James Whiteside - A Funny, Sexy, Sad Almost-Memoir of a Boy in Ballet

I was twelve when my first dance teachers, Angie and Steve, took me to New York Citys famed Lincoln Center to see an American Ballet Theatre performance. It was early spring in 1996. The Twin Towers still stood, the premiere of Sex and the City was on the horizon, and the outrageous gentrification of New York Citys grimiest neighborhoods had yet to occur. It was a magical time for the worlds most vivaciously vicious city.

ABTs spring gala is structured like a greatest hits show. Its chock-full of excerpted scenes from the companys most famous ballets: Swan Lake, Don Quixote, and Romeo and Juliet, as well as American classics by Twyla Tharp, Agnes de Mille, Antony Tudor, and Mark Morris. The spring gala is the easiest way to understand why ABT is the most prestigious classical ballet company in the United States and why Congress declared it Americas National Ballet Company. I was struggling with ballet at the time and much preferred my tap and jazz classes. At that age, dancing to Janet Jackson is preferable to dancing to canned piano ballet class music via cassette tape. But my teachers knew I had potential in ballet, so they took me to the show in an attempt to inspire me. In those pre-YouTube days, I had no access to videos of great ballet dancers, nor could I follow my favorite dancers on Instagram. There was no Googling of Rudolf Nureyev or Mikhail Baryshnikov. I was a ballet ignoramus.

It was the first time I saw what ballet could be. I watched that ABT gala performance the way a Pop Warner football player watches the Super Bowl. As a child with a flair for the absurdly theatrical, I was struck by the shows obvious glamour. I also witnessed men in tights for the first time. I recall thinking, What on earth is going on in there?! Like many of my earliest homosexual inclinations, I mistook my attraction for simple curiosity. I was blown away by the performance: the virtuosity, the music, the costumes, the drama, THE BUTTS!

Angie and Steve had an old friend named Kirk Peterson who was an ABT ballet master (a coach), and they took me backstage to say hello. A towering security guard with a clipboard of names let us through to the dressing rooms, where the floor transformed from utilitarian tile to luxurious red carpeting, and the lighting eased into a soft, incandescent ambiance. Next to some red velvet sofas was a small table with dozens of filled champagne flutes, ripe for the picking. Dressers (theater staff who assist with getting artists in and out of very intricate costumes) milled about, hanging costumes to dry and gathering dirty bags of laundry. Ballerinas ghosted around in long silk kimonos and house slippers, talking to each other while taking down their beautifully braided updos. Male dancers laughed and homoerotically jostled each other, wearing nothing but their tights and suspenders; some were even drinking sweaty beers. I think it is still the sexiest place Ive ever been.

Where are we? I asked, with the awe of someone witnessing the rapture.

The Principal Hallway, darling, Angie replied in her British accent. We had successfully infiltrated the sacred dressing grounds of ABTs star dancers.

I thought to myself, This will be my home one day.

When youre a young ballet student, Where do you summer? does not mean Where are your myriad vacation homes? Many dance schools in cities and towns the world over house summer programs. Angie and Steve suggested I audition for ABTs Summer Intensive in the year 2000, when I was fifteen. What a time to be a teenager! I auditioned and received a full scholarship to the program. I believe my teachers pulled some strings with their friends at ABT to ensure I could go. My family had zero extra income for summer dance camps, which can cost thousands of dollars.