Egyptian films were shown once a month at La Tosco Theater on Vermont Avenue in Los Angeles. There was usually a double feature, one film heavy on the drama and the other with music, comics singing and dancing. Hopefully, if there was a dance sequence, it would feature one of the well known stars. Tahia Carioca was the favorite after World War II, with Samia Gamal running a close second.

My first lesson in Middle Eastern Dance happened when I controlled my awe of Tahia Carioca, after watching several dance sequences and objectively concentrated on watching her footwork, instead of her projection and facial expressions. I became aware that what she was doing was accomplished by training and not just an "ethnic emotional experience". Film after film I would wait for the scene in the movie that gave her the opportunity to dance and I was almost never disappointed. I say almost because only once she appeared in an Oriental costume and by the miracle of trick photography, was transformed into a tennis player (complete with racquet and sneakers), still dancing … and yet another poof of smoke and she became a sort of Carmen Miranda with a tossed fruit salad on headdress, Spanish slit skirt and Maracas. It was one of the many times when subtitles proved almost totally inadequate and a blessing. Tahia Carioca's movements were fluid with pelvic combinations that defied analysis. Her delivery was so natural it made the dance look easy. I began to recognize repetition and patterns. When the music was fast she executed certain steps embellished with her own body ability specialties, and when the music was slow her interpretation evolved within another pattern. I recently found out that Tahia's teacher was Bedeah Masabney, owner / director of the famous Casino in Cairo, which also produced the inspiration for future dancers including Nadia Gamal.

I always stayed through the two double features and felt fortunate if I could visually break down anything she did. My eyes were glued to the movie screen. She had such control! It was at the same time inspiring and discouraging. Whether she would like to take the credit or not, I consider Tahia Carioca my first teacher aided by Hyganoosh Takorian. When we came home from the movie Hyaganoosh would put on her "Cifte Telle" and we would both "become" Tahia… (we hoped!).

It was this visual trial and error learning experience that was the start for many an Oriental dancing hopeful. In this day of hundreds of schools, it may be hard to imagine a time when information was simply not available. Also, there was no interest or curiosity for Americans until ten years or so after the Second World War.

In all my investigations, I have never come across anyone with valid credentials or credibility who had names for steps or patterns such as those which are used in Ballet. If there is to be a lasting understanding and appreciation of the Oriental Dance as an art form, I think a standard vocabulary must develop which would adequately describe steps, transitions, variations, combinations and interpretations. Information must be made available for those who want to investigate folk customs and ethnological evolution of styles and steps. The whys and how-tos must be answered if the level of performance is going to be raised. Just as Ballet studios may specify for instance the "Cechitti" method of Ballet instruction, so must the Danse Du Ventre specify any one style that adheres to the more traditional style.

The next question is "what is traditional"? Webster's dictionary says, it is the oral delivery of information, opinions, doctrines, practices, rites, and customs, from father to son, or from ancestors to posterity; the transmission of any knowledge, opinions, or practices, from forefathers to descendants by oral communication, without written memorials.

Other than the movies, Arab festivals and get-togethers, I went to see any and every show that called itself Middle Eastern. I never saw any Egyptian dancers do what we now call "floor work" until Helena Kallianiotes came from the famous Eastern club called the "Zara" in Boston. It was a shock for myself and my dance friends who saw it as degrading and, since we didn't see it performed in Egyptian films, not acceptable traditional form. We approached Helena and after complimenting her dance, asked her why she got on the floor and undulated. She was patient and humored us and answered something to the effect that as far as she knew it had always been done but we tried to persuade her not to do floor work anymore. Lucky for her she didn't listen to us and her beautiful dance was left intact. In my search for the traditional "right" way to execute steps and passages, (or no way, I thought!), I sometimes righteously disagreed with professionals. Just one of the instances was with Helena Kallianiotes and her "floor work". It was the ironic fate that Helena was the one to present me with a special booklet which was put out by Dance Prospectives in which newspaperman William Curtis, who was in Egypt at the same time Flaubert had his fling with the famous Ghawazee, Kutchuk Hanem, unknowingly aided posterity and tradition by his lengthy description of her dance. Where I thought "floor work" was not done in Egyptian movies or by the Egyptian professionals that came to Los Angeles and therefore not traditional or acceptable, I was proven wrong when I read in detail what Kutchuk Hanem executed, and I dubbed the "Turkish Drop". It was most certainly traditional though barred in certain areas for whatever reasons, social, political or religious, it survived in other areas and was brought to the West Coast by Tabora Najim. Her "Turkish Drop" and the description of the floor work technique of Kutchuk were identical, and even though they still do not want dancers to descend to the floor in Los Angeles, I consider it traditional and therefore include it in my teaching.

Los Angeles was first influenced by Zenouba, the first Egyptian dancer to come to The Fez, the first Egyptian club to open in Los Angeles and indeed on the West Coast. Maya Medwar and Siham were next and a bevy of nameless dancing girls followed to work there, some influenced by Maya, others by Zenouba and Siham. None of these ladies did floor work or veil work and only Zenouba played finger cymbals. Since most of the dancers came from Egypt, my style developed along theirs. Also, it was in keeping with the monthly movies, which were mainly from Egypt. The dancers featured in the films were in the same style as the dancers from Los Angeles. If I saw a movie that one of my dancer-hopeful friends had missed, I would try to describe to her at our next meeting the "new" thing I had seen such and such dancer do. I remember seeing a movie once that featured a great dancer whose name escapes me. In the scene where she finally dances, she began her routine on the balls of her feet in a forward shuffle, which I was to describe as the look of a "cho-cho" with the same steady fast locomotion. In trying to describe what I had seen, I had to remember and piece together her technique by physically recreating her body motions as I verbalized them. I remember concentrating on her feet, legs and knees. To this day I still call it "cho-cho". Maya Meduar separated her specialties with a step I call "basic Egyptian". I called it that because all the Egyptians use it in their dance. From that step later evolved an Egyptian "family" of steps.

Another style I was to work with was typically Turkish, somewhat similar to Egyptian but set apart with it's own peculiar characteristics. I was to call that the "Turkish family" with steps evolving from these.

When I worked at the Bagdad Cabaret a dancer came from back East and was hired to perform at the club. The musicians were grumbling but visibly impressed when she demanded and got them to come to the club in the afternoon for a rehearsal before she would work in the club. The owner, Yousef Kouyoumdjian, was also impressed by her demands and all the dancers came the following afternoon to watch and see how and what she did that warranted a rehearsal. Tabora Najim was her name and she was a professional in every sense of the word. She knew her music, breaks, cues, and when she stopped the musicians and made them repeat again and again the passages she wanted to emphasize, the end result was exciting and extremely hard to follow. In describing her "specialties" I coined a phrase that has now become common among dancers and teachers alike, which must be attributed to Tabora Najim. It was Tabora who I first saw descend to the floor in a one-split-second count, dropping from a fast spin with knees folded under, flat on her spine. Since her style was Turkish and as I later described it to a Los Angeles dancer, I combined the style with the action and called it "Turkish Drop". I now call it "Tabora". She was also the first dancer I ever saw do what I call "stomach flutter". No Egyptian dancer did it that I had ever seen.

Maya Meduar had a vertical pelvic roll, which created an optical illusion. When I call out for that step all my students respond immediately when I simply say "Maya". Zenuba had a couple of characteristics that I captured and now teach and her name is part of my teaching vocabulary. Helena's veil work is part of my veil routine with her name as part of the steps.

Distinctive names, which identify body mechanics such as Algerian, Turkish, Arabic and Egyptian, can mentally separate style and movements and aid in simplifying the learning process. Whatever influences I have had, I feel it is only fair to give credit to those dancers I had the good fortune to work with. To the best of my ability I give them credit so that my students and my student's students will remember some of the pioneers who paved the way for the Oriental dance to become popular and to be accepted as an art form. I hope that some day all the teachers can meet and exchange ideas as to how to communicate better to their students by using a standard verbalization, which would have the flavor and character of the Middle East. We can look forward to, perhaps, an accredited board such as they have in ballet, which travels around visiting ballet schools and tests students after they have reached a certain level of achievement. Now is the time for suggestions and a sharing of teaching discoveries. There is still much to do but I feel there has been progress and lots of inter-cultural exposure. I am pleased to know that I leave behind me several students who have the talent and capability to perform, teach, and preserve the ethnic character of the Dans du Ventre.