Murder at the Met – Off to Kennedy Center in Washington, DC

I actually don’t remember much of the rest of the tour in New York City. And after that terrible event, we were not there long.

We said goodbye to Lincoln Center, and we were off to Washington, DC, and the Kennedy Center.

While Kennedy Center is a beautiful building, the architects made one big mistake. And that was putting this beautiful building by the river. It made the wood swell, and so the stage was like cement to dance on.
Currently, the Kennedy Center has placed an additional floor above that floor … that has a spring to it.
But when we danced there, jumping on it was excruciatingly painful. Everyone was trying to just not get injured during that run.

I remember, landing from a grand jete and literally feeling as if my bones were shuttering as my spine was trying to cushion the impact from my legs.
It was quite an odd sensation. Nothing that I had ever felt before.

I remember standing on the stage, looking out into an audience that has held presidents and famous people being honored for their contributions to the arts.
Such a moment is humbling, and just being on that stage was a tremendous honor. There was no way not to know that anyone standing there was standing in the footsteps of some of the greatest modern artists in this world.
Like Lincoln Center, such places have an aura and a type of power mixed in with sprinkles of magic, and memory. To me, they are alive, breathing, and a crucial part of the creative process.

I remember standing on the stage looking out into the audience with the lights up and seeing all the red chairs and the ornate decorations and trimmings. It was magnificent, classic, and timeless.

Kennedy Center is a great lady, much like a more modern American version of Cora Crawley from Downton Abbey.

I did not know at that moment, that I would be graced to be on this stage more than once. So, I was trying to let it sink into my bones and allow myself to feel fully … the exhilaration and joy that could be felt in the magical presence of such a Grand Dame.

To me, this moment was our … introduction.

With great respect, to this great lady, I took a long and graceful bow to her.
I wanted to celebrate just being in the presence of her magnificence.
To me … being there was not about fame or glory. It was a great honor to become a part of this history, and I wanted to add my personal energy into the complicated matrix that was this theater.
I think of how many rush through life and forget to pause at such special moments and take it all in. I believe rushing in life is the basis of all regrets.

I looked out into the belly of this magnificent beast and saw it looking back at me, smiling. I took a deep breath and thanked her.
My mind likes to take snapshots for my mind’s memory scrapbooks that I hope to be able to recall when I am old and gray.

So, now, I am here in this magnificent venue, and yet the murder in New York was still haunting me. I am sure I am not alone.
But because of circumstances beyond Herman’s or my control, we needed to rehearse ourselves for our excursion to Suriname. As we were going to leave immediately after the performances in Washington to go to Suriname.

Knowing full well, that we were not supposed to be in a small group … but needing to rehearse … and knowing that it was unfair to ask another dancer to be a chaperone, we decided to rehearse on our own, in between a morning off and a show that afternoon.
We arrive together, walking from the hotel, laughing and chatting as we tended to do.
We get to Kennedy Center and go through security once again.
But as we go into the dressing rooms, all is quiet. It seems a bit too quiet. After all the hustle and bustle, and the scare we had been through, it felt a bit empty, and that worried me a bit.

We both go into our respective dressing rooms, and Herman says that he will meet me in the studio.

I change quickly and go to the studio to warm up. I am sewing point shoes when the door opens. I am expecting to see Herman, but instead, I see a 20-year-old man standing in the doorway.
Now, I have to say here (in all honesty) that the events of that previous week had taken their toll on me.
The pressure and drama of performing at Lincoln Center, seeing friends and family, now being in Washington, DC (our glorious capital), having my uncle come to see the performances here, him being in terrible pain that in the mornings, I was doing massages on his back because he was in such terrible pain, and then the murder, the police, the translating and hearing all the stories of others during the show, to finally the warnings never to be alone … got to me.

I was under terrible stress, and it would be easy for me to react rather than feel fully into a situation.
So here I am, thinking I am alone, and that Herman would be walking in the door any minute.
Just then, a strange young man is standing in the doorway, and I am in the studio. Instantly, I realize that where he is standing is the only way out. I am trapped!

Instantly I begin to panic!

I try to keep my composure and focus on sewing the point shoes, noticing that the scissors next to me are the only weapon I have available.

The young man seems … off … somehow. I cannot put my finger on is, but there is something different about this young man. There was something not quite right about him.
I was just scared enough to be afraid to look too closely at him, and I opted instead to bring the scissors closer to me.
He speaks without any hello or hi, which is odd to begin with.

Instead, he says, “Are you German?”

I said, “No, I am an American.”

He responds back, “But you are dancing with that … German company, right?”

I answered, still looking at my sewing, “Yes.”

Then he asks an odd question that makes my heart leap in my chest, “Then are you a Nazi too?”

I think, “What the hell! Is this the killer? Is this the reason he targeted someone during our performance? Did he think that we are all Nazis if we work for the Berlin Ballet? The violinist did look very German with blonde hair and blue eyes.”
My mind is racing, and I am feeling light-headed from the increased blood pressure.

I can feel part of myself that wants to run, but this young man is standing at the door.
I think in my head, “Could I get past him? Where is Herman?”
Now, I am standing up and looking at this man more squarely, trying to decide what is happening.

He seems young and … off in some way that I can feel, but I cannot figure out what exactly is off about him. And now, in my panic … my current level of alarm is not helping.

He keeps talking about WWII and how the Americans kicked those Nazi’s asses.

I am thinking, “Why is he saying this to me? Am I supposed to respond? What should I say?”

My only response is that I would not know as I was not there, but that both my grandfathers had fought in the war, and one was a pilot trainer.

When he looks up because of my response, there is something odd again about his look. I cannot understand what exactly I am seeing through the filter of my fear.

He keeps talking as if he is talking to himself, and I am just getting to hear it with him.

When I decide to say, “Well, I have to do a rehearsal as some other dancers are coming soon, so it is probably time for you to leave now.”
Then very nicely, he says, “Okay, Bye! Stay away from those Nazi’s!”

Then he leaves and the door closes.

I wait, holding my breath.

I wait for what seems long enough, and I creep to the door and carefully open it, peeking out as I do. But I can’t see him.

I open the door completely and realize that he seems to be gone.
Then I run!

My heart is beating madly in my chest; I am terrified. I run all the way into the men’s dressing room, yelling for Herman!

I hear Herman respond to not just my yelling for him, but my tone clearly was alarming to him, as well.
And I hear his voice and follow it to him.

He is almost dressed, but shall I say, not quite? LOL!

And I tell him what happened. He is also clearly alarmed, and once dressed, we quickly go out to look for this young man but don’t see him anywhere.
Frustrated, concerned, and on edge, we go back to the rehearsal studio, and we realize that we can lock the door from the inside. So, we locked ourselves into the studio to rehearse.
Needless, to say, it was not our best rehearsal.
But we both tried.

Herman is a huge guy and much taller than this young man, but not knowing what we were dealing with, we were distracted.
We finish rehearsing and decide that we needed to get out of the theater. No one was around, so I ran into the women’s dressing room, grabbed my stuff, and changed in the rehearsal studio with the door locked.

Then I met Herman, and we walked out together to get some food before the show.
On the way out, the guard was at the front once again.
I decided to ask the guard about this young man.

I am grateful that I was very nice about it and did not say or do anything inappropriate.
I just asked, “Do you know that young man, about 20 years old that has the sandy brown hair? There is something different about him but I did not know what it was? Do you know him?”

Instantly the guard said, “Oh yes! You mean Charlie! He is the son of the janitor for the theater. He is … um, how can I say this nicely … slightly sub-intelligent. He helps his dad clean, and it gives him something to do. He does a good job! His dad has taught him well. He might just get the janitor’s job from his dad when his dad retires. He is a good kid, but he gets fixated on subjects and gets into a loop. Was he bothering you? We don’t usually have people here when he is working.”

Instantly, I realize what the off-ness was with this young man. He had a disability! My fear had made him into someone potentially dangerous!
I was terribly embarrassed by my reaction to a perfectly harmless young man.

I responded, “No! Not at all. I just did not know who he was, and we had a scare in New York, and I am a bit on edge. I just wanted to know that he belonged to this building.”

The guard instantly knew what I was talking about. He said, “Oh, yea! I heard about the murder in New York. I am so sorry about that. I don’t know why such things have to happen. Charlie wouldn’t hurt a flea!”

I smiled warmly and said, “Thank you for letting us know. I will not worry now!”

Then he said with a smile, “You don’t need to worry at all. We have cameras everywhere.” And then he began to show me all of them in the area, saying, “We must have security … good enough for presidents. We got this!”
I left, more humble and very sorry that I had reacted to that disabled man internally from the pattern of my own fears without any real basis, in fact.

I really looked at how my fear allowed me to overreact and not be able to see things clearly.

And I realize that this is how we can all end up judging others.
Our fears make monsters out of those that seem different. We judge things that do not seem to make sense and are odd or out of the norm. And I realized that I needed to learn how not to let my fears dictate what is happening in most moments. It woke me up to the next phase of learning about my own fears and how fear is insidious and infects situations with energies that take us down a path that can make us leap to conclusions.

I will tell more of the stories from Kennedy Center and then onto Suriname in some more chapters.

~Suzanne Wagner~