Philadelphia dance

Gonna fly

If I had someone following me non-stop with a camera during late February-early March of 2017, the footage would feature a lot of crying, frantic phone calls and bourbon drinking. However, this is the  age of "reality-based living," so to my mind, those last weeks leading up to the studio opening looked more that famous training montage from Rocky 1.  Turn that music all the way up!

Leasing a new commercial space gets you way more press attention than I'd ever realized. That attention, however, seems to come right when you're getting punched in the stomach by your trainer (watch the montage, people). So, when my husband told me I was in Philadelphia Magazine, I was deep in my training montage mind: "sorry, dear. I'm real busy doing these one-handed push-ups."  (For real, it was more like, I'm going to blow a blood vessel in my eye trying to figure out how to hang 500-pound mirror panels on a wall).  When I finally saw the article, a few days later, YO I was feeling it! Philadelphia Magazine, y'all! I was jumping up and down on the top of those Art Museum steps (in my montage mind).

But somehow, the press got even better!



A few weeks later, Sean Kearney interviewed me in the gleaming new studio for a recurring Spirit News feature which profiled new neighborhood businesses. His final article was titled "From the Ground Up," and I mean it when I say that he wrote the most accurate representation of who I am, why I expanded the studio and basically, why I get out of bed every morning. Why I let someone punch me in the stomach sometimes, or why I run 30+ miles to the Art Museum steps some days, (remember - this in my reality-based mind; in truth, I do zero athletic activity) - - because the exhaustion and sweat and crying and long-ass nights of hanging 500 pound mirrors, it's totally worth it. You get that view of the city from all sides. If you look real hard, you'll see 2511 West Girard.

How the Police Athletic League inspired a generation of Philadelphia dancers

Before Starquest, Starpower, Starbound, Starsystems, Beyond the Stars, (did I miss any other "star" competitions?), Dance Moms, SYTYCD, and all of that, Philadelphia had its own way of judging kids talent, and it was the Police Athletic League, or PAL, Competition. For decades, it functioned as a Philadelphia dance school version of March Madness, with kids from all over the city competing at their local recreation centers, the local winners battling it out at bigger regional events, and then, all of those winners fighting for the top prizes at the coveted finals. The local competitions included dance and music, and the finals only divided kids by age, thus pitting dancers, vocalists and musicians against each other. My pianist brother made it the finals in 1986, and he lost to a young singer, I believe. I didn't start competing with a small tap group until I was eight, so around 1988, I entered the fray. 

Remember, this was WAY before the age of social media, yet the turnout for the local rounds was enormous. I can distinctly recall standing in line for over two hours to perform in the 1992 "solo tap" category round at the Lawncrest Recreation Center. The line of competitors went around the entire gymnasium. And you didn't want to lose your place in line. Nobody would have come looking for you, when it was your turn, and good luck trying to cut back into the same spot. I laugh to myself when I hear parents or kids describing "tough" competitions in today's circuit. Young whippersnappers, we were competing for first, second and third place. The proverbial gloves were off, and the talent was fierce. The judges were even fiercer. In tap, your technique, timing, personality, and speed had to be professional-grade. Your nerves had to be made of steel.

Getting to the finals was the ultimate goal. In the 1990 battle Royale, I made the finals in my ten-year-old tap solo category. None of this history is written down, so I can't check, but I believe that by the time I was standing in line at Lawncrest Rec, it was the last PAL competition of its kind, (although it lived on in other ways, which I will describe). 

In addition to the PAL competition, energetic Philadelphia dance kids could join another project, a traveling talent troupe, that performed in shows all around Philadelphia. Note well: this opportunity was completely and totally free. This is so important, because I feel strongly that there are so many financial barriers today to arts education and performance, and we are leaving many, many kids behind. My brother and I performed with the troupe throughout our childhoods. I'm not exactly sure how we both got pulled in. My mom is NOT a stage mom, so likely, someone told her about it, or I recall her saying that they contacted winners from the competitions or maybe, they called our dance teachers. Regardless, the gigs kept us busy. Every week or weekend from about 1988-1997, I was dancing somewhere: JCCs, nursing homes, retirement villages, hospitals. (Talk about linoleum floors, ha!)


Bigger events included Philadelphia outdoor festivals with massive performance stages, (see below), the Robin Hood Dell, the Adams Mark hotel, (now long gone), Phillies games, PAL Christmas events, and fancy banquets. More than competitions ever did, these experiences helped me grow and learn and also, see the city. It was just really, really cool. I have no other way of explaining it to people who weren't there, but as a 10-year-old aspiring dancer, there's not much that can compare to stepping out on a big stage in the middle of the Ben Franklin Parkway and doing a tap solo, while hundreds of people watched. 



But what I find most special about the traveling talent troupe is many of the people who danced with me then are still dancing now! Some of us own our own studios, and I see many of us teaching 7 days a week. Some of us are still performing and touring around the world. I believe that PAL inspired a generation of Philadelphia dancers to keep creating, performing and teaching. It certainly did for me.

For the last twenty years, since I stopped dancing with PAL and went off to college, I have had this itch to create my own traveling youth dance group, and recreate the experiences that I had as a child. It wasn't until April of this year, when the studio expanded to 2511 West Girard, that I was finally able to realize that dream and start "The Philly Clicks." I have fulfilled so many dreams over the last several years, but living this one is the sweetest. Just a few months in, and these kids have done something that I had never been able to do at their age - perform at the Mann Music Center! 


I know these experiences will stick with them for many years, and even better, I get to re-live so many happy memories along the way.

Keep up with The Philly Clicks this fall as we travel to all different corners of the city. By this time next year, I hope to realize another dream - making the ensemble 100% free for all participants. Thanks once more to our first corporate sponsor, MMPartners, for helping make dance accessible to as many kids as possible.

My call from Dance Magazine

A phone call from the most recognizable dance publication in this country? It's a rare occurrence. And the first time that an editor called me, I missed it. (I changed my phone number).

A private message from the same editor, to a Facebook business page inbox that I rarely check? Almost missed that one, too! After I answered all of her questions about The Philadelphia Community Tap Project and my knowledge of the background story of Philadelphia tap history, I told her, "email me at my company address, it's much easier to reach me there!"

But then, the life hurricane - trying to open a new studio by yourself - happened. I went from one email account to five. (Five!) Somehow, in a perfect example of Murphy's law or mercury retrograde, I failed to turn on the notifications for the one email account at which I told the editor to contact me. I almost missed the chance to answer the follow-up queries from this same editor. Apologizing profusely, I explained that Sound Space was re-opening in less than two weeks, and I hadn't slept properly in twice that amount of time. But, I wrote, when the studio did re-open, you better believe that the fourth year of The Philadelphia Community Tap Project would happen on its brand-spanking-new floor.

And it did! In mid-March 2017, over forty-five people packed the studio for a class and choreography intensive with Ray Hesselink. In my ten or more years of organizing tap events, I never dreamed that I'd see this day - when almost fifty people, many of whom I had never met before, would stream through the doors, put on shoes, and make the loudest, most glorious volume of noise I'd ever witnessed. Ray had visited my Bailey Street studio the previous Spring, and I think even he was flabbergasted at what had just happened on that snowy cold March afternoon. PHILADELPHIA! COMMUNITY! TAP! JOY!



Even better - the moment when I saw the final article in Dance Teacher Magazine. (As the story made its way through the pipeline of editors at the DanceMedia publications, it ended up there). Despite the miscommunications, the article rang out loud and clear. :-)

Dance Teacher Magazine 5.2017.jpg

The story of Sound Space

For a long time, I just made it work. The floor situation: Marley, carpet, linoleum, cement tile, slippery laminate, you name it, I've tap danced on it. The studio situation: carpeted hallways, apartment lobbies, friends' houses, my kitchen, church basements, rec centers. If you know me, you know I am that kind of "make it work" person. You got tap shoes? Let's go.

And tap dancers are nothing if not adaptable. If I was renting a studio space and the owner would say, no tap shoes allowed, I'd just find another one. Or I'd say, can I bring my board? And I'd eke out a private lesson on two tiny tap boards on a Marley floor. 

Resourcefulness, relationships and my natural ability to hustle helped me maintain my roster of students and schedule pick-up rehearsals whenever I found a gig. I had a little black book of tap-friendly contacts at a small handful of spaces. But eventually, it got old. I was competing for space, and trying to schedule my students was exhausting - for both myself and them. I got sick of dancing on Marley. I was frustrated that I couldn't really create or hear what I wanted to, when I gathered people for rehearsals. I realized that perhaps our constant struggle for legitimacy as tap dancers has so much to do with the fact that we don't have a home: a place where we can come and make as much noise as we want; a place where we can actually hear our instrument properly, a place that is dedicated to keeping all kinds of percussive and world dance alive. Really, why was it so hard to find a tap dance floor in Philadelphia?

So, I decided to make one.

In June of 2015, I applied for a business loan and received the grand sum of $5000. To me, this was a fortune. I searched for any kind of available space on Craigslist that was within my very small budget. As revenue sources, I counted my private lessons, my adult drop-in classes, and maybe a few renters, so I thought, I just need something small. Looking back, I see I was conditioned from decades of creating something out of nothing. I gravitated towards the spaces that nobody else wanted. I  looked at 400 square feet dank basements, and odd annexes in unheated warehouses, and old abandoned office spaces with low ceilings, and just about every strange (and cheap) commercial listing you could imagine.

At the end of June, I saw a listing for a $300/month, 300 square foot warehouse space on the "Bailey Street Arts Corridor," complete with a cool roll-up garage door, and I thought, hmm, that might work. (300 square feet!). I made an appointment to see the space at 1525 North Bailey Street. When I walked in, I saw it was just a tiny, windowless, garage, enough room for a few bikes and cans of paint. Even I couldn't see how it would work. But then, the landlord said, "well, I'm actually building out the whole first floor. Maybe you could take one of these back spaces? But they are twice the size." We walked down a narrow hallway, and he showed me the raw space with a crumbling brick wall, no interior wall, no ceiling, no electricity, and an uneven cement floor. However, it had three big windows and a side entrance to a cute garden courtyard. I could come and go as I pleased. I could build any floor I wanted. I also would have no worries about noise complaints. This was more than my wildest dreams. He made plans to finish up the space in late August, and I got the keys on September 1, 2015. The floor was down by September 14, 2015.


In those first few months at Soundspace 1525, I did a lot of dancing and creating and rehearsing, but the majority of my teaching focused on my private lessons. Honestly, it took my a while to figure out what I was doing there. Was this just a floor? Was it a practice space? Or was it a dance studio? Despite my many rookie mistakes and the impossible-to-find location, people did come by and dance. I made a ton of choreography. I organized a series of tap master classes with some of my most revered tap idols, from September - May 2016. (Unbelievably, they came!) We completed the third year of The Philadelphia Community Tap Project. By June of 2016, I got myself together enough to create a full summer series of weekly drop-in adult classes. It was working, but only because I was so determined. The main problem was: nobody could find the studio. And there were other issues that were clearly hindering my growth. I had to accept that I built an awesome floor, but it wasn't where I needed it to be. I was operating in the baby pool, and I needed to jump into the adult swim.

In early August 2016, I sent a short query about available commercial spaces to MMPartners. I was still operating with that same $5,000 loan, and I had no available capital, but I was at the point where I knew I had to grow or go. Very quickly, I heard back from one of the owners about a raw space on the second floor of 2511 West Girard Avenue. MMP had just bought the building, and my timing was perfect. On August 15, with my three kids in tow, I went by the building. We walked up the steep side stairs, and we were greeted with a large expanse of floor beams (no floor), windows busted out and vines growing through the floor. We couldn't even walk more than a few feet without fear of falling through the floor slats. However, I could see IT. This was the place where I needed to be. In late August, I signed the new lease, and I moved out of the Bailey Street studio on October 26, 2016.


While the building construction moved along, and with only $5,000 more in credit (the bank didn't have much confidence in tap dance :-) ), I searched and salvaged and borrowed and negotiated and drove all over the tri-state area to find mirrors, flooring, chairs, and a sound system. I built the website up and figured out schedules, instructors, programs, all with a pit in my stomach, because: what if this didn't work? I had no cushion, no rich relatives, three kids to clothe and feed, a mortgage, a car loan, I don't need to go on. The anxiety made the muscles in my chest tighten and burn for a good 3 months. I worked constantly on absolutely every aspect and then worked some more. 

On Friday, March 3, 2017, on quite possibly the most stressful day of my life, I re-opened the studio with a cheese tray, a lot of wine, and a tap jam. People actually came through the doors and danced! My biggest fear was that I'd be sitting there alone, and that didn't happen. It was a positive sign. 

At the six-month mark, I am working harder than I ever have in my life, but when I see people coming to tap class regularly, (around here, that's huge), or I am able to host tremendous master artists from around the world for guest classes, or renters come through and tell me it's the best floor they've ever danced on, I can drink another cup of coffee and motor through it.

I'm going to keep this bus rolling for as long as I can.

Still working off that same $10,000 loan! Grow or go. #bestfloorintown