Elise
When I was a student at Hess School of Dance, there were no classes
during the summer. We were strongly encouraged to attend the West
Texas State University (WTAMU now) Dance Camp. I probably begged to
be allowed to go. The first year I went I was 10 years old. I was the
youngest student staying in the dorms. Most kids would commute
because the little town of Canyon, TX that was home to the university
was only about a 20 minute drive. Now, in Seattle, I drive about 20
minutes to go places everyday. It's so funny now to remember that
drive to Canyon feeling like it took so long. The two week camp (I
only stayed for one week) was run and taught by Dance Department
majors, and it was a blast. We had classes in things that I did not
often get to do: tap, jazz (real jazz... not the stuff Mr. Hess
choreographed for us), musical theater, and the very exotic (to us)
modern dance. I learned a lot, but mostly I learned that there were
teachers and dancers in the world who were kind and encouraging. I
learned that I really was crazy flexible because the teachers would
always call it out. I wanted to make them happy and worked hard. I
hope that everyone of them knows what a difference they made to all
of us young “Hess Girls.”
I could not wait to stay in the dorms, but I was also terribly
nervous. Going in to set myself up the first afternoon all my fears
immediately dissipated when I laid eyes on Elise Carlton. She was a
few years older than me, blue eyed and blond haired and only knew how
to smile. I remember that she tucked me under her wing, assuring me and my parents that we would be together and that I would be fine. She was a star at the studio during the year. I first met
her when I was 7 years old and performing in The Nutcracker
for the first time. I was terribly nervous then, too, and Elise had
the same effect: calming encouragement. That year, Elise was
splitting the starring role of Clara with another girl named Tanny. I
still had a Christmas ornament from each of those Claras this year
when I pulled out the stuff to decorate. I tossed the one from Tanny
(I just do NOT need that many reminders that Nutcracker is no longer
a part of my life hanging all over my tree), but I kept the one from
Elise. It's a wooden toy soldier whose arms and legs flail when the
string is pulled. Her name and the year are written in Sharpie on the
bottom.
Even at my very young age I could gather that some mommies gave lots
of money to the ballet, some didn't, and some would have if they could. There was a definite presence of Texas socialites in the arts
scene. Now, I'm not saying that the ONLY reason girls got to be Clara
was because of money because in later years some of those rich girls
were also my friends, were mostly kind, and were talented. I am
saying that having your mother be active in the Guild and high up on
the donation list weren't bad things. Perhaps my childhood
impressions and recollections aren't right, but chances are they were
more right than I knew. I do believe, though, that it was a rare
thing for the child of a mom who was not in any obvious way connected
and well-funded to receive the role of Clara. Elise fell into this
category. She achieved a rare privilege, I believe, because she was a
rare gem and everyone could see it. I hope never, ever to be
disabused of this notion. She was beautiful, talented, but
mostly had one of the best attitudes I've ever seen and pure kindness
for days. She was a perfect Clara. I can still see her lovely little
arabesque turn in the second act with her long blond, perfectly done
sausage curls swinging out behind her. The blue of her bow
complimenting her natural coloring perfectly. She was like a painting
by Renoir or Cassat.
That summer at camp I got to know Elise even better. She was
hilarious, and she had sharp wit and criticism for mean people which
made her own kindness that much more obvious. She once burped the
most awful burp I've ever experienced, and I will never forget it.
The grossness made her human and so brave to be that unladylike
without shame. I remember being in awe that she and her friends let
me be a part of their crew. I ran into one of them this winter on a
trip back to Amarillo. We said “hello,” and I learned that she
was a 1st grade teacher. Of course. She had always been
nice to little kids. One of the other girls was another absolute
beauty with thick blond hair and big blue eyes. I have a picture of
her somewhere holding up a picture of Christie Brinkley on a magazine
cover next to her own face, a dead ringer at age 13. I felt like such
a fuzzy headed, gangly spazz next to them all.
As years went on at the studio, I passed up those girls dance-wise. By that time, I was going away for up to 6 weeks at a time to study ballet at some of the best schools in the country. I'm so grateful that Elise and her pals made me feel safe that first summer. If it had been a bad experience, who knows if I would have been able to do all the "camps" I did in the future. They were all into high school, and dance just became their
extracurricular while I danced 7+ hours a day. I still had such a
high regard for them, though. Their behavior was proof to me that
attitude really was everything. That there was more to being
successful than raw talent and hard work. Elise is still a reminder
to me of the difference that confident kindness can make not just to
one person but in an entire school of people. Her mother is friendly
and hilarious too- motivation to be a great example for my kids.
After Elise graduated high school, she worked for the musical drama
TEXAS down in the Palo Duro Canyon. She wasn't the star of the
show- perhaps she was no longer interested in spending hours on
dancing, but she was using her five-star smile as a member of the
hospitality team. I saw her down there a few times and it was always
such a joyful conversation. I remembered her in the awful,
ruffle-necked, Little House style, pastel gingham checked dresses all
the women on hospitality had to wear when I pulled out that ornament
in December. My kids were playing with it. One son was being too rough
with it and I snapped at him a bit too hard. I felt bad because he was just acting his age, so I took a moment to explain my strong reaction: “That ornament is really important to
me! It reminds me of someone very special.” “Why?” my five year
old asked. “She was special because she showed me how important it
is to be sweet, and the ornament is important because she died.”
Elise was killed in a dramatic car accident at age 19 when driving to TEXAS one night. A terrible, terrible loss.
