Ballerinas Learn Left From Right

The 13 would-be ballerinas, a belt-high flock of pink, had completed their warm-ups and dutifully practiced their plies and demi-plies. It was now time, announced teacher Marjorie Allison, for the saute.

At the word, the girls, just 5 and 6 years old, eagerly began hopping up and down, springing with the precision and grace of exploding popcorn. Clearly the saute, or jump, would be the challenge of the night.

Watching over these human Ping-Pong balls was Allison, a patient and pleasant woman who has taught ballet for 38 years, 21 of them at her Santa Clarita Dance Centre. She proudly noted that she earned her teaching certificate at the Royal Academy of Dancing in London, which probably explains why she chose to run a “dance centre” and not a “dance center.”

The dance studio is housed in a strip of stores along San Fernando Road, next to See & Save Freight Salvage and across from Bade’s Newhall Mortuary.

For Allison and dance teachers all over, the coming of fall means new students and new challenges, especially in the beginning classes. It’s a time of year when teachers explain not only the five positions of the feet, but the difference between right and left.

For young girls, it’s a time to don that first leotard and to hope that, with practice, an awkward duckling will someday become a swan, preferably a dying swan.

But before the students are ready to leap to the sweeping strains of Tchaikovsky, they must first master the saute.

“What’s a saute? “ Allison asked the class.

A tiny hand rose and Allison signaled for Elizabeth, the shortest dancer in class, to speak. Elizabeth responded with a quick hop.

The task was to perform two sets of six hops, straight up and straight down, in time to music. “I want to see just how many of you can count to six,” Allison said. “How many of you think you can?”

All hands rose. Allison--a gentle Patton of the plie --surveyed the room doubtfully.

“We’ll see.”

Allison snapped on an aging tape player. Tinny piano music filled the rehearsal room. After a few bars the girls were bobbing up and down wildly, like pistons in an engine gone mad. Some kept hopping until the music stopped.

Allison’s verdict: “Ugh.”

They tried again. Some counted while hopping, mouthing the words one, two, three, four . . . Some watched the others for clues. Suzanne, a girl with glasses and her hair in a pink bow, completed her six hops perfectly and then, noticing that her friends bounced on, threw in a few more just to be safe.

“Not one in the whole room,” Allison said when the music stopped, pausing for effect between the words. “Not one person did it.”

Allison led the next try. Only one dancer did it right--Allison.

“You’re going to have to get it sometime,” she warned the class.

Some of the girls had studied with Allison the year before, but many had never put on a pair of dance slippers until a few weeks earlier. They may be years away from the pirouette and the jete, but they already had learned to stand quietly in three rows, surprisingly disciplined. They rarely, if ever, talked among themselves.

Some, especially Suzanne and Anna, concentrated so hard they pursed their lips and furrowed their brows, looking briefly like anxious adults. Childhood quickly reasserted itself.

“What is port de bras ?” Allison asked.

“I don’t know,” Kristen replied. “But can I go to the bathroom?”

Allison freed Kristen to sprint off. Her goal, Allison said, is not to create tiny prima ballerinas, but to give the girls a sense of discipline and appreciation for movement. She never forgets, she said, that these are just little girls.

Later, Allison reminded Stephanie, a thin girl with brown hair, to begin with her foot closest to the wall because “you don’t know your right.”

Stephanie frowned in exasperation as Allison walked off. She considered her feet. Right, left, right, left. Art is a harsh mistress.

So is this how a great career begins? Is the next Fonteyn or Pavlova already dancing somewhere in Newhall or Saugus?

It’s doubtful.

Some girls will drop out after a few years, Allison said. Others will learn to love the dance but won’t have the gift. When students are only 5 and 6, it’s impossible to say who will continue and who will fall by the wayside, she said.

Still, there’s always the chance that a student will devote her life to the dance. The entryway of Allison’s studio is covered with photographs of past students striking elegantly fluid poses. One photo shows two young women, dramatic expressions on their faces. It is signed:

“Thanks for the many years of excellent training and friendship. Love, Laura.”

“Thanks for your dedication and guidance. Sincerely, Julie.”

Near the hourlong rehearsal’s end, the girls danced with dolls and stuffed animals they brought from home. Suzanne, asked to solo with her stuffed panda, skipped about lightly, ending with a surprisingly graceful curtsy. She suddenly appeared years older.

The girls lined up for one last bow and, like Suzanne, captured for a brief instant the image of the ballerina. “Thank you, girls,” Allison said, dismissing them warmly.

The dancers scampered off to waiting mothers, clutching their dolls, little girls once more.