7 minute read
So I Think I Can Dance...
PHOTO COURTESY OF FRED ASTAIRE DANCE STUDIO
Fred Astaire Comes to Boise
BY KAREN DAY
It’s hard to forget a man who dances on the ceiling. That man, Fred Astaire, is remembered as ubiquitous with ballroom dance in America. The TCM channel and TikTok contribute to Astaire’s undying fame, regularly enrolling new fans and imitators to his unique style of tap, waltz, and ballet infused with Broadway pizazz and Herculean athleticism in a tux. Beyonce’s Super Bowl choreography appears simplistic by comparison and even Jackie Chan, on-screen kung fu legend, admitted that Astaire inspired some of his intricate martial arts techniques. For all of the above reasons, and my two left-feet, I was a bad candidate for the journalistic assignment of learning to dance at Boise’s Fred Astaire Studio.
I was already sweating,walking into the expansive ballroom in downtown Boise. I am not a dancing person, except with an open bar at a stranger’s wedding. I’ve watched Astaire and Rogers swirl through Top Hat, because it aired while I huffed and puffed up on my stairmaster. Everyone smiles—all the time—in black and white classic musicals. There is always a happy ending. This is suspicious to anyone from anywhere but Idaho. From 1950 to 1960, popularity of Latin dances like the rhumba were fueled by the TV show, the Arthur Murray Party, which was basically one long commercial for their chain of dance studios. Today, the whirling sequins and spray tans of “Dancing with the Stars” have probably scared most people away from the dizzying thought of waltzing forever. And—to be perfectly honest—as a writer, I doubted “cha-cha-ing” was even a word, let alone a dance done by anyone born after Frank Sinatra died. But there was no turning back. My deadline, the wide-open floor, and Gentry Fielder, lead Fred Astaire certified teacher, awaited. With a friendly smile (of course!), he invited me to promenade arm in arm toward what I assured him would be a disaster.
Loren Messerly and Allison Reynolds have spent 21 years raising children. They are nearing the empty-nest era and decided it was time to learn how to dance as husband and wife.
PHOTO BY KAREN DAY
Like men in fedoras, modern ballroom dance was once a cultural norm with the masses. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, dance halls proliferated across America and the world. Initially spread by the British Empire elites, they fizzled, perhaps, by the rise in geographic independence and personal individualism. That’s a generalized analysis about centuries of dance history that began to disappear when the scandalous Charleston arrived in the 1920s. Dancing never ceased, but the intimate partnered and highly-stylized steps of the waltz and foxtrot began to fade as creative crazes swept America. Today’s hip-hop culture is just one in a long list of artistic waves that changed as fast as American popular music. Think: the twist, Mashed Potato, disco, Gangnam Style, etc.
“For myself and my husband, this journey began about ten years ago,” said Monica Gere, founder of Boise’s Fred Astaire Dance Studio. “My husband and I have been together for 30 years and dance had always been on our list of things to learn together, but raising two girls and operating a successful, ever-evolving advertising agency since the beginning of the internet in 1994 kept us very busy.”
Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, the iconic Hollywood duo of ballroom dance. Astaire often complained about ostrich feathers flying in his mouth.
SHUTTERSTOCK
Ten years ago, Gere could not have imagined that a Groupon to Arthur Murray Studio in Portland and two pairs of dance shoes under the Christmas tree would lead the couple to own the Washington and Idaho Fred Astaire Dance Studio franchises. “At first, dancing together was just for fun,” said Gere. “Twice a week, we would go for lessons, get out of the office and our house and make time to do something new and active together. It’s not like getting a babysitter and going out to a restaurant—it was out of our box. We were surprised by the ton of fun we were having.”
Fun eventually led to amateur competition, which is built into the studio’s learning system. “We competed locally, regionally, and won the top couple in our category,” says Gere. “It was challenging at times, from a relationship perspective, like the blind leading the blind at times, but the growth process was healthy for us. During Covid, we had something very special to do, together. And as we practiced, we watched as people lost so much and families and communities fractured. There was so much divisiveness. And I kept thinking to myself, how can I help bring people together? How can I give back in a positive way?”
Anita Burgess lost her husband of 50 years to ALS last year. Taking ballroom dance has introduced her to a welcoming community of new friends and unexpected enjoyment.
PHOTO BY KAREN DAY
As the Geres continued to waltz around their home, she realized the experience of learning ballroom dance had offered a deep sense of self-confidence and growth to them as a couple and to her, as an individual. She decided to share that. “The best way to share it was through the franchise and Boise is our first,” she said, beaming like a new parent.
Boise was also the Gere’s first choice of franchise locations. Her husband and eldest daughter are BSU graduates with another daughter currently in attendance. The city has an open, friendly appeal. People tend to smile at you, even if you don’t know them. We’re “quaint,” according to travel guides, which sounds like a perfect place for a Fred Astaire musical remake.
Liza Tize, Scott and Monica Gere, and Gentry Fielder work together to bring ballroom dance to the Treasure Valley.
PHOTO COURTESY OF FRED ASTAIRE DANCE STUDIO
“‘I can’t dance,’ is the number one thing people say when they enter the studio for the first time,” my teacher, Fielder, said, walking me onto the dance floor. “But that’s why I’m here, to show you that you can dance. Everyone can. All it takes is a few lessons, which will build your self-confidence.”
Certified Instructors, Gerard Regot and Lisa Tize demonstrate the grace and technique of professional ballroom at Boise’s Fred Astaire Dance Studio.
PHOTO COURTESY OF FRED ASTAIRE DANCE STUDIO
My questions about ballroom dancing were everyone’s questions. “Who will dance with me if I’m single?” “Where will I actually, ever, do the cha-cha?” (Yes—it’s a word!) “What if I trip and fall?” “How long will it take before I don’t look ridiculous?”
I could explain the initial embarrassments of my first two lessons; not being capable of counting to three while moving my feet simultaneously in a waltz, constantly stepping on my instructor’s feet. Fielder appeared undaunted. 20 years ago, he stepped onto a dance floor for the first time too and wisely, the Fred Astaire teaching system is designed to accommodate even the most reticent and clumsy. Private lessons assured that my humiliation was limited to myself and my dancing partner. Free group classes, offered three times a week, proved that I was not alone in my unassuredness. The weekly social dance party—which I only had time to attend once—revealed my real fear of the dance floor was not due to a lack of coordination and basic math skills, but rather, a ton of self-doubt birthed in middle school, waiting—often, in vain—for an invitation to the dance floor. At Fred Astaire, everyone who walks through the door is there to dance—with you and everybody—even if it’s just to practice for one good waltz at a wedding!
