I Was a Dancer - Jacques D'Amboise [187]
Tamara Annau and Ilana Frank, my Israeli white doves, 1993 (image credit 19.8)
From the moment we set foot in Tel Aviv, this trip to Israel was heartwarming for Carrie and me. Old friends from Denmark, Herbert and Suzie Pundak and their son, Ron, facilitated. How the hell did Ron have time to do it?4 He was one of the architects of the Oslo peace accord, and those negotiations were going on concurrently. Yet he found time to take care of Carrie’s and my needs, and Suzie accompanied us the whole time, adding her vote in the audition process.
We had other connections who paved our way with velvet carpets. Gracing the NDI board is Nili de Rothschild. Her father is revered in Israel, and I had only to mention their names and Israelis would run blindfolded through traffic to help. Isaac Stern and his then wife, Vera, beloved in Israel, were supporters as well.
After days of auditions, I finally chose two darling girls, Ilana Frank and Tamara Annau, who would later reveal themselves as nurturers. They had caught Suzie Pundak’s virus, Jewish mama to all humanity. Their dance was inspired by a pair of white doves flitting among salt deposits. They would be the ones to announce, “We represent those that live in the low places on earth, and have come to dance for you.”
To my surprise, the wettest place on earth is part of the United States—the island of Kauai, in the Hawaiian chain. This time, I decided to bring a teenager from our NDI summer program as my assistant: Marie Lanier, a fifteen-year-old gamboling filly, who had a streak of serenity out of place for her age. We were hosted by Benedict Twigg-Smith and her husband, David, in their home on Coconut Avenue in Honolulu. Carrie glowed. “You can dip your toes in the ocean where Diamond Head meets the Pacific.” From our bed, one could roll out and slip down into the ocean for a pre-breakfast swim with multicolored fish and green turtles.
Sandra leads her classmates, August 1993 (image credit 19.9)
Our contact in Hawaii was the legendary dancer Jean Erdman. She was never without her red beret, so you could find her in a crowd, whether on a bustling street in New York or the beach in Honolulu. Widow of that guru of culture and myth, Joseph Campbell, Jean put us together with the singer and Hawaiian celebrity Jimmy Kaina. He decided who we should meet, what dance schools we should visit, and in what order. One dance class in a school near Pearl Harbor was conducted by a superb teacher, Olana, and a tiny goddess undulating in the midst of her classmates was revealed—Sondra Toth. She had the type of talent that cannot be hidden. Bury her in the back, and her glow would take center stage. Her parents came from the island of Kauai, but lived in Honolulu. Ideally, we were seeking children who lived on Kauai, so, before choosing Sondra, we decided to fly there and audition locally. In Kauai, my young assistant, Marie, and I danced with dozens and dozens of children, and eventually chose Nalei and Tammy. Carrie took thousands of photographs, and when all the arrangements had been made with the parents, our feastings and visits over, we said goodbye—“See you in New York!”—and returned to Honolulu for a couple of days of R & R.
Marie was going back a day earlier than we, and at the airport, just as she was boarding, I was paged on the intercom. Thunder striking me could not have been more disturbing. It was a phone call from Kauai. Nalei and Tammy’s parents had changed their minds. I sputtered out, “Why? What’s happened?” and received an answer, delivered as though it had been rehearsed, “Our parents and grandparents are from Kauai. Our children were born here. If they travel to New York, later on they may not want to settle and stay on our island. It’s better if they don’t go.” I turned and mumbled to Carrie, “Do you think it’s too late to ask Sondra Toth to come?” Marie, who had barely spoken the whole trip, and had paused instead