Do NOT read any further if you don't know who Maurice Hines is! Take a few valuable minutes of your life and learn about him on the interwebs.
Ready now? Good!
In 1991, I was eleven years old and training at the Next Step studio with Mr. Leon, Mr. Stephan, Miss Delphine and Miss Jaye, and through their professional connections on Broadway and elsewhere, they were able to bring Maurice Hines to the studio for a jazz master class. All of us kids were all there, and we were all vey excited.
(Yes, Maurice is a HOOFER with a capital H, just like his brother, but for whatever reason, this class was jazz.)
Mr. Stephan's studio wasn't terribly spacious, but we found a way to pack ourselves in and make it work, battements, pirouettes, layouts, and all. If you read my previous post, then you know that I was younger than most of Stephan's students by about 5-6 years, and I was nowhere NEAR as advanced as them in jazz, ballet or modern. So, Maurice is giving out this combination, and I'm definitely not getting it, but I'm trying like hell to keep up. I just keep going into every group and doing the dance as best I can. I'm pretty sure my coke-bottle glasses were steamed up from the effort.
At some point, I'm toiling away in the back of the room, and I hear this booming voice from Mr. Hines. "Baltimore!"
(FYI, I'm wearing a light pink t-shirt from a trip my family took to Baltimore).
Is he talking to me?
Everyone turns around and stares at me. I'm adjusting my shirt. Oh crap. I knew I should have taken this shirt off. Mr. Stephan was adamant that we should only ever wear leotards and tights. But other people are wearing shirts, so....
He says it again, "Baltimore! Come up here."
Oh crap. I must have really screwed up. CRAP!
I scamper to the front and he grabs me into a side hug. What?
"Baltimore, what do you want to be when you grow up?"
I'm speechless. I can't say anything.
"Well, let me tell you. You're either going to be a dancer or the President of the United States, with that kind of determination! Keep going."
Everyone has a good laugh, he pats me on the back, and I move back to my place, in shock. Whew. He didn't talk about my shirt. The moment was over.
Did that just happen? He thinks I could be the President?
After class, everyone said, wow, Pam! Maurice Hines talked to you! I couldn't believe it either. I was just glad he didn't yell at me because I sucked at jazz (I kind of did), or that he told me I didn't belong in the class (which I probably didn't, but I had teachers who believed in trial-by-fire).
I'm in tears writing this out now, because almost thirty years later, I've worked with so many kids myself, and I know how one simple word of encouragement can really inspire them to keep going. Teaching is one of the most important jobs on this planet. Clearly, I've never forgotten this encounter with greatness, and I will admit, during the low points of this dance life, sometimes I think about that time, and I use it to encourage myself, still. If there's one thing I do have, it's the love. You have to love dance so much that you'll do anything to get it.
I had the chance to meet Maurice Hines a few times after that, through the Philly Tap Challenge events that Jaye Allison produced and spearheaded in our fantastic tap city. One time, I got up the courage to recount the story to him, (in the thirty seconds of face time I could grab), and he didn't remember me, but he lit up when I told him the story. He remembered it as something he might have said to an eager, awkward child, who had so much love and determination and passion spilling out, that I could be anything I wanted to be...even the first woman President.