APRIL ’73 TO JULY ‘73

Luckily I had my wedding to distract me from the fact that life had just thrown me another curve. Mike and I took a couple of weeks off—one for the wedding and one for the honeymoon. We decided on Daytona Beach because I knew I liked it; we could drive and it wouldn’t be expensive. Our meeting with Father Warren, at the church rectory shortly after we got to Toledo, was decidedly weird. He berated us for “living in sin” and suggested that I was only marrying Mike to make my parents happy. It was a full-blown sermon of Catholic guilt that I really didn’t need in my already emotional state.

Aunt Pat had a personal shower for me. Mom invited my grade school friends Judy, Marsha and Karen, but none of them came. I had been friends with them for years but hadn’t seen or talked to any of them since high school graduation so I can hardly blame them. My other friends—Nancy, Pat Gulch and Pat Duffin did come. With Mom, Grandma, sisters, aunts, cousins, and Mom’s friends, I got plenty of pretty things. We also received many wedding gifts sent to Mom and Dad’s (or “home” as I still call it to this day)—lots of Revere Ware and Oneida silver from the Hurd’s friends and family. We didn’t have a Wedding Registry because we didn’t see ourselves settling down anytime soon, but looking back I can see the advantage of it. We felt certain we wouldn’t be throwing any dinner parties with good china in the near future. However, we ended up with five salad bowls and eight fondue sets. If anyone asked Mom what to give us, she was instructed to say, ”cash”, but not a lot of people asked.

Mom and I had gone shopping for new clothes for me for every event, so I felt very classy and special all weekend—as a bride should. Guests on Mike’s side, for the rehearsal dinner and the wedding, included his Mom and Dad, four brothers, his brother Peter’s wife, Linda, and his cousin, D’Anne (coincidentally named). Both his grandmothers were also there—one was in her 90’s. Despite the fact it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding, Mike’s Aunt and Uncle threw us a breakfast the day of the wedding at the out-of-town guests’ hotel.

Friday night, the rehearsal at the church went smoothly with the dinner afterward at a Greek restaurant down the street from home. That was the first time I actually met Mike’s relatives and everyone was so nice and down-to-earth. I loved all his brothers and Linda welcomed me like a long-lost sister—she had never had a real-life sister and Peter was Mike’s only married brother. Our parents got along so well they ended up vacationing together the following summer.

The wedding was on April 7, 1973, at 1:30 p.m. on a Saturday. I knew I was going to cry because I had cried at every wedding I had ever gone to. Everyone told me I would be too nervous to cry—but they were wrong. I could barely get the words out I was crying so hard. Mom hired an excellent photographer; Jerry played the organ and Carl and Joe were the altar boys. Carla was five months pregnant but didn’t look it. The flowers from Ken’s Florist were awesome. I was so happy Sue was there, and Marcy and Connie Phelps even made it. Since Rusty and Dennis were doing a show, they didn’t know until the last minute they weren’t going to be able to make it. They sent a telegram—how like them!

My handsome and proud Dad walked me down the aisle. Mom looked radiant and beautiful—she was only 48 years old when we got married. As it was a Catholic wedding, we had a Mass which seemed to go on forever. The weather cooperated—it was a beautiful, spring day. And then miraculously, I was Mrs. Michael Start Hurd. It didn’t sink in for a few months. I kept thinking I looked too young to be married and that no one was going to believe me. After the ceremony, the wedding party formed a receiving line at the back of the church and we greeted each person as they left. Once everyone had gone outside, we ran through a storm of flying rice. We collapsed at home with relatives until the reception that evening.

While at home, I noticed some of the checks we had received weren’t on the kitchen counter behind the Kleenex box where they had been for days. We searched high-and-low but they were gone. There had been five checks totally approximately $250. I think Mom must have accidentally thrown them out although we never knew for sure. Mike was furious with me—nice way to start a life together. I knew it would be up to me to notify everyone and get them to send replacement checks. We actually recouped all the money except $20. After everyone else had gone, Mike and I drove to the reception so we could make an entrance. Michael left his shoes on top of the car and a Good Samaritan let us know before they flew away. We got slightly lost and, again, Mike blamed it on me. I was pretty tired at that point due to the stress of the past few days and I broke down and cried.

I guess it helped to “let it out” because after that I perked up. The reception was big—a couple of hundred people, an open bar and a buffet dinner complete with Betty Salad. I know things didn’t cost then what they do now but it was lavish for its time. I hope I thanked my parents enough for all they did and all the money they spent. There was a band, of course, because we had to dance. Both Mike and I drank quite a bit so I know we cut the cake and didn’t shove it in each other’s face; Mike threw the garter and I threw the bouquet, but I couldn’t tell you who caught them. We changed clothes, waved goodbye and were off to our secret hotel. No one wrote “Just Married” on our windows or hung cans from the bumper, and the next morning we left for our honeymoon.

Florida was nice but we went on the cheap—we stayed at a Scottish Inn so definitely not luxurious. We walked on the beach, lay by the pool and got totally sunburned. Our travels took us to Disney World where we spent a glorious, warm, sunny day and to visit Mike’s Uncle Harold and his third wife. About four years later we saw them again when they came to a ballet performance in Lakeland, Florida. We ate at fancy restaurants nearly every night—Mike ordered escargots and wanted me to try them. I didn’t then and haven’t to this day; I don’t even like to think about them. Our honeymoon was over all too soon and it was back to the real world.

Shortly after the wedding, we learned that the Cincinnati Opera was looking for dancers for “Aida”, its first opera of the summer season. The auditions coincided with the running of the Kentucky Derby so we drove up to Cincinnati and stayed with Sue and Mike. Fortunately we had heard that Louisville becomes a city possessed during Derby week so we were happy to miss the excitement. Over fifty dancers showed up for the audition. They chose 20 and both Mike and I were among them. The contract was for slightly over 3 weeks—from June 25th to July 15th. Sue was excited that we would be in town that long. They had moved into their new house which became our “home away from home”.

Back in Louisville by some lucky quirk of fate, we noticed an ad in Dance Magazine for “Dancers Wanted” in Moscow, Idaho. The company was called the Ballet Folk of Moscow and they were only a year old. They were requesting dance pictures and a resume. Jerry took the pictures—we looked pretty bad—Ballet Folk must have been desperate to hire either of us. We found out surprisingly quickly that they wanted Michael but not me. As they explained in their letter, they “were able to choose… women from those that were able to audition personally. (There are always so many more women available…)”. I had been dancing since I was five and Mike had been dancing a little less than a year—but male ballet dancers in the United States are few and far between while female dancers are a dime a dozen. That explanation, although true, didn’t help much.

The salary they offered Michael was meager to say the least—$42.50/week—although they did explain that a generous per diem was given on tour and touring was extensive. They also offered free lessons to me in exchange for understudying the female roles. They promised to use me in a salaried position at the first opportunity. Also, since Company class and rehearsal didn’t begin until 1:00 p.m., there was time for part-time work.

What the heck—nobody else was beating down our door. We decided to go-for-it. Mike would fly to Idaho immediately to find a place for us to live and to start learning his parts. He would fly back to Cincinnati for the Opera and we would drive out together when that gig was over. So after only seven weeks of marital bliss, I was alone again—but only for a couple of weeks.

For some reason, I was very nervous for the Opera performances. They were held in the Cincinnati Music Hall, a venue seating around 2,000 people, so that might have had something to do with it. After the laid-back atmosphere of the Pioneer Playhouse, it was quite a shift. We wore almost nothing- but- body-paint as we were poor slaves entertaining rich nobility. I still have a few pictures from the performance and I look frightened out of my wits. Mike, on the other hand, performed in his first ballet like he had been doing it his whole life.

The money from the Opera was good as it was an American Guild of Musical Artists union show. After the performances were over, we took a quick trip down to Louisville. Besides moving out of our apartment, we had a recital to do for Bill’s studio. It went well despite the fact that my stomach was churning from eating four White Castle hamburgers for lunch. It was sad saying goodbye to everyone—Bill, Larry, and all the dancers—not knowing when we would see them again.

We filled a small U-Haul trailer with all our earthly possession and drove to Danville. We spent the night in one of the “living quarters” attached to the Playhouse and watched Carla, Jerry, Rusty and Dennis performing in the King & I. By that time, Carla was eight months pregnant and looking it—type-cast as one of the King’s wives. Jerry took pictures while we were crying, hugging and saying good-bye and made them into postcards. He sent them to us in Idaho one-by-one, making us feel homesick every time the mail came. At the time, it felt as if we would never see any of our friends again. Idaho seemed a world away.

The road trip to Idaho was beautiful! We drove all day and all night—taking turns listening to the cassette tape player as we drove. Things were primitive compared to today’s Sirius Satellite Radio, iPods and 5-disc CD players. On a positive note, gasoline prices were considerably cheaper at around $.60/gallon. It was an exciting time—newly married, embarking on a new career in a new state. Our trip took about 40 hours, was over 2,000 miles long and traversed the states of Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Minnesota, South Dakota, Wyoming, Montana and Idaho.

Since Mike had gone before me and found an apartment, at least we had a place to move into. I approved of our digs in an upstairs duplex next to a church, with plenty of parking and just one block from Main Street. It was actually quite roomy and quaint. The high points were the large kitchen, claw-foot tub, and lots of storage space. The one thing it didn’t have was furniture—in fact it had a cardboard table covered with pictures from magazines and an old couch. Mike had been using the table to play solitaire—a cheap pastime—and the couch as a bed. The price, $75/month during the summer and $90/month during the school year, was the highlight.

Before we unloaded our trailer and even before we took showers or slept, we drove the few blocks down Main Street to the upstairs headquarters of the Ballet Folk of Moscow, Idaho. Of course, Michael knew everyone as he had been working there. They were ecstatic to see him back and happy to meet me. The first person I met was Paris, Jaye’s daughter and Carl’s stepdaughter. She was a cute little mop-head of about five years old. She hung around the studio all day, while the dancers were practicing and her parents were working, although she would finally be off to school in the fall.

Jaye Petrick, the Artistic Director, was 33 years old and eight months pregnant when I met her. Her husband, Carl, the General Manager, was only 27 years old—but they both seemed to know what they were doing. Carl had managed to procure enough money from the Idaho Commission of the Arts and National Endowment for the Arts to fund the Company for 10 months. This included salaries for 10 dancers plus Jaye, Carl, and Jon Bottoms—the Stage Manager and Jaye’s brother. Four dancers returned from the first season—Paula Brantner, Marilyn Gilkeson, Patty Boehnert and Chuck Bonney. The six new members were George Bohn, Rebecca Robar, Michael Hyssop, Lynne Short and, of course, Michael Hurd.

Paula was the prima ballerina of the group. She was the best dancer technically and she was the perfect size for Michael. Michael was 5’8”—an inch taller than me. But when a woman goes on pointe, she adds a couple inches to her height. I was technically and aesthetically too tall to dance with Michael; but Paula, at 5’3” was absolutely perfect. Paula had the personality of a diva. She drove a sporty 2-seater, Dotson 280Z and wasn’t about to put up with any shit from anybody. Michael seemed to have a way with her, however, which pleased Jaye to no-end. Michael was able to talk Paula out of her snits and back into a more cooperative mood in no time. Paula had a boyfriend named Vic who, according to rumors, had three testicles. I remember Michael and I paid him a visit once at his place of employment, a grocery store, and told him what his girlfriend had been up to. Although I have no idea why we cared, we knew Paula was seeing someone behind his back.

Marilyn and Patty were sweet, small-town girls. They both made me feel very welcome. Rebecca Robar was the only other married dancer—but she was married to a non-dancer. They had moved from Seattle to Moscow so she could dance. She was really nice but her husband was pretty dorky. Chuck was from the area and not a particularly talented dancer. He looked more like a truck driver or construction worker than a ballet dancer—but another nice guy. George Bohn was more of a tap dancer than a ballet dancer. He was a small, skinny guy—nobody who could partner me. Mike Hyslop, on the other hand, was tall—over six feet; but he and another of the nubies, Lynne Short, quickly became partners on and off the dance floor. He was a decent dancer but had extremely bad feet. Lynne was a beautiful dancer—although not very expressive. They were the type of couple who shut everyone else out. We constantly felt like telling them—get a room!

So those were the dancers of the company the second season of the Ballet Folk of Moscow, Idaho. I was dying to be one-of-them. Once I saw all the women dance, I was pretty impressed; but I didn’t feel I was out-of-my-league. I actually felt I would fit in nicely. The company was very lucky to have Michael. As far as I was concerned, he was the only guy they had who was leading-man material.