I Was a Dancer - Jacques D'Amboise [178]
When in public—buses, trains, on the street, restaurants, airplanes—I am often addressed by people. “Oh, I saw you dance at City Center when I was growing up!” or “I’ll never forget you in the NYCB.” That’s one subject they bring up. The other is, “Oh! You’re the guy who works with children. I love what you do.” Or, “My son (daughter) was in your program. He’s in college now, and still talks about it.” “Are you still working with children? I have a granddaughter …”
Once, on a packed number 6 subway train going north from SoHo, I became aware of a space opening up around me. Staring at me was a ferocious toughie. As eye contact is something to avoid in the subway, my fellow passengers had inched away nervously. The thug spoke up, “I was a tomato.” Everyone froze, but I got it, right away. “You must have been in our 1989 show,” I said, “Meilleurs Amis. Tomates à la Provençale! P.S. 40, right? You were vegetables dancing with Frogs’ Legs in the French Bistro—” “Hey,” he answered, “you remember! It was great. But I ain’t dancing now. I’m a musician.” The train pulled into the station. “This is Fourteenth Street, I’m getting off here. Goodbye! Good luck!” and, battling the crop of commuters barreling in, he shoved his way out the door. Meanwhile, my fellow passengers, smiling now, “Hey, you got a dancing school? Can I send you my kid?”
NDI spread—nationally and internationally. Artistically, in inspiring children through the arts, we are the engine in the front of the train; moneywise, we’re way at the back, trying to catch up to the caboose. Not exactly the way the Ford Foundation and corporations would applaud.
But so what? If I had spent my time, energy, and imagination raising money, I would maybe be a wealthy competitor to George Soros, and never have had the time to hold the hand of a child and say, “Try this step.”
Each time I can use dance to help a child discover that he or she can control the way they move, I am filled with joy. At P.S. 199 in Manhattan, there was one boy who couldn’t get from his right foot to his left. Everyone was watching. He was terrified. And what he had to do was so simple: take a step with his left foot on a precise note of music.
He kept trying, but he kept falling, until finally, he was frozen, unable to move at all. I put my arm around him and said, “Let’s do it together. We’ll do it, moving forward, in slow motion.” We did. Then I said, “Now do it alone, and fast.” With his face twisted in concentration, he slammed his left foot down, directly in front of him, smack on the musical note.
The whole class applauded. He was so excited. He was on the way to discovering he could take control of his body, and from that he can learn to take control of his life.
Dance is an art of communication that expresses emotions by controlling and ordering movement, as well as tempo, and molding and defining space. That’s what our universe is about. We can hardly speak without signifying some expression of distance, place, or time. “See you later.” “Meet you at the corner in five minutes.” Even “Where are you going?” implies space and time. Every time you shake hands in greeting or raise a glass in a toast, you’re participating in a dance.
The art of dance chooses and choreographs what movement will take place and where, in what kind of space, and for how long, in how much time, how fast or slow. And those selections determine the emotions experienced by the viewer, as well as the performer.
As a performing art, dance has to be taught, and it’s best to