one thing that would separate me from many other dancers and make me able to leap out of frying pans into even hotter fires.
Little did I know that the power of my own self-autonomy would be the thing that saved me again and again.
Little did I know that within me was a powerful connection to the goddesses Terpsichore and Kali. They were to be my muses and that no man would ever really control who I was or define me in this lifetime.
While some dancers needed to be led.
Others need to be set free and given their head. While some dancers needed to be trained and taught like a Dressage Horse. Others know how to express the wildness and power that they hold within without help.
I did not know that I leaned towards that latter position. I was still young and wanting to fit into the patterns and look of a New York City ballerina.

Violette did not fit into the stereotype that Balanchine was creating but he could see her magnificence. And for some reason, she was given her autonomy. But few were that prerogative around Balanchine.
I could not yet see the fire inside that was burning out my eyes.
Violette did see something in me that was so strong that she felt that she needed to point out that difference and bring it to my awareness. She told me that Europe would be a better fit for me, my style, my spirit, and my energy.
At the time I thought she was wrong. At that time the only place I knew that took tall dancers was New York City Ballet.
It seemed my only hope was here!
I thought that her comments seemed insulting at the time. I could feel that she was being honest and that she was trying to help. I did see that she was comparing me to her deepest inner self.
I just did not want her to be right.
But prophetic angels have always showed up just when I needed them to point out a flaw in my creation and to give me a foreshadowing of what was to come next. She was clearly one of mine.
She would end up being right on all counts. And I am grateful to her still for the wisdom she tried to impart to a zealous dancer whose deeper desire was going to take her away from New York City Ballet. I could not see that something much greater awaited me in another big city of Berlin Germany.
I am now very grateful that I am “divergent.”
I am grateful that I could never fit into someone’s box.
I am grateful for the disappointments that would drag me out of childish delusions and into the magically broader world of art.
And I am grateful that I would learn again and again to not let the projections of others define who I was to be artistically in the ballet world or in any artistic world.
Real art is generated by the rebels that refuse to conform.
Real art is to express more than has previously been the style of a culture or time.
Real art, breaks the rules and opens closed minds.
Real art is a risk to become something unique in a world of copies.
And real artists leave behind a legacy that is like a trail of fiery breadcrumbs for others of like mind to discover and for them to make that choice to let out the wildness inside. Great artists give others the permission to run free, to become magnificent in their own way and to change the mindsets of audiences in such a way that eventually humanity might begin to recognize that it is great art that will save humanity from itself.

~Suzanne Wagner~