Dancing with the Best of Them

My interest in Irish culture is enduring. As a young moviegoer, I loved the 1970 David Lean film, Ryan’s Daughter; as a reader and teacher I admire James Joyce’s short story “The Dead,” exquisitely captured in a 1987 film by director John Huston. I will always proclaim the talents of the late actor Richard Harris, who should have won the Academy Award in 1990 for his nominated performance in The Field. My own middle name is Erin, and my maternal great-great grandfather Alexander Ledford was an Irishman who immigrated to America in 1855. It thrills me to imagine his native accent.

All that said, in 2002 I was especially interested in one aspect of Irish culture: Irish step dancing. Michael Flatley and his Riverdance and Lord of the Dance amazed and charmed me. So when I received my brochure from The Swannanoa Gathering — a series of folk arts workshops held annually on the campus of my alma mater, Warren Wilson College — I searched the Celtic Week offerings and found a class in Irish step dancing, taught by a renowned instructor, Meighan Carpenter. According to the brochure, the five-day class, which met an hour and fifteen minutes each day, was open to anyone interested in Irish step dancing. Soft-shoe dances, such as the single jig and the reel, would be taught. This sounded perfect, so I registered.

On Monday, July 8 — first day of class — I realized that I lacked proper dance shoes. Beginners were told we would need soft-soled shoes. For the moment, I took off my clunky sneakers and went barefoot on Bryson Gym’s hardwood floor. A few advanced students, young girls from a dance team, wore authentic Irish step dance shoes made of soft black leather with dainty laces. Before the next class, I went to Peebles in my hometown Marion and bought a pair of black satin bedroom slippers, all I could find on short notice.

Before each lesson, we “warmed up” with stretching exercises that were, to me, akin to Yoga. Even these exercises were challenging to stiff muscles. But afterwards, the real work began. The steps, brilliantly demonstrated by our instructor, were complicated and strenuous. I found myself chanting “toe and heel and toe and heel” for a jig and “point, point, and back 2-3” for a reel while I danced, trying to maintain balance and coordinate my movements with the fiddle music. After each lesson, I scribbled notes on a legal pad to recapture key points and instructions given during the intensive lesson. No one else took notes. I still have these notes and today they look like hieroglyphics, with my little illustrations of feet positions to supplement the words. I can tell by my notes that I stayed confused much of the time, as I did in high school geometry class.

After the lesson, I drove home down Old Fort Mountain from Swannanoa to Marion to get to a 5 o’clock English class I taught at McDowell Technical Community College. One hand on the wheel, I freshened up with Wind Song dusting powder and brushed my sweat-wet hair. Once in my office, in the few remaining minutes before class, I practiced my steps. I put an Irish music CD on my Sony player and danced behind the closed door. My favorite practice music was “Garryowen,” General George Armstrong Custer’s regimental song. I’m sure students in the hallway outside my office heard me dancing. I even found myself during class hand-tapping the steps on my desk: tap, tap, and tap 2-3. The rhythm was mesmerizing.

Thankfully, by Friday, July 12, with Carpenter’s instruction and my determination, I could follow the fiddle player and, along with the others, dance a jig and a reel. I never became a Riverdancer and have yet to step into an Irish pub to demonstrate my skills, although our instructor suggested we should feel well prepared to do the latter. I know if I were ever given the opportunity, however, I could cut an Irish rug, making my great-great grandfather Alexander proud of me.