He ain’t no Arnie Zane.

In another life I was a dancer. Each morning, I took Ballet and Modern classes at a renowned dance school run by one of the dancers in my troupe. A friend owned the school and had run it for nearly 3o years.


My afternoons were spent on stage. After tea and cookies with company members, I choreographed for a troupe of 15 dancers. For years our troupe had danced exclusively to the music of Nina Simone, every since the Broadway debut of our first piece: Sinnerman.


Most of my weekend evenings were spent at the club. I was the lead performer of a group at a Cabaret Club: The Batty Boys. The group was a spin-off of girl groups that threw tits-n-ass at men. I had basically gone down south and recruited all the boys in professional dance schools. Only I would meet them at the clubs. We would be the ones mesmerized by the Houses on the dance floor.


Even now as I reminisce of those days of trying to find apt dancers, I pray that some bright soul takes it upon themselves to document Vogueing. My choreography took much inspiration from those groups at the clubs, especially Atlanta, Montgomery and New Orleans. When you Vogue, you absolutely own the floor- not to compete, dominate or flaunt skill - everyone had skillz and those who didn’t stayed backed so an not to get kicked. Everyone was there to perform. The dancers perform for the crowd, and the crowd performed for the dancers. That’s Black dance.


The performing arts high school I attended had such a synergy with the club down the road, much to our benefit. There were few such segregated, and therefore safe spaces in those days, which is still the case in many places. Everyone could figure out from witnessing the dance floor antics those that attended the ‘Fame’ inspired school. The singers, who knew all of the lyrics, heavily enhanced the House music blasting from the speakers. But, we were all House music connoisseurs since most of the House in those days was remixed Disco, R&B or Hip-Hop music of which we were all familiar. But the singers lifted the whole crowd higher, forming the chorus to every tune and the high note to each screech. Naturally, the dancers were off kicking their legs as high into the sky.


One particular dancer and I were notorious on the dance floor. He didn’t attend the performing arts school, but had studied dance in community programs. People would clear the floor for us whenever the DJ spun the Peculator. I believe that tune, and that dance still make crowds go absolutely wild- popping their asses into the air as if churning cream; bent over going all the way down to the floor into a full split on the floor. Chicago House and southern Black dance was a hot mix.


I loved choreography and felt that I was living out my true life’s work. Having studied at the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater in New York, being a staunch follower of Bill T. Jones, and a long time groupie of Ronald K. Brown, I had chosen the music/art/life of Nina Simone to carry on in this thread. I wanted each performance to feel spiritual, and for everyone who comes to see the show to participate in the séance. I set out to evoke the spirit of Marvin Gaye- to make thighs shiver beneath the charm. I wanted us to feel moved- like in church, just as had Marvin, Nina, Donny, Aretha, Al, my friends Sibyl and Eugene, and countless others. The secular was sacred, and the sacred secular. In fact, there is no distinction between the sacred and the secular when you feel full. Music was more than the groove for the dance floor- and dance is not just for the fun. My troupe’s performances set out to transform


All of that was in another place and another time. Having lived that life enriches this one- the one I lead now. Anyhow, things are different now. And, my Sweetheart is no Arnie Zane. Moreover, we didn’t receive the German Critics Award for “Blauvelt Mountain." Further diverging from that duo, he can trace his roots back for multiple generations: He is exclusively German. I believe that this fact brings him great pride- gloating, most would call the look on his face when he proclaims his heritage and then waits to see if I dare any response- to see if I can top such a lineage.


He would not understand the deep connection to the world that I feel having my roots laid in both the newest and oldest parts of the world: America and Africa. “No,” as Pirate Jenny says, he “wouldn’t eve’ understand.”


From these Roots- the term many have come to associate with African ancestry- and a firm upbringing in the heartland, I long to know more and more about the world that gave birth to me. I long to honor it by knowing it, for knowledge is respect when embraced. That world, as far as my roots lead me to believe, is in fact the whole world: The Global Citizen. My deepest attachment is neither to region, nation or state, but to humanity.


I have encountered many people who respond to any statements about ‘humanity’ with pity and disdain. Few are courageous enough to question what would be if the reality that they knew, that the ‘world’ in which they lived, was really and truly surmountable. What if we could all just imagine.