I Was a Dancer - Jacques D'Amboise [152]
I hastened to proclaim, “I don’t have any money, so it has to be pro bono.”
Neal Johnston was the chosen one. “Lincoln told me you wanted to speak to me.” He was not the Madison Avenue banker type. He looked to me a mumbling, scroungy, kind of seedy-looking guy. I was to discover an amazing, sensitive human being, a legendary litigator defending human rights activists. He adored music, was an accomplished pianist, and worshipped NYCB. It took a while, but by mid-1976, Neal had secured the necessary papers and had a request. “You need a minimum of five people on your board of directors, and, if you want, I’d like to be one.” No one else wanted to. We were the first, then I shanghaied our best friend Sue Newhouse, and Carrie. With the addition of an entrepreneur friend, Karen Zehring, we made a handful. It was a start. We called it National Dance Institute.
Within a year, Lincoln joined our board as well, though as I expected, he soon lost interest. After attending one board meeting, where he heard I was teaching children that included those with visual and hearing impairments (that is, that I wouldn’t be sending him little boys for SAB—early versions of myself and Eddie Villella), he proclaimed, “It’ll appeal to people’s guilt, so it will probably be successful.”
Soon, it included girls as well as boys. Classes held in New York City schools throughout the year culminated in a spectacle, called the “Event of the Year.” No one seemed to enjoy it more than Balanchine. From the beginning, he attended every performance, first at the New York State Theater between matinee and evening performances, then, starting around 1979, at the Felt Forum in Madison Square Garden.2 Invariably, the morning after the NDI event, I would receive a phone call. “Balanchine here.” Groggily, “Oh, Mr. B!” I’d mumble, and he’d continue, “You know, last night, performance—all the children, with wonderful music and dance, making story and theater, good! And big audience. Very important for children to experience this. Me! As a child, I performed ballets at Maryinsky Theater.” Awake by now, I’d be babbling, “Oh, Mr. B! It’s six thirty a.m.,” and he’d interrupt, “All right. Goodbye.” Click.
The year 1976 was a seminal one for Carrie, too. She started an exercise class for a group of her friends, eventually dubbed “Carrie’s Mob.” They met at the small dance studio we had on the top floor of our town house, and, several times a week, explored vigorous floor exercises, jazz, tap, and ballet. In several of NDI’s Event of the Year spectaculars, Carrie’s Mob was featured dancing with thousands of New York City children. As these memoirs are being conjured and printed, those classes continue, although more recently in the last of these decades, several of Carrie’s Mob have begun attending as spirits.
But at NDI’s Event in the spring of 1982, Balanchine was different. The moment the overture started, he clapped his hands over his ears and importuned, “Make it stop! The sound is too loud! It’s hurting!” He tore pieces of paper from the program, balled them into plugs, and stuffed them in his ears.
As soon as that Event was completed, I began preparing the next year’s theme and plot—a Guys and Dolls type of musical, entitled Fat City. It would eventually include original music and lyrics by a crew of superb musicians and lyricists—Martin Charnin, Lee Norris, Judy Collins, Arthur Schwartz—and a delightful song, “We Do It for Diamonds,” for the gangster chief, Legs Diamond, that my son Christopher concocted. I knew Balanchine would love to be included. “Mr. B, I need a tango. Judy Collins will sing it. This is the scene, do you think you can write me one?” Within a week, Mr. B had the music and lyrics of his song in my hand.
It was in early spring of life,
We passed each other,
One step and you were gone,
I went my way alone.
We made our mind to find our future everlasting
That rays of sun would shine upon.
Now spring is gone and roses went to sleep,
No petals left for angry winds to sweep.
Why not I when you were passing by?
Why not you when