A DANCER'S STORY By Linda Erland When I was a little girl, I loved dancing more than anything. I would drive my mother to distraction, - kicking and stomping and jumping around the living room in my own version of tap dancing. Other times I'd whirl and twirl, spinning like a top, delighting in my billowing, swirling skirts, imagining that I was a ballerina. And sometimes I turned somersaults and cartwheels across the lawn, certain that I'd be a circus acrobat when I grew up; or I'd pick up a stick and try to twirl it as I had seen majorettes do. But there was never money for anything as extravagant as dance classes. As I grew older, I didn't pretend to dance any more. Instead, I became a big fan of the movies. Musicals were very popular in the fifties, and I'd sit in the theaters and dream. In my adolescence, I grew awkward and shy. I became a bookworm and read voraciously. I read while I walked to and from school, and I read until I fell asleep. I read, sometimes, a book a day. And I didn't think about dance any more. When I was fourteen, my parents moved. That wasn't unusual, we moved often. I had already attended ten schools in two states, but this time I was entering 10th grade. The school was Venice High School and if students chose to, they could enroll in modern dance instead of P.E. And so that's exactly what I did. For two glorious semesters, I dressed in a leotard and danced for an hour of each class day. And once again, I felt like a dancer. But, my family moved again, and the next school didn't offer dance, nor the school after that. I graduated from high school, went to junior-college, got married, had three babies in three years and a fourth child five years later. I became full-time mom and once again, dance was forgotten .... for awhile. But when my second child (and only daughter) was four, I took her to a tiny-tot Spanish Dance class at the local park. She wasn't impressed, but I was. I followed along, behind the children, clicking my heels and dreaming once again of dancing. Then, a few years later, a miracle happened. I had moved to Simi Valley, California into a friendly neighborhood where the neighborhood women got together every morning for coffee after their morning housework was done. And one day, one of my neighbors, Kristy Kemp, came to our group with exciting news. She had met a woman at her child's swim class who was gorgeous. She had a fantastic figure, and she said she attributed it to belly dance, which she would teach if my friend could get together a group of at least five women. Kristy was so excited. She said we "just had to" do it. Had to? I could hardly wait! And so, for the next two years we were the students of Ylsa Benjamin. Ylsa was essentially a self-taught dancer. Her husband was Turkish and they went to the Turkish and Arabic clubs nearly every weekend where Ylsa studied the dancers and then went home to practice what she had seen. But she had also recently started taking classes from Diane Webber at Everywoman's Village and was enrolled in Diane's professional level class. As a teacher, Ylsa was enthusiastic and full of praise. Like a proud mother, she delighted in our every little accomplishment. We learned to play our zills, and progressed through our first solos, constructed our first costumes, and with her encouragement, we danced in our first "amateur night" at a Hollywood nightclub. But, as time went by, our little group of students dwindled away until there were only two of us left, Kristy Kemp and myself; so Ylsa disbanded the class and left us, now thoroughly addicted to belly dance, and teacherless. We spent a few months checking out other teachers in our area, but none were quite right. This was at the height of the belly dance fad and there were a lot of teachers who really didn't know much more than their students. So we decided to go to our teacher's teacher, and away we went to Everywoman's Village and Diane Webber. Ylsa had told us that Diane had danced professionally for a number of years and that she was the director of a dance troupe, The Perfumes of Araby. But she also told us that Diane was intimidating and that she was strict, demanding, and very critical. So it was with some trepidation that we walked into her classroom for our first lesson. And Diane was, for the most part, everything Ylsa said she was. But she was also witty and funny, and incredibly knowledgeable. She was amazing in her ability to spot the least fault in a dancer's style or technique and suggest a way to correct the problem. Diane set very high standards for her students. At that time, she was teaching 10-15 classes per week and the classes were packed, and very competitive. The classes were divided into four levels - beginning, intermediate, advanced, and professional. And getting promoted from one level to the next was not assured based simply on the merit of completion of a set number of weeks of enrollment. Rather, students were required to exhibit proficiency in very specific areas before they could move on to the next level. For instance, beginning students had to be able to play their finger cymbals on the beat and had to have a basic understanding of nine basic steps before they could go into the intermediate class. It wasn't unusual for students to repeat Diane's beginning class for two or three eight-week sessions, and students might remain at the intermediate level for three to five years. At the advanced level, students performed fully costumed solos every other week in front of an audience of their peers. For most students, advanced was as high as they would ever go, but some eventually made it to the professional level where they critiqued one another and worked steadfastly to perfect their craft. By the time I started classes with Diane, I was 35 years old and didn't think of belly dance as anything but a hobby, but Diane's classes were exciting and challenging. I felt like a gradeschool kid again. I showed up early, took notes, and did my "homework" diligently. I spent eighteen months in Diane's intermediate class, and two and a half years in advanced; and them an amazing thing happened. I was promoted to the professional level class! As time went by, magically other dancers started asking me to cover for them in clubs and restaurants where they worked, and eventually I became the feature dancer at a little Armenian Restaurant near my home. Additionally, I had started teaching, which led quite naturally to the birth of my troupe, The Jewels of the Nile. I've joined the senior citizen ranks now, and I don't dance professionally any more. A back injury a few years ago ended that; before age did, but belly dance is still an important part of my life. I'm still teaching, my troupe is thriving, and my calendar revolves around the various dance-related events and festivals. I have made many wonderful friends in the belly dance community and "my dance card" is never empty!