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On My Mind
Words from the publisher
“Toy Boy on the left, give me a real
contraction, and keep your feet parallel!” yelled Gus Giordano during a class at his studio. “Toy
Boy” was either my twin brother, Rennie, or me—Gus could never tell us apart, so he
simply referred to us with that all-purpose nickname, identifying the object of his attention at
the moment by who was on the right or the left. That was cool with me, because this man, this
teacher, this legend was bigger than life to me and he could call me anything he wanted to.
When I heard that Gus had died on March 9, I began searching my memory for the first time I saw him. I think it was
in the late ’60s; I must have been about 7 or 8. I wasn’t
taking class, but my mom, Sherry Gold, was assisting him
at a master class in Boston. I remember that Gus was wearing a gauzy top with matching pants and my mom
was sporting one of those
I Dream of Jeannie
ponytails. Gus
was teaching “Steam Heat” from
The Pajama Game,
and after the
class was over he and my mom performed the choreography he had taught. I
remember thinking, even though I was so young, that I wanted to be able to dance like that
man someday.
My mother assisted Gus for years, and as
Rennie and I got older she took us to many of the cities where they taught. We would take Gus’
classes, and every once in a while he would ask the Toy Boys to come up to the front of
the class to demonstrate something. I always forgot the combination because I was so nervous
that he was watching. I was scared to death, but in a respectful, “This guy is a genius” way.
Among the many lessons Gus taught me was the
concept that all dance—not just the strength of the movement, but the emotion and the
passion too—comes from the center. A simple port de bras wasn’t just an arm movement; for Gus it
was your soul’s energy shooting out from your back and through your fingertips. It was
something that you felt, not just something you did. And if you ever saw him dance, you
completely understood what he meant, because he was the epitome of a dancer with soul.
Many excellent teachers refer to themselves
as “masters,” but they come and go very quickly nowadays. It’s the fad mentality of
a 21st-century world that brings these teachers to the forefront for a while and then leaves
them behind as the dance field moves on to the next hot trend. But if you were to
look up “master teacher” in a dictionary and find that the definition read “Gus
Giordano,” you would understand exactly what a master is.
In the weeks since Gus died, I have had many
conversations with teacher friends who are saddened by the passing of
this legend. But my response to them is to temper their mourning with thanks that
they had the chance to be influenced by such a great man. Yes, we will miss him,
but what he gave the dance world has influenced and will continue to influence every dancer
who takes a jazz class anywhere in the world. The essence of Gus lives on in
millions of dancers, and some of them don’t even know it. Forever changing an art
form and leaving behind a living legacy is what great artists do, and Gus was one of
the greats.
I am grateful and honored that Gus wrote the
foreword to my book,
The Complete
Guide to Teaching Dance.
In it he says that the
fundamentals of dance, teaching dance,
and living life were close to his heart. It
seems fitting, then, that our tribute to this man’s passing, and the vibrancy of his life,
happens to fall in our inspiration-themed issue. We may mourn Gus’ passing, but the words
that continue to reverberate in my mind are these: “Gone, but never forgotten.”
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