Getting Into the Groove Theory
Two size 9 1/2 sneakers are champing at the beat. They belong to Willy Montgomery, 22, a big amiable-looking guy in a backward baseball cap whose whole body is jimmying to get into some jammin’.
Julie Berson, 21, doesn’t seem to notice. She sits on the floor, head back, rocking from side to side burrowed into herself like a clam.
It’s Saturday afternoon in the old Santa Monica Greyhound station on 5th Street. And, no, Montgomery and Berson are not waiting for the bus. They’ve come to ride the Soul Train.
Since last October, Kathryn Cass, a dance/movement therapist from USC University Hospital, has been offering free classes for developmentally disabled youth at the station’s reincarnation, a sunny new gym called BUS.
“It’s a way to give something back to the community,” says the club’s co-owner, Agnes Thaler, who’s happy to donate the space.
As always, Chance to Dance class begins with participants sitting on the floor in a circle. Classes are open to anyone who would like to come. Usually there are eight to 10 students plus fitness trainer Mary Pringle who comes every week to assist.
Today’s challenge--immediately obvious to Cass’ trained eye--is this: Montgomery’s hyper-enthusiasm seems to be chewing at Berson’s personal boundaries like a lawn mower come too close. Montgomery, who has Down’s syndrome, is a hip-hop meister. “I like to dance,” he says. “I do my own hip-hop at home.”
Berson is easily overstimulated, part of a multiple handicap that includes other autistic behaviors and some physical disability.
“Julie needs her space very well defined,” says her mother, Nina Berson, who is part of the curatorial staff at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. “If somebody comes in and touches her, it’s very distressing. She gets very irritated.”
“Amy, do you have a movement?”
Cass is asking a new girl who shyly shakes her head no.
That’s great. Did everybody see what Amy did? We can use it to warm up the head,” Cass continues, cheerfully counting out Amy’s “no” nods.
“Come on, everybody. . . . One, two, three . . . Julie are you with me?”
Cass continues around the circle, picking up gestures from one student, then the next. She’s using a dance therapy technique called mirroring, which helps the teacher acknowledge what each person’s body can do and recognizes potential. After a while, the hope is that someone like Amy will feel safe enough to come up with her own ideas.
It’s quite clear that, unlike most dance classes, which emphasize learning routines and technique, this is more like an off-the-couch group therapy session using body language in addition to talk.
Dance therapy--officially defined as, “the psychotherapeutic use of movement as a process which furthers the emotional, cognitive and physical integration of the individual,” is a sophisticated method designed to help students improve body image, interact with others and express feelings they might have difficulty putting in words. There is little research on dance therapy in the medical literature. The federal Office of Alternative Medicine has recently taken interest in the field with a small preliminary pilot study suggesting that when used on subjects with cystic fibrosis, dance therapy causes some improvement in mood. Though the results are in no way definitive, they’re enough to make a case for further research.
But then again, the parents of Cass’ students don’t need scientific data to see the benefits to their kids. “It’s given Willy more ways for him to express himself,” says his mother, Joanne Montgomery, a child therapist for Ventura County Mental Health, “more ways to relate to his world. We think it’s wonderful, a way of him being more normal and taking part in our community.”
A blast of Donna Summer picks up the pace and Berson’s dimples flash as she lets the funk take her over. The choice of music is vital, says Cass, because a strong steady rhythm helps maintain focus and concentration.
As Summer wails, the students follow Cass’ lead across the room, some awkwardly, others with grace, stepping backward and forward, turning, hopping and skipping. They try things like going fast (a few getting so excited they forget the pattern) and then slow without losing control; then, walking on tip-toe to work on balance, and low down to the floor for groundedness.
“Grounding is especially important,” says Cass, “because these kids don’t always get to feel their sense of self, their weight, their strength. That’s why I often start with a strong assertive walk. It’s the idea that they matter literally, physically. No matter who they are, they deserve respect and love and an equal chance.”
In addition to improving motor skills, learning a new movement can translate to better coping skills out in the world.
“When Julie does that repetitive side to side rocking,” says Cass, giving an example, “she’s totally in her own world--which is OK. But you’d hate for her to do that when she’s walking by herself down the Third Street Promenade. We try to expand her repertoire, so she has other kinds of movements she can use. We’re also trying to increase her kinesphere, get her used to people being close to her.”
Berson does have trouble when the class has to run across the room, side by side in a straight line. After a few times, she announces haltingly, but definitely, “Only once more.” Cass asks her if she’s ever seen the Rockettes, explaining dancers have to learn to work as team. And then only makes the class run one more time.
“Let’s do the Soul Train!” says Cass.
The excitement builds as everyone bustles into two lines, getting ready to take turns strutting their best stuff down the center of the room.
Pringle pumps the volume . . . “She’s a Brick . . . Hooowwwse.” Bam! Montgomery is in the house and needs no further invite to show off.
“Go Willy, go Willy,” everyone roots, rapster style. Montgomery’s buddy, Patrick Tweedie, a 25-year-old with Down’s syndrome who has hardly danced a step in his life, follows good-naturedly. He says he likes the class. Even Berson shakes it up. “I never expected her to want to be in the middle, to tolerate that,” says Cass later.
The room gets so hot, students open the door to the street. Everyone’s loving it, including Pringle. “All of my clients tell me, ‘Work on my thighs! I’ve got to have that perfect body.’ But these people just come here to have fun, just to move. It’s such a pleasure.”
Cass is beaming too. The Soul Train--an idea she came up with to address the immediate needs of the class--has worked its magic, encouraging Montgomery’s creativity and leadership while teaching him to act as part of a team, helping Berson feel more comfortable moving freely in a crowd. “The kids really had to pay attention and share space with each other and they were able to do it,” says Cass, whose dream is to open a whole Chance to Dance school with a performing company made up of the non-disabled, disabled, old and young.
“Is everybody ready for the Goodbye Dance?”
Cass calls the class into a circle again, and drops a pile of colored scarves in the center. Montgomery chooses the orange and goes off on a choreographic riff. Tweedie copies Montgomery’s steps almost exactly, then, courageously makes up his own ending. A young girl puts a scarf over her head and performs underneath it. One by one, the classmates each do whatever comes to mind. Until everyone links hands for the final, parting squeeze.
“It’s all about expressing yourself,” says Cass. “We’re just exploring. Growing. Learning. Having fun. That’s what makes this process so special. Dancing is one thing that you can’t do wrong.”
