The Dance of a Lifetime

“I really, really love to dance,” said Stephen M. Fee ’07, setting down his can of Diet Coke with a definitive click. “It’s inside of me, it’s a part of me. It’s who I am.” Fee wistfully recalled his Bar Mitzvah, held at a dimly-lit teen discotheque in his hometown of Atlanta, Georgia. “A huge part of me just wanted to be out there, letting loose. But then this other, equally huge part of me knew that I would probably fall.”

But Fee isn’t afraid of falling any more. Initially, his Harvard career led him away from the disco and into the ivy-covered walls of The Harvard Crimson, where he scaled the ranks to become Associate Editor of FM, Fifteen Minutes Magazine, as a mere sophomore. This fall, Fee conceived an idea to mate his two interests, dance and FM. Their love child? The Fifteen Minutes Dance Team.

Fee’s goal? Get a team together to compete in the 2005 College Journalism December Dance-Off (CJDDO). The place? Candia, N.H.

The competition? Top newspaper dance teams from across the country. The reward? $200 in scholarships and gift certificates. Not to mention satisfaction.

But The Crimson had never before sent a team to the CJDDO, and naysayers abounded.

“I’ll admit, I was shocked when Stephen first suggested it,” said Jannie S. Tsuei ’06, current co-chair of FM. “I told him: ‘I really, really like this idea, but I’m not sure if you are really the best dancer, or if this is something you really want to do.’ I said, ‘we’ll support you, but I’m not sure if this is a good idea.’”

Co-chair Elizabeth W. Green ’06 had a different reaction. “I told him his idea sucked,” said Green.

Fee persisted.

In a matter of minutes, Fee convinced fellow Associate Editors A. Haven Thompson ’07, Annie M. Lowrey ’06, and Leon Neyfakh ’07 to give the competition a shot. Neyfakh, who received second place in the Rhythmic Gymnastics Junior World Cup in 1999, was thrilled to give dance another go. “I can’t convey the Feeling I got back in ’99, being in the spotlight, just me, my ribbon, my helmet, and the crowd,” said Neyfakh. “I wanted my FM buddies to have a chance to feel that way too.” As the most experienced team member, Neyfakh was uniquely aware of the challenges that the rookies would face en route to Candia. Though Fee was well on his way to New Hampshire, more problems surfaced as his dance team began to gestate in earnest.

ROADBLOCKS

The CJDDO’s constitution states: “In order for a newspaper to compete, it must send a team composed of all of the members of one of its ‘teams,’ e.g. the publication’s news department, design department, or editorial department.” In order for the FM hopefuls to qualify, the whole board had to be willing to work-and dance-together.

Meghan M. Dolan ’06, wasn’t sure she wanted to perform. “Call me quiet, call me shy—I just like to stay home most nights,” said Dolan. “Dancing just isn’t my thing.”

Yet something encouraged her to consider Fee’s message. “I wanted to say, ‘Not my problem,’ like I usually do. But then I looked at his face, and his dancing shoes, and I—I wanted to help,” Dolan said.

With Dolan’s help, Fee’s dream came to life. But tensions—over Lowrey’s party-hearty ways and publisher Evan R. Johnson ’06’s diva act—soon distracted the team as they danced their way to success.

THE FIRST MEETING
3 weeks, 6 hours, 48 seconds to go.

“All right, gang!” shouted Fee as he entered FM’s sunny, spacious corner office on a frigid Sunday in November. Songbooks and empty bottles of lemonade, evidence of the previous night’s festivities, lay stranded among the office’s state-of-the-art equipment. “It’s time to get our you-know-what together,” Fee said with Falwellian enthusiasm, fixing his gaze on the magazine’s muse, Caitlin B. McKee ’06. Next to her, Lowrey yawned and looked up, flicking an inch of white ash from her jet black cigarette onto Green’s vibrator.

“Annie, put out that clove. Now,” said Fee. He slipped a compact disc from his warm-up suit pocket, inserting it into the nearest computer console.

On the screen twelve pixilated figures pirouetted, leapt, and posed to a Bruce Springsteen medley. As “Born to Run” segued into “The River” and “The River” flowed into the pounding chorus of “The Rising,” hearts began to sink. The picture wasn’t clear, but the message was. The FM dance team wouldn’t steal the show without a fight.

“I got this in the mail yesterday,” Fee whispered. “It’s a threat.”

The room was abuzz. “Did you see their rollerblades?” asked Tsuei. “Who are they?”

“They’re none other than the Astonia Astronauts, of the Astonia College Daily,” said Fee. “Defending champions.”

Johnson’s heavy breathing punctuated the deafening silence of the room.

“Look guys,” said Fee as the room slowly returned to its state of pre-Bruce tranquility. “We just need to focus. People think us Crimson kids are laid back and simple, but we can be ruthless too. We have to isolate their weaknesses—and magnify our strengths.”

“I can do one-handed push-ups,” volunteered Johnson.

Fee calmly picked up a lemonade bottle and hurled it across the room towards Johnson and Dolan. Bits of broken glass showered the cowering couple. “No more lies,” said Fee. “Practice tomorrow. 6 a.m. See you all there—sober,” he said, nodding towards Lowrey.

WORKIN' HARD, WORKIN' OUT
2 weeks, 3 days, 5 hours

“Three! Two! One!” shouted Green as she scurried on her hands and feet, leading her team in crabwalk sprints across the ink-stained floor of the printing press room. Though Green initially joined the team reluctantly, she soon seized the reins of the cardio-side of the dance-team chariot, flogging her horses towards what she was certain would be a victory.

“We’re pretty much in top shape right now,” said Green. “I mean, we’ve cut cigarette breaks down to twice an hour, and we’re eating lots of high-quality, high-energy foods, like beef jerky and gummy bears,” she said. “Jannie’s having everyone lift a lot, which has been totally helpful. Evan is finally strong enough to carry Meghan’s books around for her, which has been huge for their relationship and for the rest of us too.” Green lowered her voice. “I never thought I would say this…but I’m ‘psyched’ about the competition.”

Crash! Green whirled around to see Lowrey hysterically laughing, lying atop the remnants of a human pyramid.

“Annie! If you pass out in Candia, you will be stripped of your comp director position so fast your head will spin more than it does now!” screamed Green. Lowrey hiccupped. “Geez. Caitlin, A. Haven, drag her to the side, please,” Green ordered. “Evan, Meghan, stop making out. Five, six, seven, eight!”

Twice-daily workouts had the team panting, but not protesting. Neyfakh gave special assistance to Evan R. Johnson. “He thought he was going to be really, really good at this stuff just because he knows a lot about the circus, but he has no idea what nuances are involved in the double, or even single axel toe-loop jump,” said Neyfakh. “I’m so sick of his attitude.”

ALMOST THERE:
1 week. 6 hours.

The lean, toned members of the FM dance team gathered over low-fat blueberry muffins at Dunkin’ Donuts to plan for the final stretch.

Eyes shining, Fee whipped a legal pad from his bag. “Vaseline for shiny teeth—check. Glitter—check. Hairspray—check. Costumes—Caitlin, what’s going on with this?”

McKee smiled. “They are so hot,” she said. “The look is kind of Madonna meets Jane Austen. So cute!”

The dance team looked on as McKee pulled a jumble of glitter out of her backpack.

“These are real rhinestones,” she said. “Sale at I-Party.”

“What—what are they?” whispered Dolan, staring at the mass on the table.

“Jeweled bustiers. There are matching g-strings, too, but over fishnets they really won’t be that scandalous.”

“Awesome,” said Fee. “Costumes—check. Music?”

“Um, hold on a second, Stephen,” said Dolan quietly. “I’m not sure if I’m okay with these, um, outfit things.”

“Look, do you want to be professional or not?” said Neyfakh with an irritated twirl of his signature ribbon.

“Not that kind of professional,” said Dolan.

“Zing!” said Fee. “Well, I’m no despot, and I’m glad to hear Meghan’s voice, even if she is being a Negative Nancy. Let’s have a vote. Shut your eyes…okay! Leon, Jannie, Caitlin, Me want the costumes, and Haven, Elizabeth, Evan, and Meghan say no. Where’s Annie?”

“Uuuhh” came a groan from beneath the table.

“Sheesh, we have got to schedule an intervention post-CJDDO,” said Fee, leaning under his chair. “Okay, Annie, how do you feel about wearing a jeweled bustier and fishnets?”

“I think by booting she means ‘no,’ said Tsuei.

GO-TIME:
8 hours until showtime

Perfume and excitement lingered in the crisp, pre-dawn air as the FM team loaded Johnson’s vehicle.

“Leeeeeeeeeavin’, on a jet planeeeeeeee, don’t know when I’ll be back again. Oh baaaaaaaabe I hate to go,” sang Tsuei as she loaded her suitcase into the car.

“I said only one carry-on per person,” said Johnson, staring at the luggage surrounding his car. “I mean, we’re not even spending the night!” he yelled. “Well, someone is going to have to ride on the roof.”

“Um, I know that this is the last resort thing, and I’ll do it if you really want me to, but I am not psyched.” said Tsuei.

“I’ll give you a leg up. At least we have a blanket this time,” said Johnson. “C’mon Annie. You’re going up too.”

With Tsuei and Lowrey on the roof and the gang in the car, the pilgrimage to Candia began. Sunshine flickered across the sky as the car pulled into the parking lot of Candia’s Second Baptist Church.

A large poster proclaimed in neon puff paint and no uncertain terms: “College Journalism December Dance-Off.”

“It’s beautiful,” breathed Fee.

BRING IT ON
2 hours until showtime

The FM dance team sat in a tight circle. Around them, teams danced and hummed, exploding out of twirls and high kicking across the church’s make-shift stage. “Shut your eyes, and visualize,” said Fee. Holding hands with eyes closed, the FM team imagined themselves dancing through their entire routine. Their bodies remained perfectly still; only their large smiles and rapidly moving eyeballs revealed their concentration. Everyone opened their eyes at the same time, smiling.

“We nailed it,” said Green. “We nailed it on the head.”

“We just have to take this concentration to the show! We will bring it! Crimson forever! Now, everyone into costume before our final run through,” said Fee, his voice tired but energetic.

The team scatters behind the altar to slip into the newly agreed-upon outfits, short-shorts over fishnets, and matching lime-Green “Fifteen Minutes” T-shirts. Fee pops open the day’s fifth can of Diet Coke. “Coke should so be our sponsor,” he quipped, chasing a nugget of beef jerky with the aspartame-filled brew.

Suddenly McKee came running from behind the altar, nearly crashing into the head of the Yale Daily News’s Business Board.

“It’s Annie!” she panted. “We forgot her!”

“Holy fudge,” said Fee. “What the heck are we supposed to do? The CJDDO’s bylaws explicitly state all members of the board must be present. Darn, darn, darn!”

“Wasn’t she on the roof?” asked Green.

“Um,” said Tsuei.

“Jannie, what happened? What happened on the roof?” said Neyfakh.

“She sort of…slipped. She fell off, okay!” said Tsuei.

“Where?” asked Thompson.

“I-95,” said Tsuei.

Dolan exploded. “Why didn’t you say something?” she said. “How could you twirl and jump so well when Annie was lying on the side of the road in below-zero weather?”

Johnson began to cry, silently.

“Well, I thought we were late, and I don’t know, she rolled off onto the shoulder,” said Tsuei, “so I think chances are someone probably picked her up or something…”

Fee’s cell phone rang. “Yes? Yes, Officer, Fee here. Right-oh. Yes, we lost a member of our team today. Yes, on I-95…that’s right. No, no, I don’t think anyone can really pick her up at the moment, you see, this is a very important...she has a broken leg? Hm. And is it set already? Okay. Sounds good. Do you think we could just take the cast off for, say, an hour or so? Just kidding! Haha! Okay, I’m sending someone right over. Great.”

Fee smiled. “The show must go on!”

AND ON GOES THE SHOW:
5 minutes

United at last, Fee led his team in one final cheer. “F! M! Is the best! We get sex like none of the rest!”

Next to them, the space-suit clad Astonia Astronauts growled. Lowrey groaned.

“You know, you can’t really tell it’s broken at all beneath those fishnets,” said McKee. The team members nodded in assent. “I hate this effing stupid team,” said Lowrey, clutching a cigarette. “I can’t wait until I am a lame duck. Too bad I actually will be lame,” she said, exhaling into Fee’s face.

“Come on guys, pull it together!” said Dolan. “We’ve worked too hard to give up now.” Dolan was right. Fee’s fighters weren’t going to let a broken tibula stand in the way of the prize.

“Next up….the Fifteen Minutes Dance Team, hailing from The Harvard Crimson!” boomed the announcer through his megaphone.

The team started their “run-on” to the stage, hopping, somersaulting, and cheering into their opening formation, a dramatic diagonal line. Fists raised, the team punched the air, as a medley of Neyfakh’s favorite Andrew Lloyd Webber tunes streamed from the boombox to the right of the stage. While the rest of the team cartwheeled and posed in perfect synchrony, Green stuck her solo handstand with the help of teammates Dolan and Thompson. “Jesus Christ Superstar” transitioned dramatically into the grand ensemble number from Cats, “Mr. Mistoffelees.” A minute and a half of the program was up, and the team held their fear inside as “Don’t Cry For Me Argentina” played. The team formed a pyramid, and Lowrey unabashedly climbed atop, and flipped forward. Two full rotations later, Lowrey landed, smiling, on one foot. The crowd went berserk.

It was over.

THE AFTERMATH

“So, yeah, about that whole thing—it was a good thing, but it also was hurtful, in a way, to me,” said Fee. “I mean, I guess we had to get disqualified, after the police and the ambulance showed up at Second Baptist and everything. But I still think we were the best, and we deserved to win. We deserved those gift certificates, way more than the Astonia paper did.” Fee does feel that, for some, the experience was a good thing.

“I mean, it really gave Annie a whole new lease on life. She’s made out like a bandit on this whole thing—selling her story to Current magazine and whatnot. She’s like the Keri Strug of the College Journalism December Dance-Off, which I think is great, just great, for her.”

After forcing a seriously injured performer to compete in the 2005 College Journalism December Dance-Off, Fee and The Harvard Crimson’s Fifteen Minutes Magazine were permanently disqualified from all future competitions. However, The Crimson’s Business Board, led by Gregory B. Michnikov ’06, plans to compete in the 2006 CJDDO.