For the Love of Dance

By Rosemarie Boyden as told to Dance Studio Life

A teacher’s teacher shares her thoughts on dance and life

Rosemarie DeLutis Boyden ran her family’s school, DeLutis School of Dance in Mansfield, MA, for 25 years. Now an adviser to the school’s current owner, she teaches at other local studios and is frequently sought out for advice by other dance teachers. A faculty member of the Dance Masters of America Teachers Training School, she has developed a preschool curriculum course and is a frequent lecturer at Rhee Gold Company seminars and workshops. Dance Studio Life asked her to share her story—and her wisdom.

My mother, Rose Romano, established the DeLutis School of Dance in 1939. She had a passion for dance, not just a love of it. She started dancing with her next-door neighbor, who had studied with Ruth St. Denis at Jacob’s Pillow. When she married, her husband, Fred, asked her, “Rosie, if you had your druthers, what would you like to do?” She answered, “I’d like to put on a dance recital.” That was the start of the school. I started teaching at 16; I’m currently 71. That’s 55 years! I taught at my mother’s school. She was like George Balanchine: “Just do, dear. You learn to be a dancer by dancing.”

My father was my mentor, because he pointed out my faults, had high expectations and encouraged me in everything I wanted to do. His favorite books were the atlas and the dictionary. He was a hairdresser, among many of his jobs—a self-educated, self-made man who believed in the arts and thought women should go to college. His family was poor and did not have advantages, but he told us we could buy what we want, have any kind of lessons we wanted. He was so tough on me, but everything good I am I owe to him.

Every summer my sister, Dottie, and I would go to New York City to study. My mother wouldn’t let me go to the high school prom unless I walked, but she let me stay in New York and take care of my 13-year-old sister when I was 16. Our protection was this: We would wear a hatpin under our lapels and look cross-eyed if anyone looked suspicious. And nothing ever happened to us.

We studied with Jack Stanly, over Roseland Ballroom. I danced next to Rita Moreno and Tonya Everett. Blanche was the piano player—a bleached blonde, cigarette hanging out of her mouth, playing the piano and telling us, “The other foot—it’s the other foot!” It was a very prolific time for beginnings of people in New York, like Roy and Jane Dodge, the June Taylor Dancers, Matt Mattox, Peter Gennaro, Bob Audy. These names became so big, and they were all in New York when I was there. It was a wonderful adventure.

I was a dance major at Boston Conservatory of Music. The dance department was relatively new in 1953. I was 17 years old, and the dance department consisted of eight dance majors. Jan Veen, the department head, was one of the most unforgettable characters I’ve ever met, eccentric and over-the-top enthusiastic. He would take us to his apartment and we’d have a roast beef dinner and he’d give us tickets to José Limón and all the other modern people. He always said, “I never made Rosemarie cry.” Well, I’d cry in the dressing room, but not in front of him—I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Jann would also say, “Think of your head like a file box. What you need right away you put in the front. What you don’t need you put in the back. Then you spin it around and take out what you need.” Whenever I pass that on to students, they always understand; but if I say, “Remember this,” they don’t remember. I believe teachers should teach everything they know, however they can get their point across. People learn in many ways.

I remember another teacher, [Russian immigrant] Tatiana Chamié. She didn’t have a green card. When the doorbell rang at her home, she would put a white cloth on the table, set it quickly, and we’d sit down and she’d serve borscht. I never knew why she made it look like we were having a meal together until years later, when I read in a dance magazine that we weren’t supposed to be dancing with her. She would have been deported if anyone had known she was teaching.

My sister and I took over the family school and ran it successfully— without computers!—for probably 25 years. It became one of the largest and most respected schools in the area. My sister and I had a very good partnership. What I lacked, she had and vice versa. It was a partnership on- and offstage. She remains my closest ally and always will be.

I consider teaching an honor. I did not add “educator” to my name until 10 years ago, when I felt I had paid my dues and studied enough. I don’t think the terms “dance teacher” and “dance educator” are interchangeable. You need to do more than teach steps in order to be a good educator. You need to teach the total subject. Teaching dance is about the students, not about you. When your business becomes about you, the artistry no longer exists. You’re too worried about what people think of your students. It’s what you can impart to someone else that counts. You teach them everything you know. I believe in teaching music appreciation and history. It’s important to research what you teach; study should be ongoing. People who want to do something will find a way. People who don’t will find an excuse.

I love dance; it doesn’t matter to me what form. Tap is my forte, but I love ballet and I teach beginner jazz. Jazz should come after a ballet and tap foundation. I ask who takes ballet in every class I have. I promote it; it’s the basis for all dance. If students want to be serious, they need to take ballet, and then other things later. Tap promotes rhythm and coordination and good ear training, and jazz (along with hip-hop) promotes dynamics and also performance quality in today’s students. Modern is wonderful for children if you find the right teacher. I put ballet and modern in all my classes. Sometimes I’ll put in a cramp roll instead of a changement.

I give the students assignments sometimes, like to research a famous woman tap dancer or a male dancer and then share their findings with the class. And I’m very good with boys. They try to be tough and need you to be tough with them. At my school I’d leave my doors open and tell the boys to come in, and after about six months seven boys were taking tap lessons.

Dottie and I sold the school because we were burning the midnight oil all the time. My sister said she would work for me, but I said, “No way! You mean more to me than the business. Let’s see if we can be good employees.” So we sold it to someone who had worked for us for 13 years, Diane Morganelli, in 1987. I ran the dance department of Cape Cod Conservatory for a year, then came back and worked for Franklin School of the Performing Arts. I became friends with Stephanie Moy, who bought my former school; it’s now called American Academy of Dance. I left Franklin to be an adviser for Stephanie.

I found out I could be a good employee. I’ve treated every school I worked at like it was my own. I know all the students whether I teach them or not. I want to be totally involved, because then you are approachable.

My attitude toward teaching is that I don’t think anyone has all the answers, nor should anyone be a carbon copy of anyone else. Teach what you know and know what you teach. You are the sum total of your experiences. Look to what you think is success and apply it to your own personality. You need to be true to yourself. I share my love for dance; that’s my biggest strength. I plant the seed. I am an influence on the students and I take it seriously. I assess my teaching daily. I’m hard on myself. You need to look at yourself honestly and take the words “good enough” out of your vocabulary. I like to promote the idea that learning is fun. I adhere to the philosophy that if you learn one thing a day it was a very good day. If you have dance in your life, you’ll never again have an ordinary day.

You’re not having a popularity contest when you teach. Your students will understand you if you’re fair and consistent because they know what to expect. You have to prove yourself. It’s like performing—you have to draw the audience to you by your performance. I like what ballroom teacher Russell Curry said: “The four Fs of teaching are: Be firm, fair, friendly, but never familiar.” It’s not your job to make the students like you; it’s your job to make the students like themselves. You never see the good things if you don’t look for them. Yes, you must correct, but you don’t ever want to harm the children’s psyches. It’s our job to teach and motivate, and when the students leave dance they should feel good about themselves for the right reasons.

I believe in dancing for joy and never losing your love of dance in the process. Keep joy alive, and bring all that you are to your classroom. I have many interests, and if I don’t follow these, then I’m not being myself. I like decorating, cooking, reading, taking class. I’m more than a pair of dance shoes. I love dance, but it’s only a part of my life. I love people, period. I’m about collecting people; I think that’s my legacy—what they’ve given to me, the exchange. I bring everyone home. My husband, Paul, calls the house the Dewdrop Inn. My favorite is Mark Santoro; he’s my second son. I run a seminar with Jean Wenzel [a faculty member at Dean College School of Dance] every year in Mansfield. The teachers generally stay with me, and I’ll cook for them. They all like my lasagna. I’m Mamma Mia—that’s what everyone calls me.

Dancing is ageless. Dance fast and avoid mirrors—that’s my policy. Your body will age, but your spirit doesn’t have to.

Rosemarie Boyden, Friend and Mentor

By Terrie Legein

Rosemarie Boyden is my dearest friend. She is always there for me, and everyone else, on a personal level. But as a teacher/mentor, I don’t think I have ever met anyone else quite like her. I can honestly say that I have learned more from Rosemarie than from any other teacher.

Because of Rosemarie, I found my passion for tap and dance history. She would talk of the Jeanette Neil studios, Jimmy Slyde, Dianne Walker, Jimmy Mitchell, Josh Hilberman, and more. She also taught me business sense for my own studio, gave me employee ideas, shared technique tips, offered copious notes and music.

Rosemarie shares herself with everyone. I would watch her befriend first-year attendees at DMA Teachers Training School and make them feel welcome. She would give up her lunchtime to work with a teacher who was struggling for her exams. She would always go far beyond what most teachers usually give. I often found myself waiting for her after hours while she gave another stolen minute or two to another struggling teacher or offered advice to one with problem classes. She would help young teachers solve their teaching issues at all hours of the night.

I don’t think Rosie will ever change, nor do we want her to. Now proudly in her 70s, she still tells me that next year she’ll be slowing down. She tells me this every year. I don’t think she can. I don’t think she wants to.   

Photo captions (from top to bottom):

Opposite: A 5-year-old Boyden with her first dance partner—her father, who was also her greatest mentor.

Boyden (foreground) performing at a senior center in Wrentham, MA, in 1999.

From a very young age Rosemarie Boyden had a smile as big as her love of life

Boyden (far right) performing to “Wide Open Spaces” as part of The Coeds dance team in high school. The team performed on Ted Mack’s Original Amateur Hour in New York City in 1951.

Boyden (left) with her mother, Rose DeLutis, and sister, Dottie Beaton, at the senior center where DeLutis lived in her later years. Boyden and Beaton brought students from the Franklin School of Performing Arts to entertain the center’s residents.

Sisters Rosemarie Boyden (left) and Dottie Beaton performing in an American Academy of Dance recital.

Boyden (second from right) with (from left) Mark Santoro, Jean Wenzel, Josh Hilberman, and Danny Wallace.

Boyden with her husband, Paul, who calls their home the Dewdrop Inn because his wife loves to entertain.

All photos courtesy Rosemarie Boyden

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