Over the years, we came to know our teachers well and, for the most part, adored them. Despite the fact that Mr. Tudor was reputedly a Buddhist priest, he could be insulting in class, with a sharp tongue and naughty imagination. Once during barre exercises, he asked the girl in front of me to do a very slow passé, drawing one foot up the inside of her standing leg until it reached her knee. After she finished the move, he glared at her with a lascivious glint in his eye, and said – in a provocative tone of voice – “How did that make you feel?” The poor girl burst into tears. Despite his sly remarks and sometimes cruel criticisms, we all adored him.
Anthony Tudor – Photo courtesy of the author.
Typically, Mr. Tudor would enter the classroom, dressed impeccably in a light gray suit, white shirt and necktie, carrying his jacket over one shoulder and a New York Times tucked under his arm. Following closely behind him was his favorite pianist, who carried an armful of sheet music. Mr. Tudor would stand, leaning on the piano, chatting with her. Just before class began, he’d pull a stool up close to the piano, throw his jacket over the back of a nearby chair, and turn to address us. “We might as well begin,” he would say, taking a cigarette out of his jacket pocket. An hour and a half of dance heaven followed. The combinations he gave felt so right, so organic – as though they were created by some celestial being for the joy of us mere mortals.
Betty Sawyer, his incredible accompanist, played one gorgeous melody after another. Often Mr. Tudor would hum along. His center combinations rode the music the way a crack surfer rides a wave. Time passed too quickly and, before I realized it, class was over. Although dripping with sweat and exhausted, ‘Couldn’t we keep going?’ I thought. I didn’t ever want his classes to end. Although dripping with sweat and physically exhausted, I wished the class would continue forever.
Margaret Craske teaching ballet class at Julliard School – Screenshot from “Miss Hill” courtesy of OVID.
Awe, fear, and respect can better describe our feelings toward Miss Craske. A small gray-haired matron, she uttered remarks in a strong English accent that could cause students to have a melt-down on the spot.
One day I rushed into her class a minute late. Although barre work had begun, she stopped the class, turned to me and squealed in her high-pitched voice, “You there! Who do you think you are, sneaking into class like a tiger?” Although I tried to explain, she commanded me to step behind a portable blackboard. I stood there like a nitwit during the first exercises at the barre. I could hear the students tittering whenever they faced my direction where my pink legs and feet could be seen below the board. How embarrassed I felt!
Carol Egan dancing – Photo courtesy of the artist.
On another occasion, she shouted at a student, “Get out of the resin box! You’ll never find security in the resin box!” Of course resin, which gave our soft ballet slippers or pointe shoes the necessary traction to prevent us from slipping on the smooth wooden floor, was as necessary to us as a firm grasp on the barre.
Miss Craske, a devout follower of Meher Baba (an Indian spiritual leader followed by hundreds of thousands of people worldwide), once lived in India, reportedly in a tree! She was also active in the early development of British ballet and told us that she had entertained in vaudeville in England. “Ninette [deValois] and I were between the elephants and the acrobats, and they never laughed at us.” Who wouldn’t love such a character!
Sweet Mr. Corvino could not have been more unlike either Craske or Tudor. Soft-spoken, he still had a fairly heavy Spanish accent and spoke with a slight lisp. We had giggle attacks every time he tried to pronounce one student’s name. Instead of saying “Phyllis,” he pronounced it “Syphyllis.” Although very mild-mannered, he gave us a strong foundation which allowed many of us to continue dancing, injury-free, for many years.
Written by Carol Egan, a chapter from her memoir.
Featured image: Carol Egan in a class with Lupe Serrano – Photo by Betty Sawyer.
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