I Was a Dancer - Jacques D'Amboise [193]
All our threads of silver and multicolored bars
Now we have a tapestry that is ours.
Underneath our blanket, safe at peace we are
Ready for our journey to the stars.
Underneath our blanket, safe at peace we are
Ready for our journey to the stars.
Rosebud arrived center stage during the last few lines of Judy’s song. Then, the entire cast swayed, a giant blanket undulating, and the strings from the orchestra swelled into the sublime chords of Stravinsky’s Apollo. A giant glowing sun rose from the back of the stage, the entire cast pivoted to face the back, and two thousand hands reached for the sun. As the stage lights faded, we saw a sea of silhouetted hands reaching toward the golden globe. Except for Rosebud. On the darkened stage, she continued to face front, and slowly reached her hand above the audience as a pinspot faded on her face.
I lost touch with Alexandra (Allie) Rosen until March 2007, when the following letter arrived. It answers beautifully a question often asked of me: “How many children who pass through NDI go on to have a professional career in dance?” I answer, “I have no idea, and I don’t worry about it. NDI is so much more.” Allie’s letter expresses this better than I, or anyone, ever could.
Dear Jacques,
I need not remind myself, or anyone else for that matter, that it has been over ten years since I played Rosebud at the Paramount Theatre at Madison Square Garden. When I turned 23 in January of this year, I remember thinking how I remember exactly how I felt the moment the stage lights hit my face for the first time when I was 9 years old. I was terrified, yet incredibly energized—knowing that I was the luckiest nine-year-old on the face of the earth.
Not a day goes by when I’m alone that I don’t think about what my life would be like now if you had not pulled me aside on that Saturday back in 1994 and said, “You are going to play Rosebud.”
You obviously don’t need another reminder from someone about how you changed their life. If you had a penny for every child’s life you’ve impacted, I know you would be a millionaire. The other day I was telling my boyfriend of two years how I had never thanked the man who is responsible for my self-confidence, and most of who I am today. So, Jacques, I want to thank you for everything you have done for my life. I currently live in Charlottesville, VA. I am an Executive Marketing Assistant for a small management company here.
Unfortunately, my dancing days are over. After I graduated the dance program at LaGuardia High School back in 2002, I decided that being a “Prima Ballerina” wasn’t exactly in the cards for me. Plus, I loved food too much, and my teachers said I didn’t have pretty feet. Lucky for me, I was smart enough to earn a 3.8 GPA in college, and graduate “cum laude.” That’s that.
I’m not sure when you will get this, as I am sure you’re busy changing the lives of unsuspecting children. However, I wanted to let you know that you are always in my heart, and will continue to be the most amazing mentor!
Be sweet, Jacques!
Much love,
Alexandra Rosen, NDI Class of ’99
On a day off, NDI took all the visiting guests—children and adults—on a trip to the Bronx Zoo. At a cage where five leopards were dozing, one of the Afar children, Hussan, slipped loose from our group and squeezed his head through the bars of the cage and started singing. The cats’ ears twitched, their eyes flashed, their noses tested, and the five of them padded straight to Hussan. We rushed to him as well, but then stood frozen, afraid to breathe—in half a second, any one of those cats could have ripped out his eyes. Crowds began to gather. “Hey, Mabel!! Come quick, bring the camera! The kid’s singing to the cats!” Hussan sang on, with five pairs of unblinking feral eyes inches from his nose. Suddenly, he paused, several silent seconds, and then made a god-awful sound from the back of his throat, grating and guttural. The cats hissed, bared their teeth, spun, and fled. Hussan pulled his head out from the bars, turned around, and, beaming