Dance Studio

Temptress

How Arthur Murray Changed My Life

Alexandria, Virginia - 1950

...or so went the words to a popular Betty Hutton song in the 1940s.

Anyway, I had joined the army — and was still smarting from the fact that the last time I saw Norma Jean, she had fixed me up with a blind date — so she could go to this party with another guy — who was a better dancer.  So what was the obvious thing to do?  Take dance lessons, of course.

There was an Arthur Murray studio in Alexandria, Virginia, a few miles from Fort Belvoir — so I went to inquire about lessons.  They gave me the usual sales pitch about how I had a lot of potential — but that I really did need some professional instruction — and if I'd just sign up for this sixty-hour course I'd be sweeping the ladies off their collective feet in no time.

Well, the payments on this course would leave me practically nothing out of my $90 a month army salary.  No problem, they assured me — they could arrange financing, and spread the payments out over a year or more.  So I signed up.

Well, I quickly learned that all the dance instructors had two jobs.  One was to teach you dancing the other was to continually try to sign you up for more lessons.  Their commissions and bonuses were tied to how well they did the second job — so they really worked at that.

Most of the other students were women, and most were "middle-aged." Since I was only 18, anyone over 30 seemed pretty old to me.  Two or three were widowed or divorced, but most were married and would lament periodically how they wished their husbands would be interested in dancing.  And I quickly became very popular with these women because whenever we had a "studio party" I'd be one of the few guys available for them to dance with.

Then there was Carole.

Carole was 23, and single, and very nice, and a very good dancer.  She had obviously been taking lessons for a long time.  In fact, she was so good I wondered why she was still coming to the studio.

As we got to know each other a little better, I learned that she'd broken up with a guy about a year earlier and still hadn't found anyone else.  Although she never said anything specific, I got the feeling she harbored some bitterness about this former relationship.

I also got the feeling the experience left her somewhat bitter toward men in general.  This was because of something she said one night when we were practicing the tango.

The tango was very popular in those days, and one of several different dances taught at the studio.  One of the tangos they used was "Adios, Muchachos," an old Argentine standard that can still be heard today wherever the tango is danced.  But they were playing a new American version sung by Tony Martin called "I Get Ideas." (Click to hear this recording.)

Carole told me she didn't like the English lyrics, which began:

"When we are dancing and you're dangerously near me, I get ideas, I get ideas."

I had a feeling I really shouldn't ask why she didn't like the lyrics, but I went ahead and asked, anyway.

So Who Was "Getting Ideas?"

She pulled away from me with a look that said, "Well, it's obvious, isn't it?"

What she actually said was, "Well, I don't want any guys getting any ideas about me." Then she moved in closer — but abruptly pulled away again, and gave me a quizzical look.

"You wouldn't get any ideas about me, would you?" Then she got closer yet, and whispered, "Or would you?"

Well, talk about mixed signals.  I didn't know what to think.  Actually, other than the fact that I enjoyed dancing with her and talking to her, I really hadn't given much thought to any "ideas" about her.  After all, she was an "older woman" and, besides, my heart still belonged to Norma Jean.

But after that night I noticed Carole was even friendlier than before, and a lot more relaxed than she had been.  She also smiled at me a lot.

Well, what the heck, I thought — maybe I should invite her out to dinner and a movie.  I didn't have a lot of money to spend on dates — my dance lessons took most of my army paycheck each month.

But Carole was aware of this — and I was sure she wouldn't expect me to go overboard on expenses.  And who knows — maybe if we were alone together away from the studio things might click for us.  So I decided the next time I saw her I would ask her out.

Well, Carole was at the studio when I arrived for my next lesson.

But something was different.

She wasn't dancing with any of the instructors, and she didn't appear to be waiting for one.  In fact, she appeared to be waiting for me.  She stood there, smiling at me as I hung up my jacket.  I looked around for my usual instructor, but couldn't see her anywhere.

Then Carole walked over and said, "Francine isn't here anymore.  I'm your new instructor.  Shall we start with the tango?"

Sure, I thought, why not?  This news had caught me off guard — but somehow didn't surprise me all that much.

Then she told me something I already knew — but, still, it had to be said.

"I guess you know — instructors aren't allowed to date the students.  I mean — well, you can see why."

Yes, of course I could see why.

In any case, this took a weight off my shoulders, because I really hadn't been all that anxious to ask her out, anyway.  Now we could continue to be friends — and neither of us had to worry about whether the other might be "getting ideas."

But there was a new problem.

"By the way," Carole said with a serious look, "Have you thought about signing up for more hours?  You really do need more instruction on the tango, you know. And we're having this special — if you sign up for just an additional twenty hours..."

( $ $ $ $ )

So did I ever ask Carole for a date?

Well, that's a story for perhaps another time. However, the lessons I learned at that Arthur Murray dance studio really did change my life.

How? Well, I never did get completely over being shy around women, but the lessons did give me a lot more confidence in social situations than I had ever had before. In fact, when I got my orders to go to Korea, I decided to take part of my furlough time to go to Cuba.

Cuba?

Right—I had gotten pretty good at the mambo, the bolero, and the guaracha, and decided I wanted to do theses dances in the country were they had originated. So I went to Cuba, and my visit there turned out to be another life-changing event—in more ways than one.

For one thing, I met Celia Cruz, who over the next 53 years would become known all over the world as "La Reina de la Salsa" (and with whom I was invited to appear on TV in 2001).

I also met a wonderful young woman named Margarita, who taught me a lot about Cuban dancing (and a few other things).