Even before my career as a dancer, I never thought of myself as a dancer, I WAS dance.
I often ask my students why they dance. Most say, “because it’s fun” or “Because I like it”, I tell them, “I dance because I can’t live without it! I HAVE to dance. I would literally shrivel up and die if I wasn’t allowed to dance! That’s why I dance! No one can stop me from dancing!” The truth is, I never considered myself a dancer, I WAS dance. I AM dance. We are one in the same and can never be separated.
Although I was 3 years old the first time I put on a tutu, the memory of the incident escapes me, only a picture of that moment survives. My earliest memories of dance include watching my sister perform in her dance recitals. I must have been 5 or 6 during that time. On the ride home, the movement I saw played over and over in my head. I wanted to dance right there in the car; it took all my energy to hold still. Once home, I ran to my room and recreated the movement I had seen. Dance was something I did behind closed doors, because it was made clear to me that dancing was something my sisters did, not me. I was to follow in my father's footsteps and become a boxer, but I had no interest in becoming a boxer, I wasn’t a fighter, I was a lover of dance. I WAS dance - how could I do anything else?
My mother collected movie musical albums of the golden age, which included Easter Parade, Meet me in St Louis, Fiddler on the Roof, and my personal favorite - Singing in the Rain. Since this was the pre-internet era, I could only imagine what the dance numbers looked like, until I eventually saw them in TV. Though my mother loved Gene Kelly, I wanted to be like Donald O’Conner, I thought he sang the best songs. Make ‘em Laugh was my favorite, and I created my own goofy routines and danced around the house with hilarity abound joy. Again, when no one was around. Moses Supposes and Fit as a Fiddle also made me want to dance. I couldn’t understand why it was okay for Gene and Donald to dance, but not me. I continued my passion in secret.
I participated in song and dance numbers at school talent showcases, and even choreographed numbers for me and friends, I can only imagine how awful they must have been. Those types of dances seemed to be acceptable, as long as I also signed up for soccer and tennis lessons. For me, even though they were encouraged, baseball and football were out of the question. Back at home I created entire ballets and performed them for an imaginary audience in the living room when no one was home. Looking back, I can’t believe how often I was left home alone as a child.
1980, was a pivotal year in my life, because that was when the movie Fame was released. Though I was too young to see the movie during its initial release, the soundtrack quickly became the soundtrack to my life, and Irene Cara was my idol. I found my purpose: move to New York, enroll in a performing arts school, and become Coco Hernandez. I didn’t realized then what I know now, that Fame was a cautionary tail of failed dreams and not about actually acquiring fame. I was obsessed with the watered down Fame TV show. I never missed an episode, I bought every album and poster I could find, made a Fame scrap book from articles I read and pictures I found, and bought the published sheet music and learned to play the songs on the piano. My life was no longer just dance, it became Fame specific. Though I wanted fame, it wasn’t “fame” as in celebrity I yearned for, it was just the act of openly singing and dancing, to be able to express outwardly who I was inside. Because the show was hugely popular in England, I wanted to move across the pond in order to be around other fame fanatics like myself. I couldn’t understand anyone who didn’t like Fame, or didn’t want to be fame.
In high school I performed in productions of Bye Bye Birdie, You Can’t Take It With You, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat, Fiddler on the Roof, and Oklahoma, but performing in theatre was something I did for fun, and my parents allowed it. My goal was still to move to New York and dance on top of taxi cabs. When I eventually told my mother I wanted to take ballet lessons, she refused. So, I took karate lessons instead. At least I was able to kick and jump. I continued my private dancing; no one was going to prevent my heart and soul from expressing who I was. On my 18th Birthday I told my parents that I was going to take ballet lessons and they weren’t going to stop me. With 13 years of pent up yearning to dance, I couldn’t wait to get into a studio. Once I got there I realized I was way behind, and in order to become a dancer I had to become a fighter.
Once I enrolled into a performing arts school, I took the first step in my goal, but the obligation to fight heightened. While the other male dancers were simply given roles because they were males, I had to fight for mine. I was too skinny and effeminate, and every choreographer I worked with didn’t want to cast me. No role was ever simply given to me. I had to prove I could do it. I fought relentlessly until I got what I wanted. I practiced every opportunity, I constantly reviewed choreography, and imagined myself dancing certain roles every waking moment. No one was going to tell me I couldn’t dance the roles I wanted. I WAS dance. My tenacity paid off, as I was eventually put in roles I wanted, sometimes at the expense of other dancers losing what was simply given to them. I didn’t care because I wanted it more than they did. I fought and won. I WAS dance. It wasn’t until I saw a touring company of Cats, that I realized I could actually make money doing what I loved to do. So, my goal shifted from moving to New York to dance on top of taxi cabs, to dancing on Broadway. 1988, was the year my dream came true when I moved to the Big Apple. New York was the most amazing place, dance was everywhere, I belonged there, and could openly BE dance. After years of struggling I could be myself. I couldn’t wait to take the Great White Way by storm! Little did I know the need to fight would not only continue, it would intensify.
To be continued...
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