Good Ol' 455 Franklin Street

I spent many an hour in this very studio under the glare of Larisa Sklyanskaya. I was so exhausted one day and she caught me yawning. She screamed, "I am not your dentist!" but didn't kick me out of class. Usually you were out for the day if you yawned. The fear.

That's the first mistake I made when I taught ballet. I was way too friendly with the girls. If I ever teach again I'm going to kick it Sklyanskaya style. Or better yet... Eric Hurst style. But that's a story for another day.

Ahhh, San Francisco Ballet and the summer of my first true love: Ricardo Torres from Puerto Rico. His English wasn't perfect and I loved it. He used to invite me up to his dorm room (we stayed at USF) on the 7th floor and he'd turn on the classical station on his little radio. We would dance. And then we would take turns doing improv ballet to the music. My improv was always a little shy but Ricardo, he took it so seriously. (arabesque-penchee-with-sweat-dripping-down-his-jaw serious.) The big windows literally would fog up from the exertion. (Ricardo's roommate was Lane from NYC. He was flamboyantly gay and wore a short, silk robe around the dorm, to and from the showers.) Several letters post-summer, we lost touch. I know he made it big dancing for American Ballet Theatre (just like he said he would) and then up and left for the National Ballet Theater of Puerto Rico. Ricardo was straight, by the way.
Very straight.